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thebibliomancer · 8 months

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Essential Avengers: West Coast Avenger #41: When Ghosts Can Die, Even Gods Must Fear!

February, 1989

Mockingird: "Go away! Haven't you tortured me enough, PHANTOM RIDER?"

Why did West Coast Avengers suddenly decide to have awesome covers?

Ghostly heads? Pentagram? Cover dialogue? This has it all!

This issue is to tie off some loose ends before John Byrne takes over so lets get to it!

Last times on West Coast Avengers: Mockingbird committed some cowboy manslaughter in the past times. Fully justified because it was a sex crime cowboy but when her cowboy manslaughter was revealed by the ghost of the cowboy, it kinda torpedo'd her marriage. Mockingbird and Hawkeye got into a massive argument masquerading as a debate on whether its okay for superheroes to do a manslaughter. And when the dust settled, the two were pre-divorced and Mockingbird took half the team with her, Tigra and Moon Knight.

Hawkeye's side of the team doesn't matter for this issue. But its Hawkeye, Wonder Man, Vision, and Scarlet Witch. Last time they fought a quirky miniboss squad.

This time, the narration is right. It really does seem like someone slapped some Thor inside a West Coast Avengers cover.

There's an invasion of Asgard by Seth, Egyptian god of being a dick, and his army of snakey boys. Leir of the Tuatha de Danaan/the Celtic gods is here helping the Asgardians because the line must be drawn heeeyah. This far, no further.

This stuff isn't really relevant but its not not relevant.

What is relevant is that Mockingbird's Notvengers have gone to the University of Nevada.

Remember that time Mockingbird assaulted and nearly killed Dr. Hamilton Slade, believing him to have something to do with his ancestor's ghost jackassery?

Well, the Notvengers are trying the novel idea of just asking him for help without kicking the shit out of him. And also, they've brought Daimon Hellstrom as a supernatural consultant. But no Patsy Walker though.

Suddenly, this is a bad issue.

Also, plotter and editor-in-chief Tom DeFalco has a cameo of himself in this book.

I like to point out creative team cameos.

Look at that DeFalco, playing some frisbee and being mocked by a friend. Interesting choice for a cameo, I tell ya what.

Anyway, Dr. Hamilton Slade says he has no idea what all this Phantom Rider stuff is about. Sure, his ancestor Lincoln Slade was a Wild West vigilante but what does that have to do with him?

Mockingbird decides to recap her entire experience with Phantom Rider in the past times. How he kidnapped her and drugged her into being his girlfriend. How she came to her senses and fought him at the edge of a cliff and didn't save him when he wound up hanging from the cliff.

Cowboy manslaughter!

Mockingbird: "I watched him fall -- and I was glad. You'd have to be a woman to understand how such violation can traumatize you -- drive you to extreme. And, of course, I was once a secret agent. We're taught to live with death."

But Phantom Rider has no appreciation for what should have been the cathartic end of the story. He came back as a ghost to torment Mockingbird and leaked a biased version of the story to Hawkeye to ruin Mockingbird's marriage.

Granted, Hawkeye and Mockingbird being too stubborn not to yell at each other about it sealed the deal.

Hamilton Slade says he kinda understands why she beat the shit out of him now. He'll do what he can, although he still doesn't know what he can do.

THE ANSWER TO THAT IS SATANISM.

Hellstrom draws a big ol' pentagram on the floor and tridents the ghost out of Hamilton.

Oh, ghost(s) actually.

Handily distinguished. Cape Phantom Rider is ye original Phantom Rider, Carter Slade. Lincoln's older brother. No cape Phantom Rider is Lincoln, the Phantom Rider that's been tormenting Mockingbird.

-slaps Hamilton-

This bad boy can hold so many ghosts.

Cape Phantom yells that Lincoln was always a bad egg. He abandoned his own wife and child to go off and be Phantom Rider when Carter died.

And dammit, Carter told him not to go and be Phantom Rider! It's not a legacy title, shitheel!

After watching some cowboy ghosts lasso each other for a while, Daimon Hellstrom decides that what this situation really needs is to be complicated.

He tridents Moon Knight and Khonshu points out.

Turns out that the occult expert recognizes a possession when he sees it. Even if its divine possession.

But with a god on the board, surely we'll get this ghost cowboy situation cleared up in no time.

Except... remember that thing with Seth and his demonic invasion of Asgard?

Yeah. That didn't open the issue for nothing. We're complicating the resolution of the haunted Mockingbird subplot by adding in a completely different plot.

Seth is an Egyptian god and whoops so is Khonshu. When Khonshu pings the ethereal scanners that Seth's demons are using, Seth's general orders a strikeforce to attack Khonshu before he can join the fight against Seth.

Despite the fact that Khonshu has shown zero knowledge or interest in Seth's plans.

Womp womp.

So back at the pentagram, Khonshu orders the ghost cowboys to stop fucking fighting each other and settle down.

Then because of Hellstrom's prompting, he decides to explain to Moon Knight why he's been possessing him.

Khonshu: "Marc Spector, I have left your body which I have inhabited for several months. As the giver of vengeance, I desired to experience this team called Avengers, and in what more fitting fashion -- than as you. I made you believe it was your destiny to become an Avenger. And so as to arouse no suspicion -- I took control of you by degrees. Slowly, like the waxing moon, I imposed myself upon your essense... and the god became man. But my need for this experience is over and so I withdraw my imprint from you completely. Now arise, Fist of Khonshu. Once again you are but flesh and blood in my service."

So, basically, Khonshu wanted to hang out with the Avengers and took over Marc's body to do it.

Rude.

Also rude: Seth's demons teleport in and start fighting everything.

Tigra: "Does anybody get a break around here?"

Moon Knight gets the worst in the ambush.

He was already dealing with suddenly being back in the drivers seat when suddenly a bunch of demons show up and start punching him and knocking him down the stairs. And the strength of these silly snake demons and maybe tumbling down the stairs breaks Moon Knight's weapons and his bracelets.

Moon Knight: "My weapons being lost -- and shattered! What type of enemies are we facing?"

Hellstrom handles the ambush better. These are demons, he fights demons. He blasts the group accosting him away with BALEFUL SOULFIRE!

Khonshu does not do as well.

Seth's demons were expecting to fight a Khonshu and they were ready to fight a Khonshu.

They incapacitate him with a surprise blast of the "etheromic phase-out cannon."

And the demons definitely didn't reckon on Tigra who goes catserker on them.

They really weren't ready for The Tigra.

Meanwhile, ghost fight.

Phantom Rider punches Phantom Rider through the wall of the building and outside where some college students are chilling.

They, of course, get a frighten and run off.

Other students seeing the ghost fight just assume its holograms from those darn computer graphics majors again.

Bad Phantom Rider clarifies for the audience that ghost guns can hurt ghosts. And then he shoots his brother, the Phantom Rider with the cape.

Good Phantom Rider also clarifies that Lincoln Slade was never supposed to be Phantom Rider.

Carter was chosen based on fate and destiny and spirits and whatever. Lincoln wasn't.

Good Phantom Rider: "My life was saved for a reason -- a purpose! I was destined to be a creature of the night... bringer of swift justice to the lawless! I knew I had been saved for a reason and Flaming Star claimed I was to be the champion his sky-spirits had promised him! But the Phantom Rider identity is not meant to be passed to one who isn't worthy! It's a special gift -- and you never measured up inside, Lincoln! Never!"

Lincoln, the bad Phantom Rider, insists that not only did he deserve to be Phantom Rider, he was better at it than Carter ever was! So, nyeh!

Good Phantom Rider claims that because the fates/spirits didn't intend Lincoln to become Phantom Rider, they probably maybe drove him mad! Yup, possibly, the spirits are responsible for Lincoln obsessing over Mockingbird and kidnapping her. You're maybe dicks, the spirits.

Back at the Seth subplot, Tigra is still going ham on Seth's demons. Just really tearing into them.

Mockingbird realizes that her cat friend is in a real berserk state and that anything that moves might be in for a mauling.

Nevertheless, Mockingbird jumps Tigra from behind and restrains her, saying that Avengers don't murder!

Okay, but what about manslaughter?

Because this feels like its supposed to be the conclusion to Mockingbird's arc? She sees a bunch of superhero murder going on and decides 'wow I don't like that, maybe I was in the wrong'?

Except: different situations. Apples and oranges.

Back at ghost fight, Bad Capeless Lincoln Phantom Rider says he doesn't care about Caped Carter claiming that the spirits drove him mad. He just wants to endlessly torment Mockingbird in revenge for her letting him fall off a cliff.

Nothing saner than that!

Anyway, ghost fight ends with Carter giving Lincoln a real walloping. Because he's fighting to protect Hamilton, who both the ghosts were living in rent free.

Back at the demon fight, Moon Knight has decided it doesn't matter whether he's going mad or not. Doesn't matter who these chumps are or what they want. Because he's very pissed off now and he's going to do violence until he stops being so pissed off.

And Moon Knight jumps into a pile of demons, bringing one of his last weapons over someone's head.

Elsewhere in the demon fight, Hamilton Slade is hiding under a desk wondering if he's going mad.

This day has been nuts for him. Superheroes claiming he was harboring a murder ghost. An Egyptian god popping out of another dude. Extradimensional invasion of demons. Ghost fights!

So when Carter shows back up with an unconscious?? Lincoln and tells Hamilton that he's the chose one of this generation, Hamilton just goes you know what fine.

And he becomes the new Phantom Rider. Possessed by a dead Phantom Rider. But the good one.

BECAUSE WHY NOT.

Does the present need a cowboy with ghost powers to fight crime? Either way, its got one now!

All-New, All-Different Phantom Rider shoots his ghost guns at the Etheric Stasis Generator, freeing Khonshu. Who takes the good measure of destroying the generator so they can't get him again.

Moon Knight gets grappled by the pile of demons he jumped into but he's able to kick himself loose. But loses his fancy belt in the process.

They're really destroying this man's collection of ancient egyptian artifacts.

Also, Hellstrom has been kicking demon ass off-panel this whole time. So between Tigra slashing her way through a small pile of demons, Moon Knight kicking his way out of another pile, Khonshu breaking free, and Hellstrom blasting demons with hellfire this whole time... the general decides 'actually? fuck this' and orders a retreat.

Moon Knight gets to throw a straggler through the portal himself and tells him to tell Seth that "one of those who defeated you was Moon Knight -- the Fist of Khonshu!"

Khonshu appears before Moon Knight and tells him that it's been fun possessing him but he's got to get back to his god responsibilities.

Moon Knight tells his god that he has no idea who his real self is anymore or what he should be doing.

Khonshu tells him to continue to avenge in his name but Khonshu won't be possessing him anymore.

He possessed Moon Knight because he was curious to experience mortal sensations but now he's gotta go punch Seth a lot. He feels somewhat responsible since they're from the same pantheon.

Khonshu: "Perhaps I will not survive the coming conflict. But though I perish -- let the mortal fist outlive the immortal deity. Strike in my name, disciple. Now and forever... strike in my name. Farewell."

And Khonshu fucks off.

Tigra flirts with Moon Knight but he rebuffs her.

Implying, I suppose, their relationship was because Khonshu wanted a catgirl girlfriend.

Valid.

Later on, like this year, Tigra and Moon Knight do have a good relationship. I think they're dating again. Both have grown up a lot since West Coast Avengers.

Hellstrom decides that he should ghostbust both of the Phantom Rider ghosts, just in case. Mockingbird echoes the sentiment because she dislikes all ghost cowboys now.

Cape Carter Phantom Rider agrees to be banished if it banishes his evil, bad fuckup brother Lincoln too. Carter will guard Lincoln for eternity to make sure he never threatens the world with his madness.

Hamilton disagrees though. And he commands Carter to possess him at the last second.

Bad Lincoln gets banished, Carter is safely hidden inside Hamilton.

Hellstrom asks Hamilton if he's going to be okay with hosting a ghost.

Hamilton Slade: "In my mind I can see -- I can feel the glorious future to come! It shall be as it was over one hundred years ago... A caped champion in white astride the great stallion Banshee -- a champion whose blazing guns will see that decent folk rest safe and secure! Rider and horse united in the never-ending pursuit of law and order and the frontier justice that is the legacy of -- THE PHANTOM RIDER!"

So, yeah, like I said. A new, new modern Phantom Rider.

Hellstrom says, well, fine, but he's still going to keep Hamilton on notice for ghost crimes.

Which Phantom Hamilton Rider is fine with.

As the Notvengers leave the university, Tigra asks Moon Knight what's wrong. The two of them have a rapport, he can confide in her.

But what he has to say, he says to the whole group.

He's quitting.

Joining the Avengers was Khonshu's idea and since Khonshu fucked off, Moon Knight is fucking quitting.

Technically, he already quit when he sided with Mockingbird. But semantics.

Also, Moon Knight is implicitly dumping Tigra in doing this.

Tigra suggests that she and Mockingbird go back and rejoin the West Coast Avengers.

Given what note things ended on, I don't know why she thinks it'd be so easy. It definitely feels like there were hurt feelings and bruised pride that has to be navigated.

But either way, Mockingbird rejects the suggestion. She has too much shit to sort out and she can't face Hawkeye.

She's probably definitely not begging him to take her back.

So Mockingbird and Moon Knight sadly walk off in different directions. NOTVENGERS NO MORE!

Tigra cries because this is super-poignant, we swear.

But also because she hitched her wagon to Mockingbird's cause and like the East Coast Avengers team pre-Inferno, the team just dusted away due to indifference.

The Notvengers won the day, fought off some demons, were around when someone else stopped the evil ghost haunting Mockingbird.

But it doesn't feel like a win.

Hellstrom tells her life goes on and Avengers endure. Maybe go rejoin the Avengers, he seems to be suggesting.

Because she seemingly does in the next issue.

And I'm finally at the Byrne run. Lamentations.

Follow @essential-avengers because I'm not an evil ghost possessing an archaeologist. I'm very material. Like, reblog, and comment maybe?

#avengers #essential avengers #west coast avengers #Notvengers #Phantom Rider #Seth or Set #his demons of death #mockingbird #tigra #moon knight #khonshu #a different phantom rider #a third phantom rider somehow #tom defalco #yes thats right tom defalco is in the cast list #awkward tie in to thor events #thorvents

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rael-rider · 1 year

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Preview for STORM & THE BROTHERHOOD OF MUTANTS #1

#My booooooi #I was expecting him to be in this event #richard rider #storm & the brotherhood of mutants #storm #ororo munroe #death #john proudstar #khora of the burning heart #roberto da costa #richard rider is of arakko

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sleepingfancies · 7 months

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the one thing i know with 100% certainty is going to stay with teresa throughout godsbane is molly her family's farm mule. the thematic symbolism is just too insane

#personal #and i do think molly will survive the events of the story. teresa will not. but molly will #horse returning home with no rider but make it pack animal who historically got worked to death and given no second thoughts #a humble and unassuming animal exerting strength far greater than itself and asking only to be fed and loved in return #and sometimes people didn't even do that (industrialization goons specifically. which is also relevant)#wip: godsbane

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flowerandblood · 5 months

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The Fall from the Heavens (3)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, smut, angst, incest, obsession, violence, swearing, humiliation, chauvinism, mention of injury ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When he learned of the death of Daemon's wife, he knew it was a sign from the gods that his time had come − Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragoness in the world, was left without a rider.

He thought that at last he would make his father proud, that he would take his niece to Essos as he had promised her.

It seemed to him that the heavens were finally smiling on him, that everything made sense and was slowly beginning to come together, that he could see above the mist that surrounded him his destiny.

As he fled from the fortress in the middle of the night he thought only of the fact that he might die and hoped that if he did, his betrothed would mourn him greatly and never marry any other man.

Her sign of love and loyalty, of respect for his sacrifice for her and their future family.

Vhagar was frightening and huge, like a giant, dark, moving mountain, with her every movement the earth shook around her; he couldn't believe it when she obeyed his command, his body trembled as he climbed the ropes to the great saddle on her back, he screamed with fear and joy as she flew with him into the skies.

He was the rider of the greatest dragon in the world.

He was like Visenya, like Aegon the Conqueror, and his future wife was like sweet Rhaenys.

Everything was as it should be.

He ran through the underground caverns to wake her and tell her everything, to kiss her, to spend the night in her embrace and listen to her assurances that he was fearless, that he was brave and that she was proud to become the wife of the man who had become the rider of the most powerful dragon flying in the skies in their lifetime.

It was then that he came upon them.

He thought he would never let them humiliate himself again, that bastards or weak, quivering little girls who couldn't even tame a dragon would never stand in his way again.

All that mattered was her, and though he knew she would be upset, he felt that she would forgive him, that she would understand that this was revenge for all the years of humiliation he had suffered from them.

And then Luke cut his face with his blade − he suddenly heard his own loud, squeaky, almost girlish scream and grabbed his left eye where he had lost his sight completly.

He was given poppy milk to ease his pain and a stick was put in his mouth that he was told to clamp his teeth on; his mother cried out loud, horrified when she saw what had happened to him, the maester said the eye could not be saved and would have to be taken out.

That he would be a cripple.

He wailed and screamed, feeling the cut of the heated blade on his skin, struggling and writhing like an animal, tied to a chair, and then he stopped feeling anything, staring dully ahead, his mother and Aegon unable to look at it.

He saw her as if in a dream, and though she always smiled at the sight of him, this time she screamed loudly, terror and fear in her eyes.

She covered her mouth with her hand trying to hold back the sounds that came from her throat.

Then he understood.

So what if he had claimed a dragon, if she would never desire him again?

How would she force herself to marry someone who was from now on supposed to look like him?

He returned to King's Landing with the thought that all was lost and he didn't want to see anyone, much less her.

He didn't want her tears of sympathy, her assurances that she still loved him, her pity, the fact that in order not to offend him she would refrain from showing how disgusted she now was by his face.

He was no fool.

Her letter only angered him − he tore it into little pieces clenching his lips, thinking she was an idiot, giving him books now that he had lost one eye, reminding him that he would never see well again, that he would always be defective, that he would have to learn everything from the beginning.

However, as soon as he did so he immediately regretted it and burst out crying, looking at the pieces of parchment lying on his sheets, thinking of how he wished he could read it again because it was her handwriting, her words to him.

His conviction of his ugliness and the fact that what had happened crossed him out in her eyes as a man she could desire deepened his state into complete withdrawal, sinking into the darkness of his thoughts, fears and desires.

He needed someone to loathe, to throw all his ill emotions at, and he had chosen Luke as such a person, however it was the thoughts and dreams of her that kept him awake at night.

Waiting for her letters was his obsession.

She sent one every two months, always on the same day, for many years. At first they were short and full of uncertainty, but then it seemed to him that she had the impression that he didn't read them anyway, so she began to write and confide in someone who no longer existed, revealing to him the darkness and suffering of her own heart.

He was embarrassed by his own reactions, that whenever he saw a sealed message from her lying on his table he would take it reverently and sit down on a chair by the fire, as if in some kind of ceremony pulling off the lac and unrolling it slowly, feeling his heart beat fast.

Dragonstone appears to me like a prison, like a black coffin, the sky above me full of clouds. I can't remember the last time light dawned in my heart − when I wake up I wonder for a moment about the meaning of it all, only to realise that thinking about it is pointless, it only sinks me further into the darkness.

It seems that the more I move away from what surrounds me, the greater the silence that settles in my head.

After what happened something inside me died.

Not in the aspect of my body, but in the sense of a conviction that something is missing, like when you look in a mirror reassembled from hundreds of pieces and, even though it is whole again, you can clearly see its cracks.

I wonder, are you sleeping well, uncle? Are you having nightmares again? I often return in my dreams to that night. I see you and although I want to say something, I can't get anything out, just as I did then. I wake up with the conviction that I am still a child.

I pray a lot, although I don't know myself to which gods anymore. I guess to any of who would be willing to listen to me. They don't answer me, just like you.

