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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 10 months

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darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 3: Pyre

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

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Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. You struggle with the passing of your mother.

Hello! My apologies for the wait. My laptop broke, so I had to go get a new one. It took me a bit to set it all up how I like, and then I had a busy time of it at work + a bit of writer's block. I hope the chapter makes up for it! Keep in mind there are some untranslated bits of HV in here, but I'll make a post + link transcribing all that for those who want. Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for giving this the go-ahead!

TRIGGERS: character death, exploration of child grief, dysfunctional family dynamics.

It is very quiet now that Mama has died.

Brella is quiet. Septa is quiet. Ana and Peony, the maids who come to make your bed neat again and pick up all the dresses you’ve worn, are quiet. Ser Harrold is quiet—but then, he usually is. None of Papa’s guards seem to want to make a sound now. Neither do Papa’s Councilmen, like Lord Corlys or Lord Lyman, who you sometimes see walking down the halls with very sad looks upon their faces.

You wonder if, when Mama died, she took a part of all these people with her.

She has taken a part of Papa, and of ’Nyra, too. Suppertime is so very quiet that you are afraid to breathe in case everyone can hear it. They both just stare at their plates, eyes puffy and red like yours are when you cry, which means they have been crying, too. They eat their food like someone else is moving their mouths, and when they swallow, it looks like the most painful thing in the whole world.

Papa and ’Nyra haven’t spoken to you since the day of the tourney. You try not to be sad about it, but it’s hard. Now that Mama has gone away, they are your family, and it hurts that your family won’t look at you or say anything to you. It’s almost like they have forgotten all about you.

“They’re grieving,” Alicent tells you, taking your hand in hers as you walk towards the Sept. The stairs are very hard to climb, so she had to help you up, and it was nearly like having Mama again when she pulled you into her arms and held you tight. “Their sorrow has made them blind to all else.”

You don’t really understand what she means. “To me, too?”

“Hm?”

“Their sorrow. It’s made them not see me?”

Alicent stops. Something very soft and sad makes her face droop, and she bends down so that she can look you right in the eyes. “Oh, Princess. They see you. And they love you. But your mother”—she takes a breath that sounds shaky—“she was very important to them. They miss her very much.”

“I miss her, too.” You wonder when Mama will return. How long is ‘never’? No one has ever explained it to you. Hopefully it is soon.

“I know you do.” Alicent stands and grabs onto your hand again, leading you toward the table where so so many candles are.

The room is very hot, all the little fires making you sleepy even though it is only morning time. There are two stools right before the table, and Alicent kneels on one. You try to do the same on the other, but it means you cannot see the candles anymore.

“How about you stand on it instead, Princess?” Alicent asks. She lets you hold onto her shoulder so that you can get up on the stool like she said, which makes it much easier to see. Then, she folds her hands together in front of her chin and bends her head, so you do the same.

It isn’t very interesting to stare at your fingers at first, but after a while, it’s nice. You count all the little folds in your skin—there are a lot—and trace the edges of your thumbnails with your mind over and over. Time goes funny, and you cannot remember why you were ever sad before you came here.

It might be minutes or hours or days before Alicent speaks. “Would you like to light a candle? For your mother?”

“Why?” you ask, frowning. Is candle-lighting how to get Mama to come back? Will she see the light and know it’s me and return with baby Baelon? Is that why so many people pray in the Sept?

Alicent picks up a candle that hasn’t been lit. “To remember her. You light the candle and… she’ll see it.”

“From where?”

“From one of the Seven heavens.”

“Where’s that?”

“I… do not know.” She stares at the candle like she is trying to light it without moving. “Somewhere far away. My mother is there, too.”

“Oh.” She sounds very sad, so you reach out to grab hold of another unlit candle. “Can I light this one? For Mama?”

That makes her smile just a little. “Of course, Princess.”