He repeated to himself in his mind that he would read her despairing, feminine ramblings to mock her, but in fact he was immersed in her thoughts, in her world, trying to imagine her, analysing each word with pietism, returning to the sentences that had taken the most root in his heart and would not leave him afterwards for days.

He read her letters for hours, treating such evenings like a sacred day, running his thumb over his lower lip, staring dully ahead in the light of the blazing fire, thinking of her words.

Although he pretended that what she wrote meant nothing to him, once in a while, usually when he was waiting for her next message, he would take all her letters and read them one by one, analysing how her handwriting had changed, now much prettier and assured, how her choice of words had evolved, rich and full of metaphors.

He knew that, like him, she read a lot.

She never brought up the matter of his or her family, the details of their conflict, their betrothal and the fact that his mother had insisted that he marry one of Lord Baratheon's daughters.

When he learned that Rhaenyra planned to marry his niece to her cousin of House Arryn he grabbed all her letters she had sent him over the years, which he kept locked in his wooden drawer, and almost threw them into the fire, hesitating at the last moment, squeezing them in his hand, panting with rage.

Although he kept repeating to himself that it was a good thing he wouldn't have to take a bastard wife, immediately his mind went into a fury at the thought that she might have become someone else's mistress, borne children to other man, and he found himself sinking into her letters again, as if re-appropriating her in this way.

He feared nothing more than that one day she would stop writing to him.

He dreaded what he would do then.

The days when Aegon could mess with him were long gone. His older brother the drunkard knew he was no match for him in hand-to-hand combat, he was taller, smarter and stronger than he was.

Yet it was Aegon who was to inherit everything that would not fall to Rheanyra as future queen.

He wanted to be his opposite in every sense of the word; his appearance made him even more isolated from the opposite sex and he didn not look at women at all, spending long hours in the Great Sept with his mother praying at her request.

If it had been up to him, he would have prayed to the gods of Old Valyria, but he saw her loneliness and loss, and wanted to be a support for her, a son she would be proud of.

Despite what he tried to tell himself, the tension he felt as a man grew stronger within him, even more so in the evenings when he leaned over her letters again, when he thought of her scent, of her hand holding the quill.

He wondered involuntarily what she looked like now, what he would notice if he undressed her, if he exposed her bare breasts to him.

Would they fit in his hand, would they be soft and warm?

Would she moan sweetly if he touched her there?

He tilted his head back, trying to read further, settling himself more comfortably in the chair, his free hand slipping under his breeches, gripping his already half-hard, throbbing manhood.

He imagined that it wasn't his hand but hers that was touching him, that she wasn't disgusted by him, that just like before her hands were stroking his cheeks, her lips were finding his in a sweet, warm kiss.

A murmur escaped his throat at the thought, a wave of heat surged over him and he quickened, fucking himself with his own hand until he came with a low sigh of relief, imagining that she was sitting on top of him, that he had just filled her with his seed, that she was begging him not to stop.

However, when he regained his sanity he felt rage and shame.

He hid her letters in a drawer and did not take them out for weeks, as if offended that it was their fault he had to pray again and beg the gods for forgiveness.

He promised himself that this would not happen again, however, it always ended the same way.

The knowledge that he could not forget her enraged and calmed him at the same time, as if this state was natural, the parallel hatred and desire for her became one and the same in his eyes.

He hated her because he desired her, desired her because he could not have her, could not have her because he hated her.

He locked himself in this circle, not allowing anyone to see what was poisoning his mind and heart.

If in the poems women appeared innocent and bright, she was to him the symbol of his downfall, his flame of his eternal suffering, which burned him every day, but which he did not dare to extinguish knowing that complete darkness would then prevail inside him.

When it became known that Vaemond Velaryon had challenged Luke's claim to the throne of Driftmark he laughed out loud at the Small Council meeting, amused, embarrassing his mother and grandfather.

He thought the gods were cruel but fair.

The grin disappeared from his face, replaced by a strong heartbeat when their Queen conveyed that Rhaenyra, along with her entire family, would appear in King's Landing in a few days to settle the matter.

With her entire family.

He sat by the fireplace that evening, running his thumb over his lips, feeling that there was complete panic in his mind, hundreds of thoughts running through his head.

He wasn't ready for this.

He didn't want to see her.

He wanted nothing more than to see her again.

He was disgusted by her and her brothers, by the fact that he would be sitting at the same table with her.

Would she touch him with her soft hand? Did she still smell of vanilla? Would she whisper that she missed him?

What was he to answer if she did?

Mock her, tell her that she should retain the remnants of her dignity.

Tear off her gown, press his lips to her bare body, saying that he would sooner kill her than let her marry someone else.

He let out a loud shuddering breath, burying his face in his hand, feeling like his head was about to explode, his heart pounding like mad.

He had the feeling that he was losing his mind, that he was descending into madness.

When he saw Jace and Luke among the crowds, when he saw how small and skinny they were compared to him, when he saw their mouths wide open in shock as they realised who they were looking at, he thought he had never felt more satisfied in his life.

"Nephews. Have you come to train?" He asked in a deep, teasing voice feigning concern as he played with the hilt of his sword in his hand, flipping it between his fingers.

He wanted nothing more than to humiliate them in public.

His musings and wild excitement were interrupted by Vaemond's entrance into the courtyard − he grinned broadly at the sight of him, feeling a sense of satisfaction, sighing quietly, thinking of how the gods had rewarded his patience.

He turned impatiently, extending his hand to his servant, willing him to hand him another wooden shield and froze in half-step, out of the corner of his eye noticing a silhouette looking at him from the cloisters.

It seemed his heart knew who was standing there even before it reached his mind, for it began to pound like mad, his breath stopped in his throat.

He forced himself to look there again and that's when he saw her − he couldn't believe how much she had changed.

Although he could see the obvious features and similarities by which he recognised her immediately, her eyes, her eyelashes, the shade of her hair, the shape of her nose and face, it seemed to him that if she had been a bud when she left the Red Keep, she was now a flower that had blossomed, a ripe fruit that begged to be plucked, to bite into its flesh.

It occurred to him, looking at the unashamedly exposed bare skin of her shoulders, that it must have been pleasantly soft and warm.

He imagined his lips brushing the hollow of her neck, the scent of vanilla he would smell and he shuddered, ashamed and horrified at how hard his manhood throbbed in his breeches.

This sight, so clear, blunt, final, completely shocked him, and though it lasted only a moment, he managed to remember the shape of her breasts and hips, the shape of her mouth, her terrified gaze full of longing, from which he felt a tightness in his throat and this huge, overwhelming, cruel desire.

He turned away from her, furious, thrusting his sword at Criston, their blades clashing in the air with a loud clang of steel.

That evening he felt that something hung in the air, he felt her presence in the keep, he had the impression that if he turned he would see her silhouette behind him.

He played between his fingers with his dagger and looked at it, wondering if he would feel relief if he killed her, if he would then regain control of his body and mind again.

Maybe it was the right path.

Maybe it was because of her that he was unable to move on.

He shuddered and tensed all over when he heard a quiet knock on the door to his chamber − he felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck, knowing that it was her, that destiny had reached him.

He felt it in his bones.

He wanted to remain silent, he wanted to show her that she no longer had access to his world, that he recognised years ago that there was no way for them that they could walk together.

I pray a lot, although I don't know myself to which gods anymore. I guess to any of who would be willing to listen to me. They don't answer me, just like you.

He closed his eye, feeling a squeeze in his throat at the thought of those three sentences that echoed through his mind and heart like a bell, that undeniable desire on her part to be reunited with him that he pretended not to share.

"Come in." He said coldly, feeling the thrill of excitement, his heart pounding so hard that he felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

The door opened with a quiet creak of wood, and she appeared in it, surrounded by the glow of candlelight, looking like a saint, like a ghost, like an innocent, sweet maiden who was lost in the black maze that had always been meant to lead her to him.

He resigned himself to the fact that there was no escape from it.

She closed the door behind her and turned to look at him; he wasn't sure if it was the flames that was trembling or if it was her body that was quivering all over with fear, in her big eyes terror, desire, suffering, everything she had written to him about.

Only after a moment did he realise that his jaw was clenched, that he was involuntarily still playing with his dagger in his hand as he looked at the indistinct silhouette of her naked body peeking through from under her nightgown, her long dark hair loose, its curls falling freely over her back.

He felt his length throbbing hard at the thought of her coming to him dressed as a lover, as if she were his, and he licked his lower lip with his tongue, catching himself breathing loudly.

Gods, how long he had waited for this.

"Did you received my letters?" She asked quietly, as usual without any further pleasantries, her voice trembled slightly betraying her fear. He shuddered to hear that she no longer sounded like a child, the way she spoke was melodious and pleasant, soft, warm.

"Yes." He replied in a low, deep voice, sounding like an echo in an endless, dark bottomless well. He saw that she blinked rapidly, as if she hadn't expected such an answer; she pressed her lips together and swallowed loudly, gathering the courage to say more.

She knew she had ventured into the dragon's cave and might never leave it again.

He knew, he felt that she was aware of what was on his mind, that she saw it in his gaze.

"Have you read them?" She asked at last, there was something final in her question.

He parted his lips slightly, lifting his chin in a defiant gesture, stretching comfortably in his chair, wondering if he should humiliate her with words that he had burned them all.

To let her know that she no longer meant anything to him.

He wanted to say it, but he couldn't.

"Yes, my Lady Strong. I have read them all. Many times, here, in this chair." He hummed, running the blade of his dagger across the armrest, making a deep, chiseled line on it.

Go on, he thought, ask me why I didn't write back, what I thought of your tendentious, weepy musings, what I thought of your feminine, touching guilt, of your weakness, of your coming to me now like a dog to beg forgiveness.

She, however, asked nothing.

He shuddered and threw her a surprised glance as she suddenly moved ahead and walked around his chamber, as if she had lost interest in the subject, making him feel discomfort, as if he had lost control of the situation, his advantage over her.

"Does your mother-whore know you're here?" He asked dryly, coldly, wanting to take away her confidence, to embarrass her, to strike at her dignity, reminding her that she herself had come to a grown man in such a shameless negligee.

She, however, merely threw him a surprised glance as she approached his bookshelves, the small one he had been given as a child replaced by three new ones, made of oak wood, high to the ceiling, filled to the brim.

She reached for one of the volumes and he felt a squeeze in his throat when he saw that she had taken out The Reflections on the Dignity of the Ancient Philosopher Areon.

"My, as you put it, mother-whore, never knew when I visited you, uncle. I was very determined not to be caught." She said calmly, but with an air of regret and weariness, as if the situation between them was tiring her, as if she believed that facing him like a ghost from the past would allow her to move on.

He thought they both could have done it, but he wasn't sure if the blade he held in his hand wouldn't have cut her neck then.

The thought that someone else might touch her body made him furious.

He snorted, turning his gaze to the flames, involuntarily turning his dagger in his hand − he grinned despite being tense and bitter.

"Do you often visit men like this?" He asked reluctantly, though inside he was dying to prove to himself that surely she had already slept with her guards or other men who would give her pleasure, that the sweet, innocent girl he remembered was long gone.

He heard her footsteps and felt her presence; he lifted his eyes to her, surprised, and noticed that her gaze was cloudy, her brow furrowed.

She looked as if she had been exceptionally offended by those very words.

"Have you no shame?" She asked him in a cool, trembling voice; he could feel the pain in the way she asked the question, his lips tightened into a thin line.

He was struck by how direct the question was.

He wasn't used to being spoken to like that.

But before he had time to respond with anything, to finally stab her in the back with words that were like poison, she began to speak, as if a dam had suddenly burst inside her and her thoughts poured out at him.

"I don't know who you are, the man who sits now before me, but if there is even a fragment of the boy I was meant to marry in you, let that boy know that he was and will be the only one in my heart. He was my best friend and I failed him. It is hard to live with the thought that someone you loved so deeply has died in a way, but there is neither a grave to pray over nor any hope of peace for his soul. What I fear is that the boy I knew has disappeared among the darkness and is dying in it every day."

He was ashamed that he felt a squeeze in his throat, that he felt a burning under his eyelids, that his heart was pounding like mad, that he froze completely in disbelief and shock as he stared at her wide-eyed.

She was crying in front of him, as if she was really mourning someone's death, and he didn't know what to do, even if he wanted to humiliate her, tell her to leave, he couldn't get anything out of himself.

He drew in air loudly and his whole body stiffened, the dagger fell out of his hand with loud clatter when she surprised him completely by sitting down on his lap, snuggling into him like a little child and burst out sobbing.

He had the feeling that she was not embracing him in the here and now, but a figure from the past that she missed so much.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She whined in a desperate, trembling, quavering voice − he felt he was struggling to catch his breath, his nostrils filled with her scent, the smell of vanilla, her familiar warmth, his manhood hidden beneath his breeches swelled in response to this sudden, unexpected closeness.

She shuddered feeling it and looked up at him, her face flooded with tears, terrified and ashamed, her gaze asking him what she had just felt underneath her. He began to breathe through his mouth, feeling the panic rising inside him because of the heat he felt in his lower abdomen.

There were drops of her tears on her eyelashes, her eyes big, her gaze hot, tender, terrified, her cheeks flushed with emotion, her lips puffy and plump, slightly parted in an accelerated breath.

"Can I kiss you?"

He wasn't sure if he really heard it, it seemed to have only resounded in his head as his memory of that sunny day, but involuntarily he leaned lower.

He sighed as if relieved when her arms suddenly embraced his neck, her breasts snuggled into his tunic, and her wonderfully wet, soft lips pressed against his in a sticky, loud kiss.

They both moaned into each other's mouths as they felt him throb under her again, harder this time − he wasn't sure if it was his will that guided the movements of his hands as one clamped down on her hip and the other on the back of her neck, holding her in place, not allowing her lips to pull away from his as he slid his tongue deep into her throat.

They both trembled as he tentatively began to rock his hips, rubbing against her, overwhelmed by her familiar closeness and scent, her so-needed, gentle hands stroking his hair and cheeks, her thumb running over his scar under his eye patch.

The sight of her body, her sweetly parted lips, her hot gaze in which everything lurked, and her scent, the smell of fucking vanilla filled his entire mind.

He rubbed against her his already hard cock again and again, sliding his free hand under her chemise, placing it on her naked, hot hip, digging his fingertips into her skin, his manhood reacting to his movements instantly with a strong, pleasurable throbbing, he involuntarily began to pant.

He saw the blush on her sweet, innocent face, her hips in a slow, smooth motion began to move back and forth, pressing what was underneath her; he shuddered all over feeling it and they both sighed quietly as her fingers ran over his scarred cheek.

"− uncle −" She whispered softly into his mouth, exactly like in his dreams, like when he touched himself between his thighs with his hand, with longing and desire.

He was unable to remember when she pressed her sweet-tasting lips to his, hugging her soft breasts into the fabric of his tunic, what the reason for their disagreement was, it seemed to him to be completely trivial and unfounded.

He thought it was obvious that the lovers had argued with each other and then reconciled.

That was all he thought about as he undid the ties of her nightgown, sucking and caressing her mouth, jaw and neck with his swollen lips, leaving wet, hot marks on her skin, his hands slid it slowly off her shoulders, revealing her bare body, her lovely breasts, unashamedly before him.

He delighted in this sight, almost mythological, noble, for breasts were the joy of husbands and the source of milk for their offspring, something beautiful, admirable.

He could feel her trembling all over in his hands, terrified by her negligee; he was sure now that no one had ever seen her naked before him and this thought spread like a wonderful, hot wave through his body.

"− easy − your husband will treat your body with proper respect −" He murmured in a deep voice trembling with arousal, his large hand grasped one of her breast and squeezed it tentatively; he sighed feeling how warm and soft it was, he heard her surprised moan.

He grasped her cheeks in his fingers, with a brutal, sudden movement drawing her face closer to his; his hand slid lower, ran over her soft, wet, full lips. She moaned helplessly because of the increasingly rapid bucking of his hips, the bulge in his breeches rubbing against the spot between her legs.

"− please −" She babbled, and he decided to take pity on her, sliding his tongue deep inside her throat, stifling her loud mewl, his fingers began to tease and play with her nipple, her whole body shivered; he felt her hands tighten in his hair, her lips melt into his in a quick, hot dance of saliva and teeth.

"− uh − I − I feel a tickling inside me, uncle −" She mumbled out as innocently as if she really didn't know what was happening to her, as if she wanted him to help her understand what her body was trying to tell her, however he, hearing this, lost his temper.

Despite the material of his breeches separating them where their bodies met, he could feel her moisture.

She was wet.

She wanted him inside her.

"− it's understandable − you missed your uncle − hm? −" He whispered into her mouth with a kind of tenderness and understanding that surprised him, as if it had been obvious that this was how it would end. She nodded quickly like a child who agreed with his teacher, who wanted to be guided, to be shown what was right.

She squealed as he stood up with her, holding her in his arms, just thinking about the fact that he hadn't felt this calm for years, the sight of her, the smell of her made his head spin.

He couldn't even remember why he was mad at her, why he hadn't written her back, why he wanted to kill her.

How could he ever hurt her, his sweet little wife?

"− lie on your back − yes, just like that −" He murmured with delight, looking at her partially exposed body; her lips was pink and puffy from his caresses, her breathing quick as she looked at him dreamily, watching as he began to undo the fastenings of his tunic, getting rid of it and his chemise, leaving only his breeches.

He climbed onto the bed with a loud creak of wood, not quite sure what he should do, sensing subconsciously, however, that this was the day of their reunion, their reconciliation after years of separation, the figures of Lord Baratheon's daughters and Lord Arryn's son seemed to him nothing more than a joke.

Aegon spoke to him of how wonderful it was to taste the woman between their thighs, that they quivered with delight when he licked them there, and since he would devour her whole if he could, he decided to try.

She was horrified and distraught when she saw his face between her thighs; she tried to push him away, asking him fearfully what he was going to do, but only tilted her head back as his tongue ran over her leaking, throbbing, hot womanhood, the sound she made surprised even him.

"− o-oh, gods −" She whimpered as he licked devotedly what spilled out of her, the taste and flesh of his wife, her proof that she didn't despise him, that she still wanted him, that her tight cunt was waiting for him and for his caresses.

"− have you touched yourself here? −" He asked between one lick of his tongue and the next, her thighs trembling in his hands, her fingers clenched in his hair, trying to rub against his face. He grinned involuntarily sensing her desperation, seeing that she nodded and ran the tip of his nose over the bud hidden between her folds, she moaned loudly when he did it.

Encouraged, he grasped it in his mouth and began to suck on it, licking it with his tongue; her whole body arched, uncontrollable moans erupted from her mouth. He tried to cover her lips with his hand, fearing that someone would eventually hear it, but she clamped her hands on his wrist, blocking his movements.

"− please, uncle, too much − too much −" She whined out trying to escape; he stopped, seeing that her body was shaking in convulsions, surprised how sensitive the female body was and how many secrets it hid.

He thought he now understood why it was Rhaenys that Aegon the Conqueror wanted in his bed.

In the art of the body, one could not be aggressive and brutal as on the battlefield.

What they were doing was some sort of a feast, tasting and satisfying their desires, full of moistures and hot embraces.

He hummed as he leaned down again and slipped his tongue deep inside her, feeling how rough and wet her fleshy walls were, groaning quietly as her wonderful taste spread across his palate.

"− uncle − mghmm −" She mumbled breathing hard, with each flick of his tongue drifting away more and more, he could feel her insides pulsing all over around nothing.

"− it'll be wonderful to feel it clench around my cock one day − don't you think, sweet niece? −" He asked, pressing his face closer to her body, licking and rubbing her walls at the spot that when he touched it with the tip of his tongue she trembled the most, moaning helplessly, her hips coming up to meet his face, her breathing getting louder and louder.

"− oh g-gods, Aemond − oh gods,oh gods,oh gods −" She mewled, startling him as she raised herself up on her elbow, tilting her head back, bliss and delight painted on her face, her plump, glossy lips parted in sweet moans as if in disbelief that something so wonderfully pleasurable had shaken her body.

It was the first time he had ever seen female fulfilment and it was a stunning, wonderful sight.

He groaned low as he felt how much moisture flowed out of her, kissing her hot, throbbing entrance devotedly, slowly licking everything off, not wanting to waste a drop, even though she begged him to stop.

Everything he drank from her was for him, the wonderful nectar of his sweet wife.

He rose on his knees, wiping his face with his hand, looking at her in disbelief, panting loudly; she lay as if without strength, with her hands spread on either side of her head, her plump, puffy lips slightly parted in ragged breath.

His niece.

"Touch me." He demanded, slipping off his breeches, taking her hand in his, with a desperate, sudden movement clamping her fingers on his swollen, twitching manhood, leaking from his own wetness. They both moaned helplessly when, with movements of his hand, he showed her how she was to touch him.

She looked up at him in shame, squeezing him with sure up and down strokes, feeling him throb all over in her grasp; he rocked his hips involuntarily, sensing that he was embarrassingly close to fulfillment.

"− fuck − fuck, come here −" He gasped, grabbing her by her hair, forcing her to rise up and kiss him − their lips collided in a sticky, messy kiss, the combination of their tongues and their saliva, the smell of her, the sight of her bare body, the scent of her sex, her moisture around them, proof of what they were doing.

Against their gods, against their family.

He didn't care what happened next.

"− don't fucking stop − faster − oh fuck-fuck-fuck −" He growled out and moaned low, surprised at the helpless sound that came from his throat, coming with a sigh of relief onto her nightgown, his translucent, pearly spend spurting out onto her, startling her; he hushed her with his kisses, whispering to her between the sticky brushes of their lips.

"− easy, it's just me − shhh −" He whispered, letting go of her hand, allowing her to release her grip, her fingers all sticky with his seed.

"− lick it off − don't waste a drop −" He growled, wrinkling his eyebrows and she swallowed loudly, obediently licking her finger after finger, looking him straight in the eye. He watched her with satisfaction, thinking of how obedient and good a wife she would indeed be.

"− you are going to spend the night with me −"

______

From the author: In Stay and love, leave and die oneshot Aemond would not allow her to enter his chamber, he would remain silent - in his opinion, she had forgotten about him and suddenly wanted to regain his favor, which he found pathetic and irritating, not worth his attention. None of her letters reached him through the years, having been intercepted and burned by Otto. The next day, he informed his mother that either she would leave the Red Keep or he would, and she decided to return to Dragonstone so as not to escalate the conflict. In that universe, they actually speak to each other only in Strom's End.

______

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

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 1 year

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Hey can I do a daemon x velaryon!reader where she is his wife instead of laena and he comes to genuine love her through the years more than anyone they decide to come back to kings landing for laena funeral and the reader start to notice how rhaenyra starts at daemon through the entire funeral. Reader go to talk with her kids ( maegor, rhaegar, and baelon) to introduce to their cousin and she notice that daemon has left and she can’t find rhaenyra. Reader brush off her worries because she trust daemon. Later through the accident with the kid she is in the hall when she sees daemon and rhaenyra walk through she notice rhaenyra looks a bit messed up like her hair and clothes and looks at daemon. Daemon can’t even look at the readers eyes because he knows she will figure out. After everyone goes to bed she want to ask the truth but finds out that’s her brother laenor has died, reader out of grief and sadness decide to stay at driftmark for few days with her parent and tells daemon she will meet him and the children at dragonstone. Daemon and rhaenyra marry each other at dragonstone and readers children literally fly out to driftmark all three of them and tell her what happened. Readers feels angry disgusted humiliated sadness , and she decide to stay at driftmark with her children and nieces and writes to daemon that if he comes and inch close to her or her children she will gladly feed him to her dragon( the cannibal), daemon still tries but her mother tells him to leave while he still can before she does something she won’t regret and how she regrets even letter her children marry daemon and rhaenyra. Couple years the kids has grown up her sons dragon are (greys ghost vervimathior and seasmoke her youngest claimed him after laenor death) and they go back to kings landing for luke positions and daemon sees her and immediately goes to talk with her ( he still loves her and want to work things out) rhaenyra doesn’t like this at all and follows him only for them to sees the reader talking to a little girl who is spit image of reader and daemon and daemon ask who the child is only to find out its their child (reader find out she was pregnant few days after founding out daemon and rhaenyra) daemon is angry that he misses his daughter birth but accept it since he deserve it. Rhaenyra ask for the girls name and reader smirks and says visenya

And some more angst please

Fire & Blood || D. Targaryen x Velaryon!reader

GIF by @redbelles DIVIDERS by @straywords

a/n: I absolutely love this thank u for the request!! p.s this is the longest piece of ff i’ve written 😭 also keep in mind some of the events from hotd don’t happen in this and the the timings are different! And for the sake of my tiktok acc i’m making Elys as fc for the reader to make it easier for me to make tiktoks abt this!

Your darling sister. She is dead. You broke down in your bedchambers as Daemon came up to you, engulfing you in a comforting hug as you continued sobbing. “Shh” Your husband ushered, trying to calm you down.

It absolutely broke Daemon’s heart seeing the person he loved most in his entire life so broken. He wiped the tears away as he planted a kiss on your forehead.

“Her funeral is to be held tomorrow, so rest my love” He whispers against your hair as you sniffle, moving your legs to your bed, Daemon soon following.

“She wanted to die a dragon rider’s death, not on her birthing bed” You quietly spoke, your back turned to Daemon, his hand laid rest on your hip drawing circles. “I know sweet girl” He replied. Your hand coming to his to squeeze it before moving closer to him.

She was gone. The emotions started rolling in as her casket submerged in the water. You sobbed as Daemon pulled you in to his chest, kissing your forehead.

You wrapped your arms around his torso as your three children clung to your dress. “Stay strong” He rubbed your back as you wipe your tears and face the front again.

Your heart broke seeing your nieces, Baela and Rhaena comforted by your mother. You also saw Rhaenyra and her two boys, Her eyes seemed to be fixated on the man beside you before she gives a small smile to you.

“Have you seen the children?” You walk up to Daemon, his eyes somewhere else. He doesn’t reply making you furrow your eyebrows. “Daemon.” You call out again, his eyes moving from the side to your eyes.

Your gaze follows where his eyes were and you lock eyes with Rhaenyra. Turning back around, Daemon looks down at his cup. “Do you know where our children are Daemon” You repeat, “They’re over there” He gently moves your shoulders towards the direction of the boys.

He wraps his arms around your waist and gives you a kiss, “I want to introduce them to their cousins,” You say, holding his hand on your shoulder as he smiles sweetly to you. “That’s a great idea.”

Walking up to your boys, Maegor, Rhaegar, and Baelon, you hug them all giving them kisses on their forheads. “My sweet boys, I want you to meet your cousins” You say to them as you lead them to Rhaena and Baela. You look around to find Daemon but he was no longer where he was.

“Auntie,” A voice calls out as you turn your head and spot Lucerys. Confused, you still give a smile and crouch to his level. “What is it Luke?” You question, “Have you seen my mother? She’s not here” At his words, you look around and he was right. Rhaenyra was nowhere to be found.

“Uh, I’m sure she is somewhere close by. Stay with me if you’d like” You kindly smile to the dark haired boy as he nods. You completely trusted Daemon. Though not the same could be said about Rhaenyra.

Your eyes take in the sight infront of you. Aemond infront of a maester as he stitched up his eye, Luke with a bloody nose and the disheveled appearance of your nieces who were in the arms of your mother Rhaenys.

You were accompanied by your three boys, Daemon was still nowhere to be found and you had been waiting in your bedchambers for him but he never returned.

The big doors suddenly open as Rhaenyra came into view. Her hair messy and her clothes untidy. What shocked you the most was Daemon who appeared behind her. He leaned against the door, his eyes looked around but they never met with yours.

You felt a string pull your heart, a pull of sadness. No, that wasn’t right. Daemon wouldn’t do that to you, or his children who he dearly loves.

You had no doubt of his loyalty. But you did remember how in the early years of your marriage that he was always cold to you. That was when you found out he was in love with his then 18 year old niece.

You were no stranger to the Targaryen’s customs in keeping their blood pure. But as the years went on and you produced heirs for Daemon and created a family, he no longer longed for Rhaenyra, but you instead.

A loud gasp escapes your lips as Alicent charges at Rhaenyra with a blade. Your eyes couldn’t help but notice how Daemon slightly moved, like he was contemplating in stepping in but stayed.

After the whole ordeal, Viserys ordered everyone back into their rooms. Your eyes tried to find Daemon but it was too crowded to see where he was. “Where’s father?” Your youngest, Baelon, questioned as you caress his cheek.

“I will find him, go with your brothers to your rooms” You say as they nod and leave. Before you could move further, you were pulled by the hand.

“Father-“ “Your brother is dead” You blink a few times, processing Corlys’ words. “I-“ You were shocked to say the least. How could this day get worse. Losing both your siblings in a span of a day. “H-how?” You stutter as you hug your father.

“We found him in the fireplace, a quarrel of some sort we believe” He says quietly. You knew he was trying his best to keep his composure. “Where’s mother?” You say looking up at him as he looks away.

“Your mother is not in great condition-“ “I will stay here,” You interrupt him, “for a few days atleast” You were both in shock and grief and wanted to stay in the comforts of your home with your parents.

Corlys gives a sad smile and nods his head, “Your mother would like that very much.” He says before a tear drops and he is once again in your embrace.

“The boys will go with you back to Dragonstone where I will meet you in a couple of days” You sadly smile, your hands locked with Daemon’s as he nods giving a quick peck on your lips.

Maegor, Rhaegar, and Baelon rush towards you engulfing you in a hug as Daemon watches. “Be good as always” You whisper to them as they nod and you watch as their boat leaves, Daemon on Caraxes as he soars in the sky.

After a few days at home in Driftmark, you had yet recieved any letters from your husband, Daemon. Usually he would write to you when you were apart but nothing had arrived.

“Princess, your sons are here” A handmaiden knocks on the door as you look towards your mother, you had not been expecting them. You hurriedly walk outside, Rhaenys close behind as your boys come running to you.

Worried and confused, you hug all three of them. “What is it? Where is your father?” You ask them as they exchange looks at one another. “Father married Rhaenyra!” Baelon lets out as your eyes widen.

“W-what?” You couldn’t believe your ears. Daemon, your loving husband marrying his niece Rhaenyra. No. “It is true mother, we watched father marry Rhaenyra” Your eldest, Maegor quietly said as tears started forming in your eyes.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal and disgust. How dare Rhaenyra marry your husband after your brother died not long ago. “They killed my son, your brother y/n, so that they could marry” Your mother said through gritted teeth. A few tears roll down your cheeks as you hug your boys. They were your everything.

“We will be staying here from now on” You could tell your sons felt a sense of betrayal and hurt, as much as you did. They watched their own father marry their second cousin. Later that day, you decided to write a letter to Daemon. In the letter, you wrote that if he dared to come anywhere close to you or your children, you would not be afraid to feed him to your dragon, the Cannibal.

Not even a week later, the man had the nerve to show up at Driftmark. You had to ensure your dragon wasn’t anywhere close as he would have killed Daemon right there and then. You refused to go out and talk to him so your mother did.

You listened and watched from an open window, “I commend you for your bravery Daemon for showing up here. Though this will be your last time you ever set foot here at Driftmark or anywhere close to my daughter. I deeply regret letting my children marry you and Rhaenyra!” Rhaenys fumed as Daemon listened.

He continued to say nothing before nodding and turning around, making eye contact with you as you stare at him with no emotion. His eyes however, showed regret and sadness but you brushed it off.

6 years later…

You scoff at your mother’s words. “Luke is no true Velaryon and everyone knows that,” You stand up from your seat as Maegor looks at you. “My eldest, Maegor, is the rightful heir to the Driftmark throne, he is of my blood, true Velaryon blood”

As much as you liked the young boy, the matter of your son’s righteous title was on the line. You knew everyone would be on your side, apart from of course Rhaneyra. “Daemon would be an idiot to deny that his own flesh and blood is the heir to the Driftmark throne”

His name in your mouth was odd. You say his name with such disgust. “I would agree but he seems to be blinded by Rhaenyra now” Rhaenys gives a knowing look to her daughter.

You roll your eyes. Daemon had infact two sons with Rhaenyra and one still born daughter. Rumours had spread around saying that she gave birth to a half dragon.

“Viserys is dead, I hear Alicent and her father now rule before her son is crowned King. I dislike her truly, but she only has the right mind when it comes to birthrights” You smirk as your mother nods.

“We will travel to King’s Landing to take back what is rightfully yours Maegor” You place your hands on his shoulders as he nods at you.

“Prepare the dragons, we leave in the morrow.”

“My sweet girl!” You beam as you run up to your daughter, scooping her up in your arms. You had found out you were expecting a couple days after Daemon left Driftmark for good.

It saddened you at the same time as Daemon had always wished for a daughter and here she was, but he was in no position to be able to call her his daughter.

You gave your dragon, the Cannibal, pets as you had your daughter in front of you, gripping on the saddle. You take off and you smile at the sight beside you, Maegor on Vermithor, Rhaegar on Grey Ghost, and Baelon on Seasmoke, you late brothers’ dragon.

The sight was menacing and frightened everyone at Kings Landing. You smirk at the sight of all the dragon keepers scrambling around as you and your boys land your dragons.

“Touch any of them and my dragon will feed on you” You call out as Baelon snickers. “Ah, Princess, what a lovely delight to see you” Alicent acknowledges you and your children with a smile.

“Like wise, I am here to discuss my eldest Maegor’s birthright claim to Driftmark” You say as the Queen nods, “Of course, an audience is held today on that matter” “Thank you” You bow at her before you and your children walk into the Red Keep.

How dull the place was. It was cold and grey, definitely not fit for raising a family. You valued your years at Driftmark with your family. It was filled with nothing but happy memories after you completed your family. You often remembered how much Daemon disliked this place, saying that it was more of a prison than a castle.

“Who’s side are you on Daemon?” Rhaenyra shouts at him, Daemon was sat on a chair with his left hand massaging his temple. “I’m on no one’s side!” He yells frustratedly.

“But you know deep down Rhaenyra that your boy is no Velaryon, having him sit on the Driftmark throne is nothing but disrespectful and wrong. And you know that” He points at her.

Baffled at his husband’s words she spoke up, “It’s because he’s your son isn’t it?” She spat out. Daemon does nothing but groan and stand up.

His marriage with Rhaenyra was crumbling. At first it was perfect, an uncle who once longed for his niece was nothing but a memory. He was not happy as he used to be during his marriage with Rhaenyra, quite the opposite with you, he soon found out.

He remembers how he used to lust for Rhaenyra when she was all but a maiden, but now, she was a mother who birthed 5 children. She was different to what he wanted to believe.

He thought he could chase his younger days when Rhaenyra was in her late teens. But he was wrong. They were both dragons who clash all the time. He missed you. The simpler and happy days unlike the days he was going through in King’s Landing.

Constant fighting and being at each others throats. They both knew they were out of love for each other. “He is of Velaryon blood, is he not? His mother is a true blood making him heir” He retaliates, this argument going on for far too long.

“And you forget that Luke’s father is of true blood too!” Rhaenyra fires back, knowing her words were lies. This made Daemon laugh, “Lucerys is no son of Laenor, nor is Jacaerys or Joffrey. How long are you going to keep up this facade Rhaenyra?” The princess said nothing, she was infuriated with Daemon, as always.

You walk through the halls of the Red Keep with only your boys with you. The people who walked past awkwardly stare at you and your sons, some handmaidens of Rhaenyra most likely.

You wore a deep blue dress that cinched your waist and was a square neck exposing your collarbones. Your boys grew up into spitting images of Daemon, and so was your daughter.

The doors to the throne room opened infront of you as everyone turned their heads to your direction. You spot Alicent and her father infront of the Iron throne, her children to the left. Your mother had also arrived and brought along your nieces.

Your eyes then lock with Daemon’s for the first time in 6 years. You quickly look away from him and look at Rhaenyra who was throwing daggers your way. Maegor stares at Lucerys who shifts closer to his mother making him chuckle.

You stop in between the greens and blacks. Ever since you stepped into the room, Daemon’s eyes never left yours. You looked happy, and more alive than he felt. He then looks towards his three boy, all grown up and taller than you.

He adored them, they were his first children after all. “We gather today to discuss the rightful heir to the Driftmark Throne-“ Otto loudly says before interrupted Rhaenyra.

“Which is obviously Lucerys” She butted in making you look at her, “Speak when spoken to Princess,” Alicent calmly says making her look back to the front. “Princess y/n, state your case” Otto nodded to you.

All eyes were on you as you speak up, “If my son, Maegor was to cut his veins, pure Velaryon blood would spill out. If I was to cut Lucerys’, all but Velaryon blood would spill” You turn your head to Rhaenyra.

“Is that a threat Princess?” She sneered, holding her arm out infront of Luke as Daemon stood back without saying anything. “Would you like it to be? Your son is no Velaryon, everyone in this audience can agree. I will not have a fucking bastard sitting on my ancestral throne” You raise your voice, your body now facing hers.

“My brother would be ashamed of what is happening right now, he too knows that Maegor is the legitimate heir to the Driftmark throne. Not Lucerys.” You finish before turning back to the front, not before looking at Daemon who held a small smile.

“And to add to that, I have preposed a marriage between Maegor and Baela and Rhaegar and Rhaena” You smile towards your nieces as they smile back. Anger filled Rhaenyra. Ever since she saw your youthful looking face again, she couldn’t keep a scowl off her face.

Jealousy radiated off of her as she watched you walk down the stairs, you weren’t thickened in the waist unlike her even after birthing nearly the same amount of children, you didn’t have eyebags under your eyes and most of all, you seemed happy. Something she sought out from Daemon.

Rhaenyra also noticed the look Daemon gave her as she appeared, a look he hadn’t give her in a very long time. “Princess Rhaenyra, you may state your case”

And so she did, but it was filled with nothing but lies that she continued on. Everyone wore a bored expression as she defended her illegitimate son. A final ruling was put down, one that made Maegor heir to the Driftmark Throne.

After the crowds started filling out, Daemon had the urge to follow you and talk to you. He was no doubt still deeply in love with you. He thought marrying his niece would bring back the younger days he thoroughly enjoyed but no.

Instead, when he married her, only the days with you clouded his mind. Rhaenyra followed Daemon before they both stopped infront of an ajar door where their eyes widen in shock.

“Darling, come here” You crouched to meet her level as she wrapped her arms around your neck making soft giggles leave your mouth.

You were interrupted by the door opening. “Y/n…” Daemon started, his eyes on the little girl who looked too much like him. “What are you doing here” You questioned, placing your daughter back on the ground.

Before Daemon could speak up, Rhaenyra beat him to it, moving past him. “Who is she?” Rhaenyra questioned, you could have sworn you saw a glint of jealousy in her eyes as she looked at your daughter. “My daughter, Visenya” You proudly smirk.

You knew Rhaenyra had always wanted to name her daughter Visenya but the gods has other plans for her. “What a nice name” She shakily says before giving a tight lipped smile and rushing out of the room.

Your eyes then flicker towards Daemon who had an unreadable look on his face. “When did you find out” He questions calmly, closing the door.

“A couple days after you left Driftmark” You say in a monotone voice as Visenya busies herself with a toy. The two of you watch her as a small smile made itself on Daemon’s lips.

He hated himself so much. He hated how instead of being a faithful and loyal husband to the most beautiful soul, he decided to run after a childish dream.

“And you didn’t tell me? You didn’t think to inform your husband that you were pregnant with my child-“ “Don’t.” Your lips quiver as tears began to form. “You were not my husband. You were already married to Rhaenyra so why would I tell you?” You yell at him, your handmaiden quickly walking in to take Visenya.

“I know I made a stupid decision but she’s my child too! And you know how much I love our boys-“ He points to you, “You left them fucking traumatised! They had to watch their own father marry their second cousin. How fucked up is that?” Daemon stayed quiet at this.

You sigh before sitting down on the edge of your bed, “Does she even know who I am?” He quietly said, taking a seat beside you. “Of course not. She’s too young to understand and I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to tell her the truth” You look over to him.

He gulps but nods his head. “I understand” Daemon quietly says as you stand up. Smoothing out your dress, you start walking to the door. You give a final look towards Daemon, a single tear dropped before you quickly wipe it off and leave.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #fanfiction #house targaryen #matt smith #hotd smut #daemon targaryen smut #game of thrones #laena velaryon #laenor velaryon

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asumofwords · 9 months

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Oh my GOSSSSSH, with every chapter I post, we get closer and closer to the end and I'm literally wriggling in my chair in excitement, like holy shit! hahaha, anyway, I so hope you enjoy this new chapter and the remaining ones to come! ENJOYYYYY <3

Chapter 101: The Merciless Queen

“If we are to give Flea Bottom gold to build new dwellings, whose to say that the other small folk across the realm won’t decide to take arms and demand the same?” Lord Tyland Lannister, elder brother of Jason Lannister and Master of Coin argued, seated amongst the other Small Council members who seemed to be in a disarray since the slaying of their previous King, Aegon.

It had been a few days since his death, and whilst Aemond and yourself could not keep your hands off of each other, there was no denying the tension that still circled around the two of you.

You had been coronated as Queen Consort, a short lived affair in the throne room with only the Small Council present, letters written to be sent out shortly thereafter to their supporters. There was no celebrations to be had, no drinking or dancing. It was short, brief, and most importantly, political move.

And now, all sat in wait for the more pressing question at hand.

What was to happen to the treaty?

And yet despite this question, and the sheer multitude of meetings with the council, Aemond let the unknown hover over your head like smoke, filling your lungs thickly and choking you.

When once Maester Orwyle had asked the same question, which was asked more than once a day, Aemond had barely given the man a second glance, and redirected the question elsewhere.

In no time however, much to the urging of Otto Hightower and Lord Jasper Wylde, word would soon reach Dragonstone, and the Green Council would need to be ready for such events.

There was a very real possibility that at the knowledge of Aegon being indisposed of, and the Greens thus only having one dragon rider, may invoke the wrath and fury of all the Black’s power.

And in this moment, they had it.

And the council, knew it.

There was an all encompassing feeling of dread that filled each member. The anticipation being a most poisonous thing, and at any loud noise or uncertain sound, Alicent Hightower would jump in her seat, eyes skating to the doors of the chamber they were in, or looking out the window to the skies.

“Then see to it that they do not.” Breezed Aemond, the Conquerors Crown seated atop his head, ruby glinting in the light of the chambers.

“I do not see why we need to do so in the first place, Your Grace.” Maester Orwyle spoke, “The small folk are not in need or want, nor do they know more than what they have.”

Aemond blinked slowly, finger impatiently tapping on the table as he looked at his men and mother, the gold ring upon is finger clunking on the wooden surface.

“We have the gold, not much, but enough. As it is, their disdain for us was exaggerated by my brother and his selfish disregard for their needs." Aemond began, "I couldn’t care for what they do below in their shit and piss, but my Lady wife has spoken of the benefits of having the love of the small people, and we are in dire need of support.”

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling the eyes of all the Lords at the table, and the ever present scowl of Alicent Hightower directed at you. Swallowing, you licked your lips, fingers finding your council sphere and spinning it in its dish.

“My mother is loved by the small folk, as was I,” Before they dubbed me the Merciless, “‘The Realms Delight', they named her, most beloved and fair, much the same for my sweet aunt Helaena."

You paused, letting your gaze stop on Alicent, "Where as when they think of the King, they have little good things to say. Two Kinslayers on the throne would no doubt further press their disdain." You turned back to Aemond, "The support of the common folk is important when ruling, it makes things easier, and if the time comes, they will take up arms to support your cause.”

Larys Strong’s voice carried across the table, his high lilt directed at you. His hands were crossed over the top of his cane delicately between his knees at the table, “My spiders have told me that there are ample supporters of your rule, Your Grace.”

You scoffed, “Supporters of the Faith perhaps, or the whispers of the old militant sect even, but that support lies with Alicent, and they would surely have issue with mine and Aemond's union, as is our tradition as Targaryens, and also the very issue of us both being Kinslayers," You looked to Alicent, "Which we are very much reminded of. But the small folk, the true small folk who live in poverty, where sickness and disease is ripe, have no positive feelings of loyalty towards a King who does not see them and gorges upon riches unimaginable. My father took to the streets and killed every rapist and murderer in Flea Bottom, punished thieves and crooks, and the small people felt safer.”

“They were scared out of their wits.” Otto sighed, “The small people need nothing but the clothes on their backs. Simple minds think not of extravagant pleasures.”

Anger rolled through you, “Having proper housing and not living in the streets is not an extravagant pleasure. I would say it is a right for them to live freely and happily, to pursue their desires and passions.”

Jasper Wylde placed his long fingers upon the sphere, several gold and silver rings adorning the digits, “The Queen makes a point, Your Grace. King Jaehaerys was loved by the small folk for his benevolence, and the actions of Maegor the Cruel brought him nothing but trouble. Perhaps the spending of a few Gold Dragons on Flea Bottom’s worse affected slums could bring you support, especially now that the treaty is in question.”

Lord Jasper Wylde, Master of Laws, opened the conversation for the treaty to be discussed.

Again.

All eyes were now on Aemond, who sat stiffly in his chair, one elbow upon the armrest, the other still tapping against the table.

“Has word reached Dragonstone?” Aemond questioned Larys, noncommittally.

The brunette leant forward, bowing his head slightly as he spoke, “As it were, a spider intercepted an attempt to alert them. Though I have no doubt they will receive word by the morrow.”

The King hummed.

“Will the treaty be renewed, Your Grace?" Maester Orwyle began, eyes flicking to you, then back to the King, "I believe it to be prudent that we do so. As it were, we are outnumbered in dragons. You are but the lone rider here at the Keep.” You narrowed your eyes at Maester Orwyle, “Perhaps if we sent word and new terms, Rhaenyra will be-“

“-No.” Aemond’s word cut through the air like a knife. Crisp. Icy.

Final.

“No?” Otto questioned, “The realm will fall to war again if-“

Your heart beat against your chest like a drum, iciness spreading across your skin and at the base of your skull.

No.

“What do you mean, no?” You breathed.

Aemond did not turn to face you.

You snapped, “If you do not sign a treaty, they will come for you, Aemond. My mother and father will come to claim what is theirs.”

The King’s nostrils flared, “Let them. I ride the largest dragon in the world. If my half-sister wishes to declare war at the risk of your safety, then it shall be your blood upon her hands, not mine.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“My blood?”

Aemond did not even turn to face you.

Your hands slammed against the table, and you shot out of your chair, leaning towards your husband as you sneered, "Have you learnt nothing? You are blinded by your hatred. You will be our ruin, not Aegon.”

Aemond breathed sharply, eye solely on you as he spoke to the table, “Send coin to Flea Bottom. Hire masons and workers, or let the small folk build it themselves.” He looked to his men before finishing, “Clear the chambers.” He commanded the room, and all Lords and Lady Alicent, stood and quickly shuffled out of the room, leaving Aemond with an enraged wife.

“Are you to doom us all with your stubbornness? Have you gone mad?” You growled, “Your thirst for the throne will kill us, Aemond. My mother and father are not to be trifled with. My brother and sisters are not to be trifled with. Do you think that we will survive this?”

Aemond simply stared at you, hand still on the table tapping, whilst the other gripped the arm of the chair fiercely, knuckles white.

“Is it your true desire to have another war? Or is this a foolish little boys dream?” You said in disbelief, looking down at him from your standing position, hands still flat against the table to ground you, “I barely survived the last one, and yet you wish to play games with my mother and father? With my life? Do you know what they will do to you? What they could do to you? You would be dead before you even reached the skies.” You sneered.

The King’s lips pulled into a thin line, brows furrowed as he looked at you, barely contained anger burning behind the violet of his eye.

“They would not do it if it meant jeopardising your life.”

You flinched backwards, as though he had hit you, curling your hands into fists at your sides as you tried to steady your breathing, but panic coursed through your veins, and your throat grew tighter with each passing second.

"Is that a threat?”

Aemond frowned at you, the lines in forehead pulling the crown down in the slightest of movements. It was as though he was offended by your question, and though you had questioned every natural fibre of his being.

“You think I would harm you? After all that has happened? After all I have done for you?” His voice became raised, anger leaking into each syllable.

You scoffed, “You just said that them acting would put me at risk. What will you do? Have Ser Cole at my side, sword ready to cast against my neck or plunge into my heart?”

Aemond leant forward and sneered, “Do you truly think so lowly of me? I did this for you! I love you!”

“Then do this for me, too! Renew the treaty, Aemond.”

“I can’t do that.” He breathed.

The backs of your calves hit the edge of the chair as you leant back, looking at your uncle from down your nose, “You can. But you won’t.”

Aemond did not respond.

“Sign the treaty.” You said more sternly, anger causing the words to come out harsh, and biting.

The King's broad chest rose and fell in his robes shallowly, his one eye watching you as his hands flexed upon the table.

“Why do you wish to sign a treaty with them? After all they have done?” Aemond growled.

After all they had done?

“They cast you aside! Abandoned you here to be tormented by Aegon.” Aemond continued, voice rising.

“They did not abandon me!” You snapped, hurt and betrayal causing tears to prick in your eyes.

“Oh? But they knew what would happen to you once you were wed to me. They let you be raped. You were sold to me like a brood mare.”

“And who did those things to me?!” You screamed, a tear falling down your cheek, “Who, Aemond? Who raped me? Who defiled me? Who scarred me? Because it wasn’t them.”

Aemond’s anger seemed to bleed out of him as he looked at you.

You pushed the chair backwards hard with a kick of your foot, sending the high-backed wooden seat to crash against the stones loudly, “You raped me. You hurt me. You did that. Not them. You! You act as though you’re innocent in all of this!”

“I don’t-“

“-I will not survive another war.”

The anger was back.

Aemond’s lips curled in disgust, “You expect me to bend the knee to your mother? The very woman who wished to punish me after her son took my eye?”

Your face fell, “No.” You declared, “I expect you to give the treaty a chance. Countless lives will be lost if you start another war, Aemond. Needless blood will be shed. Could you live with yourself knowing this?”

“Yes.”

The answer came so quickly, that it seemed that Aemond had not even needed to give it a second thought. As though he had already weighed all possibilities against each other, as though he had measured the odds.

And still, he had said yes.

You swallowed thickly, wishing the damn lump to leave your throat. And so quietly, you asked a question which clawed at you from the back of you mind. A question of doubt. Of fear. Of another ‘what if’ that you had to bat away with a swift blink of your eye.

“Even if it is mine?”

It was an uncomfortable sort of silence, and this time, Aemond did not answer straight away. Not like how he had a moment before. As though he had not weighed up this question in his mind yet, or perhaps he had, and had come to no conclusion. You watched his face as he stared at you, his seeing eye flickering across your face as a finger twirled the ring upon his hand.

“I will not lose you." He began, making a move towards you, "But I will not bend a knee to Rhaenyra, and kiss her old cunny for the sake of peace.”

His tone was final, he had hissed your mothers name like a curse, and there was no changing his mind. No shifting of the tide that had been steadily building for months now, a tide which had moved away from the shore, sucking the water and life away from the beach, revealing the jagged rocks that were hidden beneath.

You blinked again, another tear falling down your cheek.

Your uncle continued, “And if it need come to war, then so it shall be.”

It was so point of fact.

So emotionless.

Toneless.

Void of anything other than finality.

War was to come.

And there would be no changing that.

“But,” Aemond’s voice startled you from your thoughts, your eyes racing over his face, “You are Queen now. My Queen. Something that is and was always your birthright.”

“Like my mothers.” You sneered.

Aemond ignored your comment and continued, “And you, as Rhaenyra’s heir shall sit the Iron Throne in her place. And then, when the time comes, our heir shall follow."

It was clear to you then, that Aemond had thought on this.

"If Rhaenyra’s concern for succession is blood, then she can be satiated in knowing that the daughter she denied shall sit where she is owed by her birthright.”

You stepped towards him, hands clenching and unclenching, “Aemond, please. Think about this. You are asking me to depose my mother.”

“I ask nothing of you. I am telling you, zaldritsos. I will not have you be pushed aside again for your bastard brother. I will not bend the knee to my half-sister. This throne is ours. It is ours by birthright. And I will be damned if I let anyone take you away from me again."

The air in the chambers shifted, and you inched towards your husband as he continued to speak.

"Do you think that if I bent the knee to them, that your father would let you stay wed to me? Think on it a moment, Y/n. Do you think that your mother would let you stay wed to a monster? The man who killed her son? They will take you from me."

You stepped away from him, turning your back as your mind raced a as you looked around the chambers, eyes casting out the veranda at the clouded skies. Dread settled in your gut.

You didn't want to be parted from him.

You loved him.

The air was charged as you spoke, voice shaking, “So what now? Are you to send word to them?”

Aemond stood behind you, the chair scraping against the stone floors.

“I will be sending Otto and Ser Cole to Dragonstone as envoys to give word to Rhaenyra and Daemon. They will be told that their blood sits upon the Iron Throne as Queen. They will be allowed to live where they do. My half-sister can have Dragonstone, I have no need for it when I have Kings Landing and you. And they will bend the knee.”

You shook your head, still not turning to face him, “You should know that they will not.”

“Not if you don’t encourage them.”

Your eyes widened as you spun on your heel to look at him.

He was deathly serious.

“You wish for me to ask them to bend the knee to you?” You laughed.

Aemond frowned, “A letter from the Queen is a hard one to refuse. Especially if the Queen is their own daughter. Tell them of the fears that you have. That war will break if they do not swear me as their King and you as their Queen. They can remain on Dragonstone, and you shall remain here, with me. Where you belong.”

He seemed so sure that it would work. So sure that a simple letter from you would bring the water back to shore. But the tide was gone from your reach, and you were anchored on the coast atop a beached ship with no way to get off.

Aemond stepped forward, cupping the side of your face gently as he looked at you, "They will listen to you.”

You grasped his wrist tightly, “I am not so sure.” Your voice was quiet, so fragile, like the finest of glass from Essos. One octave higher, one shift against your throat could cause them to crack or break.

If you did this, you would be betraying them.

You would be deposing your mother.

Aemond pulled you into a reassuring kiss, one he poured love and adoration into as he cupped your face in his hands. When he pulled back, his eye roamed your face softly, “I do not wish to see bloodshed, nor do I wish to see you harmed. This is the only way, surely you can see that."

And you did.

You did see that.

You saw it all clearly.

Your husband pressed another kiss against the top of your hairline, your eyes sliding shut as you breathed through your nose, preparing yourself for what you had to do.

"I trust that my Queen will know what to do.”

And you did.

You knew what you had to do.

And so with a short nod, you agreed to his terms.

“I will have Otto deliver your letter by hand.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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405 notes · View notes

holy-puckslibrary · 3 months

Text

━ 𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — bull-rider!MATTHEW TKACHUK x barrel racer!hughes!reader (can be read as an unnamed oc) wc — 1.8k synopsis — wear the hat, ride the cowboy—even if it might get you disowned.

note — there's one line referring to the reader as jack's twin, but no physical description is given. also, this one-shot is a "party favor" from our feb slumber party

specific content warnings under the cut.

cw — quinn being a dramatic, misogynistic douche-canoe 3000 for the entirety (ratty matty has his moments, too), no actual smut but it's heavily implied they do the dirty on the reg, a disgustingly intimate situationship — ick, off-color comment(s) relating to first times and the concept of virginity, lots and lots of familial angst (jack is a snake), oh! and more than a few loose ends... but you know the drill by now, i'm incapable of keeping a story contained

“Go on, Palomino Princess. Ride me like one of your ponies.”

Condescension drips from the lazy taunt. Matthew earns a palm to the chest for it; her ire lands with a faint thud, but he doesn’t mind. He gets off on riling her up, and after two years of backseat meetings and hushed phone calls, he’s damn good at it too. That, and she might be the most reactive person he’s ever met—and that’s saying something.

Matthew’s been going head-to-head with all three of her brothers for over a decade, and he’s known their family for even longer. Having a short fuse must be genetic.

“Y’won’t break me if that’s the hold-up. S’gonna take a hell of a lot more than a dry humpin’ buckle bunny to put me outta commission, sweetheart.”

He knows damn well she ain’t anywhere close to the derogatory term, but he likes what the complete disregard for her accomplishments does to her deceptively cherubic face.

It may look less harrowing than every other event on the card, but barrel racing ain’t for the faint-hearted. The event is a death wish personified, and it feels about as good as someone taking a metal pipe to both shins. It takes balls—metaphorically, in her case—to charge into an arena on an American Quarter horse with the intention of guiding it through a cloverleaf pattern around three barrels while sprinting at top speed, but it takes dedication and skill to succeed the way she has. The winner is determined by just thousandths of a second.

The woman perched on his tailgate is unmatched—undefeated.

Flames of pride lap at his loins, the fire of desire stoked by the wicked roll of her hips.

“Ohh—shit!” Matthew hisses, his head lolling back as his hips buck into her heat.

She smirks, apparently vindictive as ever. “How’s that, cowboy? Everything you dreamed?”

“And more,” he growls as he grabs a fistful of her backside.

His grip is tighter than it needs to be as he switches positions. Not nearly as rough as she would prefer it; beggars can’t be choosers.

Matthew steps between her knees, and, despite herself, she shivers with anticipation. Chuckling, amusement twinkles in his baby blues. “Now give me a kiss, sweetheart. My lips are feelin’ a little lonely tonight, and you happen to be wearin’ my hat, Little Miss.”

He flicks the brim of his hat. She catches it before it hits the ground before plopping it back on the rightful owner, the damage already done.

“You just love that antiquated rule,” she shakes her head while most definitely laughing at his expense. “Y’wouldn’t see any action without it, now would you?”

Matthew grins. Trading insults is his favorite form of foreplay. “Neither would you. Isn’t that your signature move, outlaw?”

“I should kick you to the back of the line with that attitude. Hell, I’d probably be better off keeping you at a distance anyway.”

“Keep mouthin’ off and see how far it gets ya. Definitely nowhere near that McMansion castle you call home, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout me, sugar. I’ve got plenty of options if I need a ride home.”

“I’ll bet, show pony. Sexiest can chaser east of the Mississippi; who wouldn’t be chomping at the bit to carry Cinderella home to her Daddy?”

Men have a habit of gawking at her; Matthew has a habit of relieving them of their teeth.

He leans in to taunt her ear with greedy lips and barbed arrogance. “Best of luck finding one that’ll fuck you better than me.”

“Do you think about other guys fucking me often?” she fires without missing a beat.

More than he would like, actually.

With a heavy, drawn-out sigh, he runs a hand over his face. His patience is running thin, and his jeans are starting to chafe. Exasperated, he tries coaxing her to reason, “Sweetheart, c’mon. We both know you want this—want me. Stop makin’ this so damn hard.”

“Why? Because you already are?”

Matthew makes an exaggerated show of play-biting her scrunched-up nose.

“Woman, you drive me insane.”

“It’s why you’re so obses—“

Her teasing is thwarted by the sound of her own name. Spat out of her older brother’s mouth like a heirloom gone sour, it's no great surprise Quinn looks at her like he can’t recognize her. Like a stranger—like a traitor.

Guilt, thin and fleeting, pieces the tenderness between her ribs.

She squirms, attempting to put some distance between them as if that could erase the discovery—and her culpability—from his mind. Matthew and his shit-eating grin keep her from getting too far but don’t be fooled. This is no chivalrous encouragement to stand her ground. It’s got nothing to do with her and everything to do with her brother.

Quinn rages outside the hauler housing Matthew’s precious 3500 Laramie. Walking by, seeing the main trailer hitched Brady’s F-350 made his stomach churn. It didn’t sit right, and now he knew why.

“You can’t be serious! Nuh-uh, no—no fucking way. Get out here before I drag you out myself.”

At his tone, what little remorse she felt dissipates. They were both far too old for his tired, overbearing song-and-dance.

“Who died and made you king?”

Quinn, blinded by overripe anger, sweeps over the irritation, twisting her tongue and the disbelief arching her brow. “I thought I made myself clear last time. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Oh, crystal, Quinny.” Matthew snorts at the juvenile nickname but is swiftly cajoled into silence with a pinch to the side. “Message received.”

“Then quit screwin’ around and get your ass back to the truck before Dad blows a gasket. He’s been lookin’ all over for you. So, you best be thanking your lucky stars I got here first. That its me catchin’ you red-handed colluding with the enemy.”

He’s so serious, nearly shaking with rage, it’s difficult not to laugh. She can count on one hand the instances wherein her brother became visibly angry—all of them involving the man standing between her dangling feet. She fares better than him, but that’s to be expected. Unlike her accomplice, for her, there’s real risk involved.

“Just ‘cause I heard you don’t mean I have to listen.”

Lips pressed to her temple, Matthew clicks his tongue in approval. ‘Bout damn time she started giving back what Quinn so readily dishes out.

“Look, y’can spread your legs for anyone with big dreams and a buckle some other night. Parade around the circuit acting like a slut, see if I give a shit. But not tonight. And not with him.”

The knowing glint in Quinn’s blackened eyes is telling, but it isn’t as menacing as he thinks it is. The Hughes heir apparent couldn’t be judge, jury, and executioner. He doesn’t have a lick of proof. Just suspicion and a personal vendetta the size of Texas.

A safety net swaying below, Matthew decides to have a little fun. “Whoa, settle down, Trust Fund. Y’can’t talk to a lady like that, ‘specially not your sister.”

He’s no white knight, but he can pretend.

And isn’t that what you’re all doing? Pretending to be people you aren’t. Acting out your roles, putting on a show. After all, a performance will always be more entertaining than the truth.

“—and here I thought etiquette classes were a Rodeo Royalty rite of passage. Glad t’know she ain’t the only roughneck hellion in your family tree, Huggy.”

Quinn’s jaw tightens. His tongue threatens to put a hole through his cheek. Hands on his hips, the eldest sibling only nods. He ignores Matthew entirely.

“Real winner y’got there. A class act. You really know how to pick ‘em—cream of the goddamn crop. Say, what’re you gonna do when he inevitably gets bored of you? When he gets his hands on a fresh doe-eyed virgin to tarnish?”

After she finishes with Matthew, she’s kicking Jack’s sorry ass.

Those anxieties—and that majorly personal tidbit of information—were shared in confidence. Because unlike her older brother, she trusted her twin. Well, she used to, at least. Luke’ll be over the moon at the chance to be her favorite.

She bares her teeth like a scorned lapdog. “We’re not kids anymore, Q. You can’t push me around whenever you want or tell me what to do like you’re my father. And you sure as shit can’t bully me into submission, either. Give it up, or get lost.”

“Whatever,” Quinn barks as he backs away from the trailer. “Your fuckin’ funeral.”

Listening to the fading sound of her brother’s Ariats pounding through the dirt, she buries her face in the warm, familiar crook of Matthew’s neck; she needs a moment alone. He seems to understand this, his mouth zipped shut as he runs calloused hands up and down her sides. She’s breathing heavily, but he does her the simple mercy of leaving it be.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was growing on you,” Matthew hums, a low-maintenance attempt to lighten the mood.

They don’t do the touchy-feely BS. It’s one of the things that reeled him in—and kept him coming back.

“But you do.” She pulls away to look up at him, chin resting on his sternum. He hates that her melancholic eyes are red-rimmed. “—and stop thinking, it doesn’t suit you.”

“And what does, princess? I’m dyin’ for your insight.”

“Shut the door and I’ll show you.”

He blinks, taken aback. Who is this brazen tart, and when did she take your place? Matthew wonders to himself. Maybe he is the bad influence everyone paints him as… He hasn’t really thought about it until now, and it's troubling the way it makes his chest tighten.

Matthew clears his throat—and, from his mind, the distressing notion that he’s ruined someone good with his carelessness—as he leans over.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He pulls the hauler’s heavy metal door shut with clamorous finality.

Matthew Tkachuk might be the most self-serving swindler on dirt, but Quinn Hughes is just another name on his list. A box to tick and then forget. He wouldn’t lose sleep, it wasn’t like their friendship meant a damn thing. Not anymore. A friend turned foe, reduced to another obstacle in his way, a hurdle to jump.

Tonight, his sister’s fealty; tomorrow, his title.

Retribution is at his fingertips, so close he can taste it. Yet, it would seem that Matthew merely traded one hornet’s nest for another.

At least this one’s easy on the eyes.

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sarafinamk · 1 month

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Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 2

Summary: The riders know you're addicted to the red smoke. Certain members thought they could help you during that point of your recovery, but that proves to be more difficult than they anticipated.

(This is the OFFICIAL continuation of Part 1. Please check out the talented @onyxonline for more context. Since this chapter contains a lot of sensitive topics, I will try my hardest to be respectful about this. The next chapter will be a little more light-hearted, I promise.)

TW: Blood, Injury, Near Death, Imprisonment, Trauma, Death mentions, Demon Mentions, Hallucinations, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Drug Withdrawal, Drug Addiction, Self harm, Accidental Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Slight cursing

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The next few days after your operation pass in a blur. Everyone has been trying to keep themselves occupied, holding on to what little air of normalcy still hung in the air. None of the riders have been able to fully process what could only be described as the biggest turn of events in their time fighting the war. It’s not the first time a member of the cult has had to undergo treatment. Victims that got converted due to planet invasion and nonconsensual exposure to the red smoke are rescued all the time. It is basic protocol for Space Riders. Sometimes a priest would be rescued. The story of how those members came to be priests varies. Some joined of their own free will, while others fought before the addiction made them lose the will to fight.

But you?

Archangels are infamous for their unwavering loyalty to the Prototype. They are the Prototype’s right-hand man, their council, and their second in command. Archangels eat, sleep, and breathe the Prototype and expect others to do the same. There are only a few known attempts to rescue archangels in history. The stories ended in one of three ways: they go back to the Prototype, (sometimes with a new band of “loyal” followers), they slaughter their rescuers, or they take their own life as a last resort.

Knowing that has made most of the Space Riders tense, Bubba included. The elephant has arguably been the tensest. Not even the sight of you resting in a cell with power mufflers on your wrists is enough to put him slightly at ease. He wasn’t a complete stranger to Aether magic (what others refer to as Divinity powers.) Granted, he only ever got to study this powerful and unique kind of sorcery through the catalogs, a few ancient ruins, and his team’s battles with you. Even then, doubt swarmed him with questions concerning how effective the cell, let alone the power mufflers will be in the long run.

Bubba sighs, pinching the bridge of his trunk as the signs of yet another headache emerge. That was one long argument with the Commander and council he would rather not revisit. Not that there are any that Bubba would like to recall. Dogday, despite all his good intentions, didn’t make it any easier for anyone. The two riders may have convinced the higher-ups, but the elephant knows that this is not the last time they will have this conversation with the Commander and council. The thought of that makes him take a swig from his coffee mug.

Problem number one may have been resolved for now, but now there’s problem number two: your red smoke addiction. With no red smoke to give you, it didn't take long for the symptoms to show up. Your feverish face contorts into a grimace yet again. Bubba glances at the vital charts. Of course, none of the numbers look any better than they did 10 minutes ago. He doesn't know why he hoped for expected anything different. Hopefully, the pain medication will do its job soon.

Bobby rushes back to your bedside with a cold, wet towel placed on your head. It's been a common occurrence with her ever since your operation. The "around the clock" care increased tenfold after the first signs of your red smoke withdrawal emerged. She even has the dark circles and bags under her eyes to prove it. Even when she's running on nothing more than fumes (and a few cups of coffee), she still runs around like she has had a good night's worth of sleep. Bubba can't help but sigh to himself.

The two medics are doing what they can to keep you comfortable and stable, but Bubba knows that the two of them will not be enough to help you right now. Hell, even Catnap's powers, despite helping you settle down and sleep, isn't a miracle cure for stabilizing your vitals in the long run. If Bubba wasn't tied up with diplomatic matters, he would take over more shifts for Bobby so that she could get some rest. Unfortunately, the others don't have the medical training so tasking them with watching over you is out of the question. Bubba insists on taking you to the HQ’s treatment center. Bobby refuses every time the idea is mentioned, insisting that the two of them are able to look after you themselves. That led to a few strong disagreements. Bubba may be miffed but can't say he blames Bobby for being concerned about the possibility of (1) another potential massacre on your end and (2) you being mistreated by those you’ve wronged. Unlike the two riders, however, the people at the center have the resources and training to help you.

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*MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING, PROCEED AHEAD WITH CAUTION*

You don't know how long you've been here. You can't remember. You just remember waking up to bright lights and a figure or two... maybe a few... standing over you. But then you went back into the world of darkness. Did you really wake up or was it one nonsensical dream?

You don't know.

You REALLY don't know.

It doesn't matter right now. All you know is that you're stuck in hell, and this is worse than what you grew up hearing about. Your powers stopped working, so you can’t escape. There was nowhere to run where those… things won’t find you and bring you back to your prison and torture you. Sometimes you can see the faces of your enemies before those things morphed into… something sinister. Your stomach was doing summersaults. There was a pounding in your head and chest that just won't stop. A burning tightness spread from your chest to your throat, leading you to choking and gasping at this point. This fire smoldering inside you just won’t die. All you want right now is to drop to the floor, close your eyes, and sleep. Your heavy, aching limbs beg for it, but no matter how hard you try, your head buzzes in protest.

All you need is some red smoke. Just a whiff. Hell, just a tiny little sniff. You don't care. You just need it coursing through you right now. It'll make all the agony stop. You keep praying, BEGGING, to the Prototype to forgive you, to save you from this damnation.

Yet he never answers…

Why won't he hear you?

You know you failed him, but you didn't mean to. You would never disobey him. Not after everything he did for you. You did everything right your whole life to show your gratitude and love for him and you still ended up here-

A searing sensation from your wrist pulls you away from your thoughts. You turn it over and you see... red...

It’s so bright...

So beautiful...

And it's spreading to the white decorating your arms. Your fingers, looming above your forearm are also decorated with red. For the first time, you deliberately take in slow, deep breaths. You take in the red now seeping through the white. With shaky fingers, you slowly unwrap the soaking red barrier on your forearm. To your joy, the red spread rapidly from your bare forearm all the way down to your fingertips. Your red-stained fingers brush over your forearm, painting it with more red. At that moment, you smile, knowing your prayers had been answered. It doesn’t have that sweet aroma as usual, but it will once you allow more to spread around you. Without hesitation, you got to work on the other parts of you that were wrapped in white. Thankfully, there were plenty. You've been wrapped up in white for so long. It would look SO MUCH BETTER in red. You will do ANYTHING just to see red.

You also did have to rip out some stubborn black stringy parasites from your torso in the process. Once you managed to get every single one out, though, there was so much more red embracing you in a warm hug. It was just like all the other times. It was like the Prototype was with you again. It burned so much at first, but after some time, a cold wave of euphoria washes over your entire body. You breathe out a sigh of relief because for the first time in a long time, you can’t feel any pain. Now that there's red around you, you can finally sleep peacefully.

Much better...

Darkness begins enveloping your vision, before being dragged back by... screaming and something shattering? It's hard to tell. All you can make out are a pair of red paws being wrapped around you and lowering you to the ground. A red figure pulls you close to it, but you didn’t mind. Everything about the red figure is so warm you just want to snuggle next to it for eternity. You close your eyes, taking in that warmth. It feels so good to sleep again.

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The Space Riders decided to have dinner at Kissy’s Diner. Unfortunately, nothing on the table looks appealing enough to eat. They either stared blankly or picked at their food and drinks mindlessly. No words were exchanged amongst the seven of them, not even one of Kickin’s and/or Hoppy’s stupid jokes to lighten the mood. But what was there to joke about right now? What was there to even talk about?

Picky sighs, noticing one particular member still missing. She wishes she could say she was surprised, but that doesn’t mean a perfectly good meal should go to waste (even if everyone else’s meals have long since gone cold). The pig stands up, exchanges quick goodbyes with the six present members, asks Kissy for take-out boxes for the entire table, and rushes out of the diner. She makes a beeline the one place their missing member could be considering recent events.

It was just supposed to be a quick trip to your cell to deliver dinner for both you and Bobby. If you were going to stay here, you needed some nourishment to help recover. And Bobby, (bless the kind-hearted bear), has been so busy helping you through your withdrawal that she hasn’t had a lot of time to rest let alone take a break. She can’t remember the last time she saw Bobby leave your side for reasons that didn’t include retrieving medication and other things meant for your comfort. Not even Dogday was able to convince her to rest for a while. (Pretty rich coming from HIM if you ask the pig.)

Bobby only left for a few minutes for some water and more medication. Apparently, you were having a hard time breathing. Picky follows Bobby to your cell and when they got there, there you were with scratch marks and aggravated open wounds. Not only were there now bloody bandages laying sprawled on the floor, but you went as far as to rip out your stitches. The pig shudders remembering all that blood on you while you stand there muttering things like, “More red. Not enough. Need more.”

For as long as she lives, Picky doesn’t think she’ll ever forget that scream from Bobby before she ran to catch you. Not even the shattering of glass and ceramics can drown out the bear’s screams and pleas for you to stay awake. Picky remembers rushing for Bubba which ended up with her alerting the entire team. Dogday raced to the cockpit immediately to notify the Commander about the emergency. The others followed Picky down to your cell. When they reached you two, they find Bobby’s trembling hands pressing a bloody rag against your bleeding torso. Poor girl was barely able to keep the rag steady. Bubba, Picky, and Crafty rush to your unconscious figure while Catnap and Kickin gently lead Bobby out the cell. She protested but couldn’t escape the boys’ grasps. All she could do was watch Bubba bark out orders to the other girls, including Hoppy who oddly had been standing frozen in place, staring the whole time. Picky and Hoppy ran to and fro with whatever Bubba demanded while he and Crafty worked together to keep you alive long enough for Dogday to get you to the station.

After 11 minutes, the crew finally made it to the space station. Dogday leads a team of medics to you and… well the rest is history.

*END OF TRIGGERING PASSAGE*

All the riders quickly exited their spacecraft shortly after the medics took you away. None of them wanted to stay on the ship right now. After some time, Bobby said that she was just going to get some “fresh air.” But just as Picky predicted, Bobby is, instead, sitting outside your blood-stained prison cell, curled in on herself with her head buried in her knees.

“Bobby?” Picky settles down next to her, gently placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Bobby slowly raises her head. Her muzzle is wet and the cascade of tears soaking into her fur isn’t helping.

“It’s all my fault.” Bobby takes a deep, shaky breath. “I shouldn’t have left (Y/n) alone…”

Picky opens her arms and Bobby leans into the pig’s embrace without a second thought. “No, it’s not your fault. No one could have known this would happen.”

That was met with more shaking, hiccupping, and whimpering as the tears began seeping onto Picky’s sleeve. She didn’t mind at all. The pig just whispers more soothing words and assurances while rubbing circles around the other girl’s back. They stayed like that for who knows how long. (Now Picky wishes they’d invested in a clock for the cells). Eventually, Bobby ran out of tears, but she remains curled up in Picky’s arms. She hasn’t bothered moving from her spot, instead opting to stare at the metal floor. Picky can hear her occasionally let out a heavy sigh. How this girl has not fallen asleep yet despite pulling frequent all-nighters for the last few weeks is beyond the pig.

“You know… It’s not forever,” Picky began gently. “It’s just until they get better. We can always contact the facility about their progress. We can even schedule visits with them.” Picky didn’t miss the way Bobby’s frown deepened nor the way her gaze remained hardened on the cold metal floor. “Hey, they’re going to be okay.”

The only response Picky gets is a brief nod. It seems to be the only thing Bobby has the energy to do right now.

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Quick note - I can't believe this story got this much attention! Thank you everybody for your support. And again, sorry for the confusion yesterday. I didn't meant to post the draft. I was not paying attention to what I was pressing when I was editing. Sometimes I hate writing on mobile phones. 😆

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brujahinaskirt · 1 year

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Just some lil' thangs you might not notice about the level of detail RDR2 puts into Arthur's interactions with horses if you aren't personally experienced with horses:

[Sorry if this has been done! I couldn't find a post like it in recent tumblr history, and hope I can at least add some thoughts that haven't been analyzed to death already!]

(First, a note about me: I was raised on a quarter horse ranch and trained by a cadre of old-school cowboys in the Western tradition. Some of them were excellent teachers and some of them were crabby-faced bastards who thought "horsemanship" = engaging in a constant war with your horse... which gives me a little insight into positive and negative horsemanship styles on display in RDR2.)

(Second, thanks to fellow horsegirl @mangocats for helping me compile this list!)

(Third, a simple note to say that although I playfully use the term "horsegirl" in this post, the notes here apply to any gender. Same goes for the use of terms like "horsemen," which is not commonly used in the Western equestrian world to indicate a rider's real gender.)

Now, without further ado:

Press X to Calm. Arthur uses a tried-and-true low-stress, gradual escalation method of approaching and calming a spooked horse that begins with establishing physical contact with one hand and slowly increasing contact until the horse is fully calm and is once more amenable to human direction & commands. This is usually a preferable method to getting a frightened horse under control imo, but it's a "soft hand" method, and not something you always see in machismo-loaded equestrian circles. I've written about this a little in another meta post, so I won't get too deeply into it here.

Overall Horsemanship Style. You'll notice that while he does occasionally drive them hard in emergencies such as escaping the law or chasing a train, Arthur never "forces" his horses to comply with commands; in other words, he doesn't use his strength to try and bully a horse into doing something, like crossing a river, or physically punish a horse to "desensitize" it. "Forcing" horses to do things using tack designed to create discomfort or using raw bodily intimidation + fear & pain-motivated negative reinforcement is a tragically common tradition in old-school Western riding (and still advocated by some popular TV equestrians whom I think are straight-up animal abusers... if you know you know). It's dismal, but for a lot of the cowboys I know/knew, when a horse isn't obeying, you need to "show it who's boss." Arthur never approaches animals this way. By contrast, especially for the time period, he is exceedingly patient with horses and animals in general. We can even see this in his dialogue to wild horses; when they gradually calm down after the initial "breaking in" process, Arthur usually says something companionable like, "See, we're friends now."

And a sub-point on that: Horsemanship Temperament. Arthur never gets mad at or yells at his horse. Even when he gets chucked to the ground, he'll yell DAMN, THAT HURT, and then it's back to trying to calm the spooked horse. Which is exactly the right attitude to have. (Though if you've never been hurled face-first into a pile of sun-baked manure because your horse saw, idk, a twig on the road, you might not appreciate how even-tempered a character Arthur is for never succumbing to the temptation to yell, "COME ONNNN GIVE ME A BREAK IT'S A STICK YOU SILLY BITCH!")

Horse responsiveness. The horse emotional cues in this game are incredible, from their reactions to other animals and weather events to their reactions to Arthur. You can see the horse's neck muscles tense and relax when being calmed, their eyes changing in size, their head drop and raise in response to the reins, and their annoyance seeping through with stomps and pinned ears well before they start to spook. When Arthur speaks to his horses, you can even see a subtle ear flick backwards as they listen to him. When he gives certain commands (such as a mild squeeze of the knees to speed up a bit), a calm and attentive horse will often issue an affirmative snort; this is incredibly lifelike and essentially a "roger roger" between horse and rider. I was also impressed that Arthur uses his thighs and his knees to cue his horse more than his heels. Usually you just see the dramatic heel cues in in video games, but in real life, a rider gently but firmly squeezes their knees/thighs far more often than laying into their horse with boot heels, which is a fabulous way to get sent to the moon. One thing I would have liked to see is more riderless idle horse animations. Lazy or bored horses do a very classic pose where they rest their weight on one side, cock a hip out, and jauntily kick a back hoof up. It would have been right at home at the hitching posts in RDR2, and the horses are otherwise so lifelike, I find myself missing this little pose.

Historical bits. As players, we don't have much choice with this, since Rockstar matched bits to saddles rather than letting us customize them. With that disclaimer out of the way: Arthur uses a wide range of bits, some of them much harsher than others, designed to offer more control over a difficult horse's head through pressure points within the mouth. This is historically sound and far from obsolete in modern horsemanship, though I would certainly avoid using some of the harsher bits in RDR2 on my horses to avoid hurting them accidentally. That said, it's important to note that "harsh" control bits (like those wickedly straight-shanked bits you see with some of the cooler saddle styles) aren't instantly or automatically painful. While many of us modern horsegirls may frown upon the just-for-the-hell-of-it use of many styles of old-school, Wild West bit, in the hands of an experienced horseman with a good sense of appropriate rein pressure (which we can assume Arthur is), even a curb bit should not be a tool of pain. In the hands of a novice, however, some of those bits would absolutely hurt a poor horse's mouth and are typically reserved for troublesome (potentially dangerous) animals who may need to be curtailed quickly. I'm assuming Rockstar chose them for style more than characterization... but I do wince when I see those hard stops with the straight shanks, every time.

Horsetalk. We all know Arthur baby talks horses, and that his babble to his horse increases in affection with bonding level and varies a little depending on the horse's sex. But he also does something peculiar and frankly delightful with his vocal modulation on certain horse chatter lines. In those moments where he seems to go a little vibrato, warbling his voice as he talks ("waiaiaiaiaiaiaiat! come bahahahahack!" he calls after a fleeing mustang), Arthur is actually mimicking calming/positive horse sounds (usually a friendly nicker or a greeting whinny) in an attempt to communicate in horse language. While I think a TON of horsegirls have secretly nickered at our horses when no one else is around the stable, making horse noises at your horse is not a "traditional" training technique, and imo is something other gang members would definitely make fun of him for. It is also very adorable. I wanted to add that while horses are excellent at noise commands (like whistles, clucks, kisses, etc.), they usually aren't very good at identifying spoken word commands, including their own names. Therefore, the majority of the talking Arthur does to his horse is just free companionable chatter, much like we babble to our house pets. The command is in the cluck, the leg pressure, the yah, the rein slap; it's not the spoken, "Come on, girl, here we go!" That's just Arthur being a horsegirl.

Saddle checks. If you pay close attention, in cutscenes and in the map, Arthur will occasionally reach down and test various pieces of his saddle. This is particularly true with checking the cinches (those big straps that loop behind the front legs and under the belly), which good riders often do, as saddles can adjust during a ride. Straps that are too tight or too loose will cause a horse discomfort, since they change the way the saddle rests upon them and distributes the rider's weight. You can even watch the saddle shift when Arthur mounts and dismounts, reflecting the changed distribution in weight! This honestly floored me the first time I saw it. Rockstar really consulted people who know their stuff.

Bad Habits. IMO, Arthur's a little slouch-backed in the saddle. This is noticeably worse if he's hungry or sleepy, but even well-fed and rested, his shoulders drop and curve out his spine more than is ideal. This won't hurt his horse, but it will come back to bite him directly in the lower back as he ages, and I argue it's probably biting him in the ass a little now. (More on that below.) Arthur's "behind the horse" etiquette isn't particularly lifelike. In RDR2 (as in life), sometimes idling or benignly messing around behind a horse will cause them to randomly kick, and any equestrian knows not to hang out aimlessly in the kick zone. IRL, if you're about to walk close behind a horse, it's good etiquette to reach out and gently lay a hand on a horse's hip to let them know you're going to pass behind them before you step into the kick zone. I would have liked to see an animation for this, but I'd guess this would have been a real pain to animate without "locking" Arthur in place (as with the petting and brushing animations), so I can't really count this against him in good conscience. He also holds his reins in a full fist rather than between the appropriate fingers. This is a novice mistake, but I'm guessing this is an animation choice more than a characterization one, because I can't imagine getting those wobbly rein physics to rest perfectly between a model's wee little fingers. Which brings us to...

Reins. Arthur keeps a pretty tight (though not oppressive) grip on the reins when he has a horse in motion, facilitating quick communication from rider to horse and increased emotional response from the horse, and he tends to use both reins when he isn't holding something else. This increases control and often allows for clearer communication between horse and rider in comparison to the laxer "rein knot" one-handed Western style. More on that point: Arthur sometimes holds the reins in one hand. This is not lazy horsemanship, but rather a mainstay of the Western riding tradition; holding the reins in one hand allows for a rider to keep one hand free for whatever they might need... usually rope/weapons. Using two hands, one rein in each, does deliver much more refined control (especially with a nervous or inexperienced horse), which is why you often see Arthur switch between one- and two-handed riding. Rockstar also makes the clever choice to make reins “stretchy” so they move with the neck and simulate rider give and restraint, rather than having them just flop around at a static length. This makes reining feel a lot more dynamic and responsive, in my opinion.

Bareback vs. Saddle: To Rockstar's credit, riders' carriage when bareback is entirely different from the saddle carriage animations, and displays a lower center of gravity.

This note is a bummer, but it is, I feel, an important one to know. Arthur is WAY TOO BIG to ride a significant number of horses in the game. Horses are not bikes or cars. In real life, it's extremely important to consider a rider's weight and height and general carriage when matching them with a horse, especially for long-distance rides... and unfortunately, Arthur is prohibitively huge. If I saw a man Arthur's size astride that teeny little Morgan, boots tips damn near dragging, I'd give him a piece of my damn mind. That said, it's just a video game, so if you love that white Arabian or that sweet little Morgan, ride without shame; you are not hurting a pixel horse! But if you're into max realism or a horse an experienced rider like Arthur might conceivably choose for himself, go for something larger, leggier, and stronger. Though Rockstar fictionalized their breeds a little bit, I think one of their taller well-balanced styles like the Dutch warmblood, standardbred, Hungarian, Andalusian, or even one of those svelte Americanized Belgians suits Arthur much more comfortably. Online's Kladruber would also be an excellent choice for Arthur. (Ain't nobody saying SHIT to Arthur Morgan on a heavy breed like a Shire, though they aren't well suited for everyday long-distance all-terrain riding, and I feel sympathy pains about that leg spread just thinking about it. Speaking of...)

Real talk about Arthur's "swagger": Though I'm 100% sure it's a dominance thing for some crusty ol' cowboys, most equestrians don't saunter around Like That TM because they are listening to Rod Stewart croon If You Want My Body And You Think I'm Sexy at all times. That "swagger" is just... well... to be blunt, it's sort of what happens to your gait after you spend all day with your legs straddling a big animal moving on rough terrain. Hang out with some adults who have ridden horses daily since they were wee beans and they'll tell you allllll about what it can do to your posture. Contrary to cowboy jokes, it's not so much about being bowlegged (which is massively exaggerated as it pertains to horseback riding) as it is about lowering one's center of gravity to compensate for things like muscle strain, spinal compression, and lower back pain. Due to the high impact nature of riding, many career horsepeople develop chronic back problems and "swaggers," and for some it's eventually more comfortable to ride than to walk. Not saying you can't hc an Arthur who struts his stuff, of course! Just saying that, for those of you who might struggle to reconcile Arthur's blisteringly low self-esteem in his physical appearance with his "swagger," here's a horse world answer.

Knights Templar'ing it. This is another bummer for a ton of cute fanfic scenes, but riding two-to-a saddle is really not good for a horse. It's not just about raw weight, but about the distribution of that weight and where the pressure rests on a horse's back/organs. A bean like Little Jack sitting right in Arthur's lap isn't going to add too much stress to a horse big enough to carry a tanky dude like Arthur comfortably, but a whole second adult sitting behind a saddle is a very different story. Imagine the difference between carrying someone piggyback versus having someone stand on your spine! It's all about the position. Larger breeds can tolerate riding double for a while, but it should not be done for long distances, and it definitely should not be done if a rider expects to need heavy exertion from the horse. Adults riding double doesn't happen too often in RDR2 (usually just during an emergency), so this isn't a critique of Rockstar or Arthur; it's more so a helpful realism note for fanworks. An experienced horsegirl like Arthur is sure not to ride double casually. Pro-tip: If you want someone to teach your (non-bean-sized) OC how to ride a horse, consider having the teacher controlling the horse from the ground via a lead/lunge line while your OC sits in the saddle.

Oof, that smarts... When Arthur picks up hay bales with short sleeves on/bare hands, he makes a soundless "OOF OOOH EEEE OUCH" face. The first time I saw this, I absolutely lost it with glee. Anyone who has moved hay (or straw; they're different!) with bare arms knows how prickly and scratchy and itchy it is, and it's loving little touches like this that make RDR2's horses feel so darn real.

That's all I can think of for now! I hope this list was at least somewhat helpful, even if it's far from an all-encompassing resource on horsey stuff in RDR2. Happy riding, meatverse horsegirls & virtual horsegirls, and remember to always thank your horse :)

#rdr2 #red dead redemption #arthur morgan #horsegirl gamergirl hours #long post #redmeta

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colormepurplex2 · 9 months

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On Wings of Mist & Memories | JJK

▻ On Wings of Mist & Memories ↳ DragonRider!Jungkook x FieldScribe!f.Reader ⤜ Exiled Royalty, High Fantasy AU ⤜ Enemies to Lovers | Angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 39,753 ⤜ Summary: You’re a Psion—disguised Field Scribe—of the Golden Kingdom of Bolas, attached to the Front Wing Infantry. After an ambush from the sky rips down the safe walls around you, you find yourself at the mercy of a brutal man, his dragon, and his shadows. ⚠️ Crass language, combat/violence, minor character deaths, talk of war, brief nudity (nonsexual, mostly), sexual references and feelings, flashback minor character death, mild sexual tension, suggestive inner thoughts, lots of sexual tension, crude banter, fingering, kissing, dirty talk, teasing, shadow penetration/sex (it's exactly what you're probably thinking it is: fun af), lots of praise, sexual pleading/begging, endearingly awkward sexual tension, shameless flirting, oral m. receiving, shadow clit play, nipple pinching/teasing, v. sex, mild cum play & eating, multiple orgasms, sad feelings/thoughts of the future, fighting, mild violence, implied minor character death, minor character terminal sickness that leads to off-page death, talk of forced bonds, heartache, pregnancy, off-page childbirth Each chapter will have specific warnings listed.

Chapter 1: Shadowsword

Chapter 2: Oath Breaker

Chapter 3: Burnished Heart

Part of the Bangtan Writers HQ August 2023 “A Love Like War” Writing Event.

A special thank you to @hisunshiine @downbad4yoongi & @peachiilovesot7 for being the best betas!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

Glossary/Map Mave - dragon rider who can wield magic, tethered to the soul of their dragon when they bond (death for both if one dies) Psion - infinite memory/recall Reaver - a dragon that can wield magic, tethered to the soul of the rider they bond (death for both if one dies) Noks - infantry soldiers, humanoids who can enter berserk/rage mode Rider - regular dragon rider, no magic, uses bows or scouts Brute - riderless dragon, usually wild and very dangerous Wielder - magic user, no dragon needed Signis - the designated/specific type of power someone wields Helnite - metal ore that can cut off magic from its user Golden Blight - incurable blood disease

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2023-08 ColorMePurplex2

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook imagines #fantasy jungkook #dragonrider jungkook #bts fantasy au #bts smut #bts angst #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts enemies to lovers #bts royalty #bts imagines #bangtanwhq

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allelitewrestlings · 9 months

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#jon moxley #wrestlingedit #aewedit #defy #aew x defy #defy wrestling #aew #event: death rider #ours: gifs #maker: s #*#tw: flashing gif

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lazymonth · 3 months

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—— Acedia the Ghost(ie) rider for Earth-72609 ——

In this universe Acedia used to be a normal human until the sin of sloth, Belphegor choosing her to be the punisher of the human spirit..

[ Acedia made by @hollowsart ]

Full story ————————

Long ago, Belphegor, sin of the sloth, had a job sorting human souls to choose which sin they should be punished but as sin of sloth of course she will be too lazy to do the work all by herself. It’s giving her an idea to choose someone to do this work for her. If she wants someone to sort human souls on earth she needs a human after Belphegor design to go on earth and choose a human who’ll do anything for her. It's not easy but at least she finally found it

In the 18th century, it had a poor family that was about to die of hunger and they have nothing left now.. But before their death has come Belphegor shows herself up first to make a deal with them. She’ll give them one thing that will change their life forever but one of them needs to be her servant. Of course they don't want to but because of hunger make them doesn't have a choice

After that this family has a curse. One of them in every generation has a destiny to turn into the soul punisher called Ghost rider. But here comes the current generation, Acedia. She doesn't know anything about her family curse and moving to NYC after graduation and living a normal life for a while, one day in the middle of the night after work.. The time has come when Belphegor showing herself in front of her and tell everything about family curse even Acedia doesn't want or prepare for all of this but just like other family members, she doesn't have a choice

Belphegor tells her everything about what Ghost rider us and how they work. Event week Acedia needs to turn into Ghost rider at least one time for hunting down human souls like crime for review they sin after that the souls will get mark by itself which sin they should get punished after they're dead. Will, at least Acadia don't need to kill people by herself

#marvel #spider sona #ghost rider #oc #original character #not actually my oc #thank you Ghostie for let me put Acedia in my universe #procreate #procreateart #procreatedrawing #drawing

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bonnie-aphrodite · 4 months

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Trolls HTTYD AU

I don't really post anything but I had an awesome idea and I'm obsessed with it.

So it's set in the HTTYD universe BUT Peppy decides to lead around a third of Berk's population on a journey to find an island with no dragons. This happens a few years before Hiccups birth and most Vikings thought them cowards so they are forgotten by the people of Berk. Peppy is a fearsome and strong Viking but wants a peaceful place to raise Poppy and Viva, the events of the journey mirror the trollstice escape to a certain degree.

Branch

A Whispering Death named Thorns

Branch is the first in the village to befriend a dragon despite fearing them the most

He helps Branch dig out his bunker

Thorns is kept secret until Poppy and her dragon need to be rescued

Thorns likes to coil around Branch to sleep

Branch is used to diving out of the way of Thorns randomly barreling through the tunnels in the bunker

Poppy

A Scuttleclaw she names Flutterclaw

Goes off to befriend a dragon immediately after hearing about the Dragon riders on Berk and stumbles across her

Flutterclaw is just as upbeat as Poppy, she's almost never tired

She's named Flutterclaw because we know Poppy isn't the best at naming things on the spot (Tiny Diamond)

They invent dragon-back acrobatics for fun

John Dory

A Snafflefang, it's Rhonda :)

When JD abandoned his brothers he sailed to Neverglaide Mountain and met her by accident

Rhonda had never met a Viking before and just treated the poor guy like a scared hatchling

JD is freaking out but eventually they come to an understanding

They've wandered together ever since

The first character to befriend a dragon

SpBruce

A Scauldron! (Not sure of the name yet)

When he left Bruce went to a neighbouring tribe and established an inn for travelers after meeting Brandy

It was very successful until the Scauldron decided to stake claim

The two had an ongoing rivalry so I famous that everyone on the island was privy to it

When a traveler from Berk came to spread word about dragon riding, Bruce thought he'd give it a shot

It took a while to earn the dragon's trust but it worked eventually

The duo protect the island from wild dragons and Bruce's kids

Clay

A Raincutter named Thundertone

When a storm rips through Peppy's fleet, two of the six ships get seperated from the others

These boats hold Viva and Clay, who work together to lead their people on as Peppy would have wanted

They find an island with minimal dragons but their new Chieftess is very fearful of being attacked, so the Vikings of Gulf Island stay hidden

After the brothers reunite, Clay is out brooding in a rainstorm and he meets a Raincutter with an oddly deep roar

He likes how serious the dragon sounds and they bond whole playing in the rain and digging up food for Thundertone

Floyd

A Windgnasher he names Snaowguard

On the night Brozone (the most formidable dragon slaying family on Berk) broke up, Floyd said goodbye to branch but rushed to a boat the moment he was out of sight

He chased after his brothers' boats, seeing JD's not too far off

In his haste, Floyd accidentally skirted into Outcast waters and was captured

They kept him for his dragon killing knowledge thanks to outcasts Velvet and Veneer

Floyd had grown compassionate towards dragons, he never really liked killing them

After 20ish years his brothers rescued him

The previous week Floyd had spent neighbouring with a Windgnasher who he looked out for and bonded with

Floyd made sure she was saved too and Snaowguard repaid his kindness by protecting him and the two became a pair

Viva

A Deadly Nadder named Brightspark

Her fear of dragons rivalled Branch's, especially after the attacks she had to protect her people from after being seperated from her father and baby sister

This means that she is one of the last Vikings to open up to befriending a dragon

Clay, Thundertone, Flutterclaw and Poppy all help her overcome her fear and it comes in handy when she rescues a Deadly Nadder from a dragon trap (possibly her own?)

They're both scarred by their experiences but find an odd sense of comfort in eachother

Peppy

A Terrible Terror he names Matchsticks

After Poppy brings the idea of dragon riding back to Poptrell Island, Peppy of course wants one

Poppy shows him a bunch of fearsome and tough dragons

But Chief Peppy distracted by the Terrible Terror fighting off a Nadder from his pile of fish

He becomes absolutely enamored with the brave little guy and adopts him immediately

Peppy spoils Matchstick so much that even Poppy has to tell him to chill out a little

I have so much lore written for this AU you don't even know

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lksvi · 11 months

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all we are is skin and bone (trained to get along)

𝆹⭒ vendetta!leon kennedy x bartender!gn!reader

⏜ ‎ ◯𝆹⭒ synopsis — your favorite regular has more to him than you thought. after getting involved, you go through a series of events.

𝆹⭒◯ ⏜ content — flirty leon at the beginning, vendetta leon is my favorite, alcoholism, motorcycle rider leon, reader gets referred to as bridesmaid/wears a bridesmaids dress for one scene, rebecca chambers my beloved, follows the plot of re: vendetta, probably has plot holes, not proofread, chris redfield, mostly plot, mentions of death

⏜ ‎ ◯𝆹⭒ word count — 7k

𝆹⭒◯ ⏜ note — i love vendetta leon!!!!! he is the best leon idc. he may be 40 & an alcoholic but idc HES HOT!!!! ok enjoy 7k words of plot. there might be a part 2 if this does good. also the summary is literally terrible pls ignore. also x2 my first time writing for leon please be nice <3333

𝆹⭒ masterlist

Usual Saturday nights consisted of beer, drunk men, and the football channel turned to the maximum volume on the little television in the corner of the bar. The customers demanded for football to be on whenever it was late at night, one too many beers causing their yelling to be slurred and their mouths to be slicked with spit. It was a gross sight, in all honesty.

It was your normal, though. Saturday nights were when you worked at the bar, mixing drinks and making conversation with drunk customers. They were nice when they’re yelling at you. Some made good conversation, while others were simply good to look at.

One of those being a regular at your bar, a man who goes by Leon.

He’s one of the people you notice whenever you come in for your shift. He always sits at the bar by himself, a shot glass in front of him and his back hunched over. He’s attractive, admittedly so, but you’ve never spoken to him beyond the regular bartender-customer conversation. He doesn’t seem to be a man of many words anyhow.

Hearing him talk was rare. Since he was a regular, and got the same bottle of alcohol every time he came in, all of the bartenders knew to give it to him when he sat down. He always had a way to pay for it: A sleek black card in his leather wallet. Often you wondered how he got all the money to pay for this every night. Spending nearly a hundred dollars on alcohol every night didn’t seem to be making a dent in his credit card.

You’d have to ask him what he does for a living.

“Hey, sweet cheeks!” A drunk man at the bar slurred, eyes hazy and a lopsided grin on his face. “Gimme another shot, will ya’?” You wanted nothing more than to scold him on his lack of manners, but you were past that already. You’ve had worse encounters with customers than a lack of manners, unfortunately. “No problem, sir,” You answered smoothly, a charming grin on your glossed lips.

You got him another shot, returning to your lazy lounging behind the bar. You enjoyed watching the customers, observing what they did and how they acted. Most of them were drunk, but it only added to your entertainment. After all, good entertainment is the key to not quitting your job. Not including the fact that rent was due every month.

Speaking of entertainment, Leon should be coming in…

The bell rang as the door opened.

… right about now.

Exactly on time. You couldn’t help but let a small smile curl on your lips, easily predicting the exact time Leon would walk in. He’s been coming here for a while, after all.

“Good evening, Mr. Leon,” You greeted as you set down the bottle of alcohol, pouring him a shot. “Doin’ fine today?” Despite his real lack of talking, you still found yourself attempting to converse with him. He interested you. Everything from his attitude to his alcoholism to his seemingly endless credit card.

He didn’t answer you for a good moment, letting out a grunt as he downed the shot, wiping the excess liquor off with the sleeve of his leather jacket. “Peachy,” He answered, not looking you in the eyes. You didn’t mind. You poured him another shot, sliding the shot glass to you.

Leon finally looked up at you, steel-blue irises meeting yours. A shock went up your spine, your body shivering as you stared into his eyes. Some magnetizing force refused to let you look away, keeping your eyes on him until you were called over by another customer. Even then, you had to tear your gaze away, clearing your throat as you attended to the other customer.

What was that?

You’ve never had that type of connection before. An electric spark that only you two could feel. It felt odd, the effects lingering in your spin, sending zaps of electricity to your neurons. They seemed to be working in overdrive, making everything a little too sensitive. The wooden counter brushing against your skin felt rougher than usual and you could feel your feet ache, a dull sensation that made you bite your lip.

The rest of the night went on without many complaints. You mixed drinks, tried hard to not look at Leon, and made conversation with customers. It was a nice night, overall. However, as the late hours rolled around and the lights dimmed, the rowdy yelling morphing into a hushed murmur among the crowd.

All the while, you could feel Leon’s gaze on you. You didn’t look, knowing you’d be pulled into that magnetizing force again, not wanting to be stuck. It was odd considering you’ve never had a full conversation with him. Maybe it was a figment of your imagination, you being weird to a man who wanted nothing to do with you.

But if he wanted nothing to do with you, then why could you feel his gaze stuck on you, watching you like a predator stalking its prey?

—

It started getting slow at around three in the morning, yet Leon stayed no matter how late it got. He had finished an entire bottle now, sitting at the bar drunk. You were sure that he reeked of alcohol.

Despite whatever happened between the two of you earlier, you were still drawn to him. You wanted to make conversation with him, to hear that smooth and rough all at the same time voice respond to you.

“Here late again, aren’t you, Mr. Leon?” You asked, a brow raised as you cleaned the glasses. He looked up at you as you spoke, eyes squinting against the overhead light. His eyes were half-lidded, cheeks red and flushed. His arms crossed over each other on the bar where his head was laying a moment ago.

Leon grumbled at your words, his voice thick with alcohol, but replied anyway. “As always,” He said, eyes darting to you. He focused his gaze on you, and again, you felt as if you were being sucked into a black hole. There was something pulling about his gaze, deep sea blues enticing you. Your eyes darted to his lips, nude-colored and somewhat chapped, before quickly flicking back up to his eyes. Why did you even do that?

Once you dried your hands off, you leaned against the bar, head tilted as you looked at Leon. “You done for the night, Mr. Leon?” You asked, ready to take the empty beer bottle, but he simply grunted. He didn’t answer for a moment, silence falling over the bar, save for the hushed murmur of conversation in the corner. Right now, it was only you and Leon.

You couldn’t tell if you liked the idea of that or not. For now, you chose to enjoy it.

Without looking up at you, Leon grumbled a response. “Jus’ Leon s’fine,” He said, surprising you. He never really spoke besides answering your questions, so an actual conversation starter coming from him was surprising. Not hated, however.

“Alright, Leon,” You said. You tried to hide how giddy you were, feeling as if you’ve got somewhere. “Are you done with that bottle?” You needed to know if you could throw it out yet. You were tired of seeing an empty bottle on the counter. With a grunt and a nod, Leon gave you permission, eliciting a smile from you as you took the empty bottle. You hummed as you threw it away, feeling his eyes laser holes into the back of your head.

You turned back around to see him staring at you, the flush on his cheeks red from alcohol. He seemed to know how to handle his liquor, though. “Can I ask you a question, Leon?” You asked, leaning against the bar, your hands near his elbow. You wondered if he was naturally a warm or cold person (a dumb thought, in all honesty– You were curious, however).

After he nodded, you continued with your question. “What do you do for work?” He wasn’t expecting that question, eyebrows pinching together, but you continued with an explanation. “I mean, you come here practically every night and pay, probably, thousands every couple weeks. The fact that your card hasn’t declined yet is… insane.”

He seemed to not like to be reminded of his job. His shoulders slumped and his eyes glazed over, staring off into the distance, but you couldn’t help but be curious. After a few moments of silence, and anxiety brewing in the pit of your stomach, he finally spoke up. “I work for the government.” His response was vague, but you could tell that he didn’t want you to press anymore.

Still, you were curious about him. You wanted to know more about him. “Were you raised in Colorado?” You asked, but he merely arched a brow at you. He looked annoyed, lips curled into a sneer. “What is this, twenty-one questions?” Immediately, you felt as if you had overstepped your boundaries, spikes of your anxious nerves pricking your skin, making you stand upright.

“I’m so sorry–”

“I get to ask you a question before you ask me one. Is that not how twenty-one questions work?”

Your eyes widened at his words, yet went along with them. You leaned back against the counter, ignoring the anxious pin pricking of nerves. “I guess it is,” You said, a small smile curling on your lips. “What is it you wanna ask?”

A moment of silence hovers over you two, not doing anything to soothe your rapidly-firing neurons. “Let’s see, [Name],” He starts. The way your name rolls off his tongue makes you suppress a shiver, not daring to break eye contact with him. “How long have you been working here?”

You hum in thought, biting your lip as you think. “For a few years now,” You answered, noticing the way his gaze quickly flickered back up to your eyes. Interesting. “Let’s see…” You take a moment to think. “You have somewhere to be in the morning, Leon?”

He seems surprised by the question, the corner of his lip curling upwards. “Not anywhere important, sweetheart,” Leon answers. “There a reason you’re askin’?” The unexpected pet name gets a rise out of you, cheeks flushing. Leon’s observant– Able to tell your reactions better than you can. You’re awfully easy to fluster.

“I have a shift in the morning,” You tell him, smiling sweetly. “If you want to swing by, I might be happy to serve you.”

Leon chuckles. He gets up, pushing the empty shot glass towards you, flashing a grin. “I’ll be there, dollface.”

With that, he sets down a few hundred dollars on the counter, turning on his heel. He waves a hand towards you. “Keep the change!” Typically, when people say that it’s only a few cents extra, but this time it’s a couple hundred extra.

After realizing this, you go to say something, but he’s already gone.

—

The next day comes slower than you’d like. Each time the door opens, your gaze flickers to it, hoping to see Leon. Yet, every time, it isn’t Leon. Time passes slowly, the hands on the clock taunting you, until finally, watching the door pays off.

You sigh, your chin on your hand as you stare at the door. What an interesting guy.

You straighten up as Leon walks in, immediately grinning at the sight of him. “Well, well, well, look who it is!” You said, noticing the playful tug at his lips. “If it isn’t Leon. Came back early, did ya’?” You were teasing him.

“Only ‘cause ya’ asked me to, doll,” Leon replied, taking a seat at the bar, arms folded in front of him. You hand him a bottle of his usual alcohol and an empty shot glass. You don’t know if he wants to drink, but it isn’t long before he’s taking a shot. “So, what’s the reason for this meeting?”

You shrug your shoulders, leaning back against the wall, a smile on your lips. “You’re an interesting guy, Leon,” You reply smoothly. “Just wanted to see if you had anything else interesting about you.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes, as if he knows something you don’t, finding your words amusing. “If only you knew.”

You don’t ask him what he means, but you can’t help but be curious. Maybe there’s something more to your favorite regular and all-time-mysterious-customer.

It’s slow in the mornings, allowing you and Leon to easily fall into quiet conversation. He’s surprisingly funny, cracking jokes that have you giggling behind the bar. All the other customers have left, leaving only you and Leon, chatting with each other to pass the time. He likes sarcasm, you’ve learned. Snarky responses, too.

There’s more to him than just a most-likely alcoholic and seemingly endless credit card.

It’s a few hours into your conversation with two people you’ve never seen before set foot into the bar. One of them is a big guy, tactical gear on his waist and chest, while the other is a much smaller woman with short hair. You’re about to speak up, but Leon beats you to it.

“Make sure not to scare the locals,” He says gruffly. “Your stealth is for shit.”

Your eyes flicker between the two, now standing behind Leon, and the latter, taking another shot of the alcohol. Noticing the tension, you quickly walk away, cleaning already-clean glasses to make yourself look busy. You try not to eavesdrop on their conversation, but you can’t help it. You’ve never seen anyone talk to Leon, and you’ve never seen the people talking to him, either.

“Isn’t it a little too early to be that deep in the bottle, Leon?” The big guy asks, arms crossed over his chest. You hear Leon’s scoff, see him turn towards the two out of the corner of your eye.

“Well, if it isn’t the B.S.A.A.’s golden boy and Dr. High Hopes!” There’s fake joy in his tone, melting into disdain when he turns back around. “What the hell do you want?”

The big guy glances at you before he says another word and you quickly take the hint. You scurry off to the back, consequently shielding your ears from their conversation. You pretend to be busy, but there’s really only one thing on your mind: Who are these people?

You’ve never seen them before, much less anyone talk to Leon. He’s always been a loner, isolating himself in the corner of the bar. It’s not your business though, as curious as you are.

Fifteen minutes pass without any complaints. You stay in the back, occasionally hearing the muffled conversation between the three. The big guy scared you, biceps the size of your head. You’d go out there if you weren’t afraid of him snapping your neck like a twig.

Within a few minutes, there’s yelling and shouting, a rough ‘thud!’ echoing off the walls. Your eyes widened, looking out the peephole of the door to spy on them. You see Leon holding a guy by the collar to a pillar in the bar, snarl on his lips and eyes glaring daggers. You’ve never seen him angry before. The big guy stands beside him, mouth moving in a question you desperately wish you could read. The woman doesn’t seem to be out there anymore.

Before you could go see what was going on, there’s a quiet noise behind you, curiosity getting the better of you. However, as soon as you turn your head, you’re met with a woman with blonde hair, piercing red eyes, and a succubus-esque leather outfit. Your attempts to say something are muffled by the cloth she forces up to your nose, instinctively inhaling.

Your eyes begin to droop, the back of the bar spinning. Your legs shake and you can barely feel her stopping you from falling on the wooden floor.

“Witness secured.”

Him and Chris duck behind a table, wood clattering onto the floor and debris tainting the bar. He always liked this bar.

She throws you over her shoulder. Your eyes fall shut, and everything fades out.

—

The bar gets shot up. Leon briefly thinks that he’ll pay for the damages.

As Chris peeks up, there’s a sense of urgency in his tone. “They have Rebecca!” He yells, then squints, as if trying to make something out. “And… the bartender?”

At that, Leon shoots up, looking past the table to see a woman with blond hair, holding Rebecca over one shoulder and you over the other. His breath hitches.

“Fuck,” He swears. “That’s [Name].”

You hardly even know him and you’ve gotten caught up in his work. He hates the feeling of defeat that washes over him, but it’s quickly replaced by seething anger. He won’t let anything happen to you. You don’t deserve that.

He and Chris will get you and Rebecca back.

“Why take the bartender?” Chris wondered aloud. Tires hit the worn down sand, dirt kicking up as it took off. “They weren’t involved in anything, were they?”

Leon had no clue as to why you were kidnapped. “Maybe they didn’t want any witnesses,” He muttered, standing up, surveying the debris. This would be hell to clean up. They couldn’t worry about that, though. Leon glanced down at the phone in his hand, one that wasn’t his, sighing angrily. “We need to figure out what they’re planning.” He holds the phone up to Chris. “Maybe this’ll help.”

With Rebecca’s laptop, a sample of her blood, and the cellphone, Leon and Chris devoted hours of their time to figure out what Glenn Arias’ plan was. The light reflecting off of Rebecca’s laptop and the cellphone, both of them had a headache. Still, they needed to push on. For Rebecca and [Name].

Finally, after discussing what Arias could’ve been planning, they figured it out: He was planning a bioterrorist attack on New York City using his new virus he had engineered. “Fuck,” Chris swore, scrolling on the laptop. “He isn’t planning to infect a few people…”

“He’s planning to infect the entire city.” Leon finished.

They both glanced at each other, and then at the laptop, the tank trunks mockingly staring back at them. Arias was planning possibly one of the biggest bioterrorist attacks the world’s ever seen.

Chris began calling the B.S.A.A., scheduling an airplane to take them to New York City, where they had also discovered where Arias’ base of operations was at. It would arrive within a few hours, and they wouldn’t get to New York until the next day.

Blearily, your eyes opened, the world around you emerged in a blur. There was a bright light, one you turned your head and squinted at, a low groan being pulled from your lips.

If Leon didn’t need a drink a few hours prior, he definitely did now.

—

Thick shackles held down your neck, wrists, torso, and ankles, keeping you pinned to the metal table. You attempted to move, but they were tight, keeping you in place. You cleared your throat, drawing the man’s attention back to you. There was a twinkle of something you couldn’t place in his eyes, one that made you want to pull yourself away from him.

It wasn’t until something– or someone– covered the fluorescent light did your vision finally adjust to the environment. A man with gray hair stood there, a calm smile on his face. “You’re awake,” He said, voice smooth, composed. “Apologies for having brought you here. You weren’t who I was trying to get.” His eyes flickered next to you, but you didn’t have enough freedom to look.

“Where am I?” You asked meekly. “Why am I here?” He sighed softly at your words, folding his hands behind his back. He seemed composed, as if all of this was normal. You were hardly keeping yourself together. If you weren’t unbelievably drowsy and held down, you’d be kicking and screaming. “I couldn’t have any witnesses,” He said. “You understand that, don’t you? However, I have to knock you out again. You woke up too early.” He motioned for what appeared to be a nurse step to the opposite side of the metal table, a surgical mask covering the lower half of his face and light blue scrubs adorning his frame. You tried to struggle, not wanting to be put back to sleep, but your efforts were futile. “Put ‘em to sleep again, will you, Doc?”

Despite your mumbled protests, a sharp pinch attacked your neck, and you were put to sleep again.

The next time you woke up, you were sitting up. It felt like a wooden chair, your attempted squirming causing the wood to creak under your movement. Your hands were tied behind your back, harsh rope rubbing into your wrists. Once your eyes adjusted to the scene before you, you were surprised to see a wedding.

A quick glance down told you that you were wearing a bridesmaid’s dress, flowy and long, reaching around your ankles. Your eyebrows pinched together, glancing around the rest of the room, quickly spotting the short haired woman that was around Leon and the big guy sitting beside you.

Unlike you, she was wearing a wedding dress, sporting the same confused expression you wore. As soon as she saw you, her confusion seemed to worsen, eyebrows furrowed as she stared at you. “Aren’t you the bartender?” She asked, to which you nodded. She gave a small huff in acknowledgement, looking around at what appeared to be a wedding ceremony. “Then… Why would he take you? Or either of us. This doesn’t make sense.”

You felt as if something big was happening– You don’t know what Leon was involved in, but you didn’t want to be involved either. “I don’t know what’s going on,” You said, flexing your wrists, testing the rope (again). “But I don’t want to be involved in this. I was just… talking to Leon.” A look of recognition flashed across her face, telling you she knew Leon personally. “He was only there because I told him to come that morning. He wasn’t even supposed to be there when you and the other guy walked in.”

You don’t know what you were trying to accomplish with your rant, but you needed to get it out. “Who even are you guys? I’ve never seen either of you before, and you just come in and start talking to Leon, and I’ve never seen anyone talk to Leon before but he seems to be involved in something and, apparently, now I am, too–”

“Breathe,” She cut you off. Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. “I’m Rebecca Chambers. I’m a professor at a University. The other guy is Chris Redfield. I’m sorry that you’re caught up in this now, none of us– Me, Leon, or Chris– meant for you to be involved. We needed Leon’s help with something and figured we’d see him there.”

Finally taking deep breaths, you calmed down a little. Your heart was still racing and you were anxious, head spinning with overwhelming thoughts, but Rebecca helped. Even if it was just a little.

“I’m [Name] [Last Name].”

Rebecca smiled. “Nice to meet you, [Name].”

Before either of you could speak, a door was opened, a harsh end to the peacefulness that was you and Rebecca’s first conversation. The man who spoke to you earlier was there, hands folded behind his back, and a smile on his face. “Good, you’re both awake.” He walked in, keeping an eye on you and Rebecca.

The silver-haired man begins speaking to Rebecca, telling her that her “cure is magnificent” and “you’re truly a genius.” You don’t know what they’re talking about, but Rebecca surely does. She glances at you, then back at the man.

“I already figured everything out, Arias. My blood was the key,” Rebecca says, narrowing her eyes at him. “I know that your virus lays dormant in people. There are three stages to your virus: The one that lays dormant, the trigger, and the vaccine.” She smirks, a smug twinkle in her eyes. “And I know how you infect people.”

Virus? Dormant? Infect? What the hell is she talking about?

Your gaze flickers between Rebecca and Arias, watching the latter grin at Rebecca. “You really are a genius,” He muses. “Tell me more. How do I infect people, Professor Chambers?” A mocking lilt is clear in his tone, but Rebecca pays no mind. She simply continues her speech.

“I noticed that you were concentrating your outbreaks near the Great Lakes. At first, I thought you were infecting the water in the Great Lakes,” Arias’ eyebrows raise, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. Rebecca continues. “But you weren’t doing it on purpose, were you? No, you were infecting the water of a drinking water company.”

All this talk of infecting and water confused you, but it seemed Arias knew exactly what she was talking about. “Congratulations,” He said, coming to untie her wrists. He unties yours as well.

“It’s called the Animality Virus, or the A-Virus for short,” Arias explains. “The difference between my merchandise and everyone else’s is that mine can tell the difference between friends and foes. Essentially, I can tell them who to attack. They’re not completely mindless.”

With every sentence, you were sure your brain was spilling out of your ears. Nothing they were saying made any sense to you. Rebecca, however, seemed upset at Arias’ words. And with each word he was saying, you could tell she wanted nothing more than to smack him across the face.

“The B.S.A.A. is ready to mass produce the cure! You may infect people, but we’ll be sure to give them the vaccine before you trigger it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Professor.” Arias walks to the seat beside Rebecca, somehow still smiling. There’s a smug air about him “You were right: Your blood is the key. With your blood, I will be able to create a stronger virus.” He turns to the front of the room, eyes glazed over.

“Tomorrow will be a new world. Slowly, it will be stronger. Better.”

You notice Rebecca’s eyes widen at his words, but she doesn’t comment on them. Instead she looks around, eyebrows furrowed.

At the front of the room, there is a picture of four people projected on the wall. Arias, who appears younger; a young woman next to him; further from them stands a blonde woman; as well as a taller, older man behind her. The young woman next to Arias looks a lot like Rebecca.

“When that missile was shot at my wedding, it was meant to kill me.” A humorless chuckle leaves Arias. “However, it only killed everyone around me. Including my wife, Sarah.” He turns to look at Rebecca, a sad smile on his face. “You look a lot like her, Rebecca.”

Arias pulls a wedding ring out of his pocket, his smile turning sardonic. “That’s why I’m going to marry you, Rebecca. You’ll be a perfect model for my Sarah.” His eyes shift to you, pinning you in place like a bird in a cage. “And the witness will be your bridesmaid. I do need to kill them afterwards, but they will be present for our wedding.”

Your eyes go wide. Kill them afterwards?

The last thing you were going to notice would be a forced marriage between an insane guy and a woman who’s name you just learned.

You don’t want to die. You have so much to live for, so much to do. Dying simply because you were at the wrong place at the wrong time would be a horrible end. And you’re scared that there’s nothing you can do about it.

You are going to die. You can not stop it.

You don’t say anything as you sit there. You can hear Arias and Rebecca talking, but their voices are muffled, as if you are underwater. Your head is stuffed with cotton, keeping out any thoughts or questions.

You see Arias slap Rebecca across the face. She falls down, clutching her now-red cheek, staring up at Arias. You zone back in to see him opening a suitcase of some kind, cold air being exhaled as he opened it. What he pulls out is an arm. It’s pale and detached at the forearm. Bile rises to the back of your throat.

“Meet my wife, Sarah.” He smiles sickly, slipping the wedding ring on Sarah’s finger. “I know what I’ll do: I’ll sew her arm onto yours and then we’ll be wed.” He’s talking to Rebecca, who looks like she’s going to be sick as well.

Arias calls in two subordinates, breaking the projection of the wedding ceremony. “Take them to the lab,” He orders them. One goes to Rebecca, taking her by the arms, and the other goes to you and takes your arms in his grasp. “Infect both of them with the strongest forms of the virus. If it goes well, sew Sarah’s arm onto Rebecca.”

You and Rebecca share a glance, both of your eyes wide. Arguably, Rebecca has a bad fate, but you’re going to die. You and Rebecca need to get out of here.

The subordinates bring you two out into the hallway. Adrenaline floods your veins, overdosing them. As they’re walking both of you, presumably toward the lab, your legs shake. You feel as if you can’t walk, forcing your feet to take overwhelming steps.

As soon as you get to the lab door, you thrash around in the subordinate’s grip, effectively loosening it. You throw out any sort of punch and kick that you can, albeit badly. You’re clearly not trained to do this. The one holding Rebecca goes to stop you, but she’s already sweeping beneath his feet to make him fall, rendering him useless.

“We’re going to get out of here,” Rebecca assures you.

However, as soon as you turn around to go, the nurse from earlier grabs ahold of Rebecca. You stay frozen in place for a moment, heart racing, staring at Rebecca squirming in the nurse's grip. This is your only chance. It’s now or never.

“Go!” Rebecca screams. “Save yourself!”

That was the only encouragement you needed.

“I’ll come back for you!” You yell back. You break off into a sprint, going any confusing direction you can, just in case.

As you run, you notice the cameras swiveling towards you, lasering in on your dashing figure. You know you’re being watched, most likely by Arias.

Your sprint down the hallway comes to an interruption as static crackles in the air. You look around, eyes wide, jumping at the sound of a chuckle reverberating in the walls. “You’re not getting out of here alive, witness. Good luck getting past them.” Arias’ voice sounds through a sort of speech system.

Before you can ask him what he’s talking about, a door in the hallway opens up ahead of you. Out comes a tumble of people? They look like people, but their skin is falling off the bone and they’re deathly pale and some have limbs missing. You attempt to crack a joke, eyes wide as you take steps back.

“What is this, the zombie apocalypse?”

Their moans and groans answer your rhetorical question.

You turn around, legs breaking off in a sprint. Right as you go past a door, it opens, revealing more people. Or, whatever they are. Their moans join the previous people’s, a symphony of the wicked.

All you know is that they don’t exactly look nice. Besides, Arias made it clear that you weren’t going to leave alive. They’re meant to kill you.

You refuse to die like this. Not by whatever those things are, not by Arias, not like this. You’ve thought about how your demise would be countless times, the thought plaguing you late at night when it’s just you and your thoughts– None of your endings turned out like this.

You won’t accept it.

The only option is to get out of this place. Honestly, you have no idea how you’re supposed to do that. It only seems to be endless hallways, bland and lifeless, stretching past the horizon. The cacophony of groans behind you gets louder. They’ve gotten closer.

The stretch of hallways seems to finally come to an end. The end of the hallway would be good if not for the murderous horde behind you.

Once you approach the ending with nothing but beige walls and green outlines in sight, you start to fear for your life. It feels close to ending now. It’s become all so real. The torn flesh and blood-ridden skin on those things makes you shudder. Your back is against the wall.

Maybe it is time to kick the bucket.

A deafening chorus of gunshots ring out, bouncing off the walls. You see blood splatter against beige, and your hope for freedom, for living, becomes too much. You push towards where the moans and groans have ended and where the gunshots were heard, curiously peeking from around the corner.

There stands Leon and Chris, you know him as now. The latter notices you, nodding at you. “You!” He says. Leon turns around. You shuffle from around the corner, suddenly mute with attention.

Leon’s eyes widen momentarily, but he recovers hastily leaning a motorcycle– Where did he get a motorcycle from?– against the wall. He rushes towards, eyes overlooking you. The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, legs shaky with exhaustion catching up to you.

“You’re okay,” He breathes, not seeing any injuries on you. Still, he worries. “Are you hurt anywhere?” His hands hesitate, going to wrap around you, but stop.

You do your best to nod, clearing your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, Leon. Thank you.” Your voice gets louder once you look up, noticing the final question in both Chris and Leon’s eyes: Where is Rebecca? “The woman you two were with, Rebecca, she’s in a lab. They infected her with something. I don’t know what’s going on, but we need to get to her before Arias does. Please.”

They seem to want to get to her as much as you do, Leon’s hands leaving the area above you to hang at his sides. Chris sighs and shakes his head, looking around. “Alright. We need to find this lab, find Rebecca, cure her, and get Glenn Arias. The vaccine has to be around here somewhere.” He looks at you, then Leon, and then down the hallway. “I’ll find the lab. Leon, get them to a safe place. Arias might try to come after them.”

Leon nods. Chris nods back, some kind of communication, before turning around and going down the hall. You can hear the release of doors.

Leon looks back at you, now just the two of you in the hallway, and then back at his motorcycle. “Ever rode a motorcycle before, sweetheart?” He grins teasingly at you. You bite your lip, the pet name still making you flush despite the circumstances, and shake your head.

He arches a brow at you, letting out a low whistle as he stands the motorcycle back up. “You’re in for a ride,” He tells you, sitting at the front of it. Leon turns to look back at you, patting the area behind him. “Hop on. Make sure to hold on tight.”

Carefully, maybe a little too slowly, you get on the motorcycle. You hesitate to wrap your arms around his waist, but he places a foot on the ground to wrap your arms around him for you. “Just like that,” He whispers.

For a moment, there is no virus and kidnapping and forced marriage.

For a moment, it is only you and Leon, sitting on a motorcycle together.

It’s a fleeting moment, one that lasts too little for the way it replays in your mind. It ends quicker than you’d like it to.

The motorcycle speeds down the hallway, bringing you to where Leon considers a safe place. The journey out of the building is a long one, Chris presumably distracting Arias. He seems intelligent though.

As soon as you and Leon make it out of the building, you breathe a sigh of relief that you didn’t realize you were holding. The threat of your pending death seems less real now, more like an intrusive thought. Especially now that you’re with Leon.

He brings you to a hotel, parking the motorcycle and waiting for your arms to retract for both of you to get off. Your legs shake under your weight, threatening to collapse. Leon notices it, wrapping your arm around his waist. “Don’t fall,” He murmurs, either unaware or uncaring of your flushed face. His arm wraps around your shoulders, a heavy weight that you gladly welcome (seriously, how heavy was this guy’s bicep?).

He helped you walk up to the hotel room, despite how embarrassing needing the help was. He didn’t shame you for it, letting you take your time when you struggled to walk up the stairs, never even seeming annoyed. He unlocked the door and walked you inside, letting it close shut behind you two.

“There you go.” He set you down on the bed. To your shock, he even kneeled down to undo your shoelaces for you, taking them off your feet and throwing them to the front. “Better?”

You nod your head as you sit there, dumbly looking at him. He sets a hand on your knee, thumb caressing it, as he stands up. He sighed as he sat next to you, rubbing his eyes. “I need a drink.” Leon grumbled. You snickered, humming in agreement. “Well said.”

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence that sweeps across you. You have so many questions about everything, yet not enough breath to ask them with. Instead, you bit your lip and sigh, looking down at the ground. “What’s going on, Leon?”

He mimics your sigh, as if he knew what you were going to ask him. “I never wanted you, or anyone, to get caught up with my work,” Leon confessed. “You saw a lot of things that you shouldn’t have. They’ll most likely have you change everything about yourself– Your name, location. Everything.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“The government.”

Another uncomfortable silence. You don’t know what to say. All the information is burning through your brain, making your body go into overdrive in order not to pass out, but you don’t have enough words to say anything. You’re confused and upset and lost.

However, there’s one question that sticks out the most. It stays stuck in your throat for a long while, desperate to not be heard. Still, you want to know. You need to know.

“Will I ever see you again?”

It weighs heavily in the air. You can feel Leon stiffen, clearly not expecting your question. There’s nothing in between you two. Your knee rests against his, the warmth seeping through your jeans. It makes you yearn to be closer to him, to feel that all-encompassing warmth all over you, for it to never leave you again.

Your puppy crush on Leon has developed into something so much more.

“Only if you want to.”

Leon’s words cut through the air like a knife. There’s a dual-meaning to his words; wondering if you want to see him again, a gravelly lilt to his voice.

“Of course I do.”

You say it like it’s obvious, as if there’s nothing more you’d want to do. In a way, there is nothing more you’d rather do. You’ve always found him interesting, and now you know he’s more than interesting. You want to see him more– more than just work hours and more than small conversations. You want to know his favorite color and how he likes his coffee in the morning and how he would hold you in the evening.

“Then you’ll see me again.”

You look at him. Leon’s already looking at you when you turn your head. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and you feel open and vulnerable, and then back up to your eyes. Something gleams in his eyes and there’s a sort of roughness to his gaze. He’s been through more than he lets on. Its weight strains against Leon when he walks and when he talks, an edge to his voice that isn’t obvious upon first meeting.

You haven’t talked to him much, and you don’t really know anything about him, but you want to. You want to put in the effort to wake up with him in the mornings and go on dates with him in the evenings. You want to be there for him. You want to see him when you wake up and when you go to sleep.

You wouldn’t put in the effort for a lot of things, but you would put in the effort to see Leon.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

“You will?” Your voice is quiet, meek. You knew that you had admitted you wanted to see Leon again, but you had no idea that Leon would want to see you again. After all, you had been the one that caused him to be in the bar that morning.

If you hadn’t asked him to come, he wouldn’t have been there. He could’ve avoided this whole mess.

Still, he nods his head. One of his hands comes to your knee, thumb caressing gently. He’s unreadable, always has been, but there’s one thing you're certain of: You’ll see him again.

“I will,” He confirms, quiet, as if it was just between you and him. “We’ll see each other again, [Name.]

“Alright, Leon.”

Things haven’t been right for a while. You were kidnapped for being a witness and had seen walking things that would definitely scar you for the rest of your life. Going home is the only thing you want to do right now.

But for a moment, things do feel right. The stars align and the planets come together to create a swirling galaxy of emotions.

Sitting here besides Leon feels right.

Leon feels right.

#𝆹⭒ vi writes!?#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #resident evil x reader #rewident evil x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy x you

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fourthwingfan · 2 months

Text

Madness - Chapter 4

Warning: It's a war college so don't read it if you sensitive to violence death etc.

Note: We have finally a "decent" conversation between Xaden and Aelin. And guess what? We have a new nickname. From Xaden. Soo goood. 😍

Enjoy :)

The sparring ring is where riders are made or broken. After all, no respectable dragon would choose a rider who cannot defend themselves, and no respectable cadet would allow such threat to the wing to continue training.

-Major Afendra’s guide to the Riders Quadrant

(Unauthorized Edition)

“Elena Sosa, Brayden Blackburn.” Captain Fitzgibbons reads from the death roll, flanked by two other scribes on the dais as we stand in silent formation in the courtyard, squinting into the early sun.

This morning, we’re all in rider black, and there’s a single silver four-pointed star on my collarbone, the mark of a first-year, and a Fourth Wing patch on my shoulder. We were issued standard uniforms yesterday, summer-weight tightfitted tunics, pants, and accessories after Parapet was over, but not flight leathers. There’s no point handing out the thicker, more protective combat uniforms when half of us won’t be around come Threshing in October. The armored corset Mira made us isn’t regulation, but I fit right in among the hundreds of modified uniforms around me.

After the last twenty-four hours and one night in the first-floor barracks, I’m starting to realize that this quadrant is a strange mix of we-might-die-tomorrow hedonism and a brutal efficency in the name of the same reason.

“Jace Sutherland.” Captain Fitzgibbons continues to read, and the scribes next to him shift their weight. “Dougal Luperco.”

I think we’re somewhere in the fifties, but I lost count. This is the only memorial the names will get, the only time they’ll be spoken of in the citadel.

There are a hundred and fifty-six of us in the first floor of the dormitory building, our beds positioned in four neat rows in the open space. Private rooms are like flight leathers - you don’t get one until you survive Threshing.

“Simone Casteneda.” Captain Fitzgibbons closes the scroll. “We commend their souls to Malek.” The god of death.

I blink. Guess we were closer to the end than I thought.

There’s no formal conclusion to the formation, no last moment of silence. The names on the scroll leave the dais with the scribes, and the quiet is broken as the squad leaders all turn and begin to address their squads.

“Hopefully you all ate breakfast, because you’re not going to get another chance before lunch,” our squad leader says. His name is Theo as we learnt after yesterday’s events. For first impression he seem to be a pretty calm guy. He talked about the rules but not like Dain based on what Violet said last night. I swear the rules are his gods.

In our squad there are third- and second-years besides us, marked and non-marked ones. We’re a really mixed group.

Yesterday I didn’t have a chance to observe our squad mates because when Theo’s briefing was over I went to find Violet. We succeeded securing beds next to each other. Rhiannon too. We talked about a lot of things due to the fact that we’re not in the same squad. I can’t be with her for every lesson, our schedule is different. Vi helped me memorising the order of my lessons. It’s a luck that at least I have good memory.

“Second- and third-years, I’m assuming you know where to go” Theo continues as the scribes wind their way around the edge of the courtyard to my right, headed back to their quadrant.

There’s a mutter of agreement from the senior cadets ahead of us. As first-years, we’re in the back two rows of the little square that makes up our squad.

“First-years, at least one of you should have memorized your academic schedule when it was handed out yesterday.” Theo’s voice booms over us. “Stick together. I expect you all to be alive when we meet this afternoon in the sparring gym.”

We only have the gym twice a week, so there should be time to help Violet learn a little more self defense. She’s smart and quick. She can do it.

I’m more worried about my own lessons. I have to put in so much extra hours to be up to date in our reading materials. Before Basgiath, Violet helped me to study. She often read aloud the texts while I tried to memorize its content. It’s easier. When I’m trying to read, it often makes me so frustrated. I’m trying to read, but I can’t. It’s a really slow process. But because of this I’m good at making notes. I only write down what is really important ‘cause later I have to read it again.

I hope the lessons will be tolerable. I can’t have Violet with me all the time. It’s same for her. She needs to practice her skills before we’ll have to handle the Gauntlet - the vertical obstacle course they told us we’ll have to master when the leaves turn colors in two months.

If we can complete the final Gauntlet, we’ll walk through the natural box canyon above it that leads to the flight field for Presentation, where this year’s dragons willing to bond will get their first look at the remaining cadets. Two days after that, Threshing will occur in the valley beneath the citadel.

I glance around at my new squadmates and can’t help but wonder which of us, if any, will make it to that flight field, let alone that valley.

Don’t borrow tomorrow’s trouble.

“And if we’re not?” One smart-ass first-year behind me asks.

I don’t bother looking, instead I turn to Liam and roll my eyes at the stupid’s girl comment.

He snickers but doesn’t say anything.

“Then I won’t have to be concerned with learning your name, since it will be read off tomorrow morning” Theo answers with a shrug.

A third-year ahead of me snorts a laugh.

Yeah, I totally understand you. It was funny. Or just my sense of humor is sucks.

“You have about twenty minutes to get to class,” Theo says to the seven of us first-years. “Fourth floor, second room on the left in the academic wing. Get your shit together and don’t be late.” Our squad breaks apart around the same time the others do, transforming the courtyard from an orderly formation to a crowd of chatting cadets. The second- and third-years walk off in another direction, including Theo.

“Go, grab your stuff and meet me here okay?” Liam says

“You’d be lost without me anyway.” I reply while heading to the doors.

“And here I thought you’d be kinder with a good night sleep, Snappy.” He sighs.

“Damn, I told you to drop this ridiculous nickname.” I hiss at him.

“Or what? We’re squadmates, you can’t hurt me” he winks.

“No. I can’t kill you. It’s completly different.” I say smiling.

“Whooah look at that. You can smile.”

“Shut up. Go grab your pack or I leave you here.” I roll my eyes.

I go to the dormitory where my bed is, and pick up my rucksack from under it.

When I walk out the door I see Violet at the center of the courtyard and her expression make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. She’s looking at somebody.

Oh shit.

Xaden Riorson is watching her with narrowed eyes, the sleeves of his uniform rolled up his massive arms that remain folded across his chest, the warning in his relic-covered arm on full display as a third-year next to him says something that he blatantly ignores.

Garrick was he?

There’s maybe twenty feet between us. My fingers twitch, ready to grab one of the blades sheathed at my ribs.

His head tilts and he studies me with those impossibly dark eyes, like he’s deciding where I’m most vulnerable. So he noticed me when I exited the dormitory. Interesting.

He smirks then his attention shifts to Violet, and Dain who emerges from behind the pillar.

Shit, do they have to be so obvious? Someone might misinterpret it.

Violet says something to Dain, then his gaze snaps up as the crowd thins out around us.

��I already knew your parents are tight,” Xaden calls out, a cruel smile tilting his lips. „But do you two have to be so fucking obvious?”

I told you, I sigh when the few cadets who are still in the rotunda turn to look at them.

„Let me guess,” Xaden continues, glancing between Dain and Violet, „Childhood friends? First loves, even?”

„I expected you to do a better job hiding where your affections lie, Aetos.” Xaden moves, walking down the steps.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I need to do something.

„Come on Riorson, you have eyes, now use it. You really think that Violet and Dain? I thought you’re smarter than that.” I sigh with feigned disappointment.

„Melgren?” He turns to me. „What are you? A watchdog? Always at Violet’s legs?”

Fucking asshole.

„Now you’re trying to insult me? How kind of you.” I smile at him sweetly. „And no. Violet can protect herself. I just don’t like the fact that now everybody thinks that they have something between them because of you. I didn’t know you liked to gossip.”

„With this attitude you won’t last long, Melgren. Throwing insults at everybody who dares to talk to you or Sorrengail.” He tilts his head to the side. „It’s like you’re a fucking ray of sunshine.”

„Then forgive this little Sunshine and her friend because we’ll have a lesson soon, and it would cast a really bad light on us if we were late. Don’t you think wingleader?” I gesture toward Violet to come with me.

„Hm. Then we should continue our interesting conversation later.” He says slowly with a smirk and I have a bad feeling about it. „And don’t forget to watch your back, Sunshine.” He turns and walks away.

Sunshine? A nickname? Really?

Damn, he’s handsome for sure but at the same time an enermous prick.

#fourth wing #fanfiction #fourth wing fanfic #garrick tavis #liam mairi #the empyrean #the fourth wing #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #xaden x oc #oc

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