Alicent takes one of the lit candles and tilts it into yours, making sure not to spill any of the hot wax on you. You hold very still, because fire is dangerous which means you can get hurt, even though you touched it once and it didn’t feel like anything but warm. The little string at the top catches fire, burning orange and gold and swaying gently.

She lights her own, too. “Now, you place it on the altar, like so.” She carefully sets both candles down and closes her eyes for a moment, and you think she must be thinking of her own mama.

You nudge your candle back to where you took it, watching the flame dance about. I lit a candle for you, Mama, so you can see it. Do you? Do you see me?

Where are you, Mama? When are you coming back?

The candle doesn’t answer. It just sits there, the little fire bobbing about and then finally falling still. All you can hear is the sound of your own breathing. When you are done, Alicent helps you step off the stool, and you leave the Sept with the candles still lit behind you.

Just outside, you find Uncle Daemon waiting for you.

While ’Nyra and Papa are grieving and Papa’s Council are planning and everyone else is doing whatever it is they do away from you, Uncle has been making sure that you are ‘well’ by telling you stories and teaching you more High Valyrian and sitting at the table to watch while you and Brella play with your dolls together. He never stays for a long-long time, but it is still very nice.

“Farewell, Princess.” Alicent lets go of your hand and turns to curtsey to Uncle, who bows his head but says nothing, just stares with a not-exactly-kind look on his face. Then, she leaves, her footsteps fading away and then dropping as she goes down the stairs. You listen until the noise disappears entirely.

Uncle’s brow raises. “What were you doing in the Sept with only Hightower’s daughter for company? Where’s your sister?”

He never calls her by her name. You wonder why, sometimes.

“She took me because ’Nyra is napping again from crying so much, and I was by myself. So, we went to the Sept so I could light a candle for Mama,” you say quietly. “So that she’ll see it and come back.”

At that, he softens. He crouches down so you can see his face more clearly. “She’s not coming back, sweetling. You know that, don’t you?”

“Why not?”

“She…” He grunts. “Do you remember the stories about Aegon the Conqueror, and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Right.” He rises, gripping you below your arms and lifting you high so that he can carry you away from the Sept. It makes him uncomfortable, though you don’t know why. “Tell me what happened to Rhaenys.”

“She tried to—to get Dorne to say that Aegon was their King, so she rode Meraxes to them.” Uncle hums approvingly, so you keep going. Your voice wobbles with each step he takes. “But they were angry at her for burning the grass and the trees and the buildings and the people and the sheep and the horses and th—”

“Yes, yes, she lit Dorne aflame.” Uncle rolls his eyes. He bounces you extra hard in his arms so that it feels like you’re about to fall, and you squeal and wrap your arms tight-tight around his neck so that you don’t. “Leave the boring bits out. Tell me the rest.”

“She—Dorne took a big, big arrow and hit Meraxes in the eye, and Rhaenys and Meraxes fell all the way to the ground from up high and died.”

His lips twist at the way you say the last word. “You’ve been paying attention. Good girl.” You’re out in the courtyard now, away from the Sept. It isn’t any louder out here, which is strange, because it is usually always loud and full of people. “Did Rhaenys ever return to Aegon and Visenya?” he asks, moving towards the doors that lead to Maegor’s Holdfast where your rooms are.

“No…” you say, unsure. You don’t think she did. “Why didn’t she go back?”

Uncle sighs, slowing down so he can look at you properly. “That’s what it means to die, sweetling. Rhaenys didn’t go away. When she hit the ground, her body ceased to function. She stopped seeing, feeling, thinking, moving, breathing. She became… nothing.” Your belly twists. You don’t like what he’s telling you, not one bit. Whatever your face is doing, it makes Uncle keep talking. “It’s like your dolls—you can touch them and see them, can’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“But when you speak to them, do they speak back?”

“No.”

“Do they have beating hearts?”

“No.”

“Do they eat or piss or shit?”

You gasp. “That—that’s naughty, kepus!”

He rolls his eyes again. “No, they don’t. They’re things, not people. And your mother… she’s no longer a person. She’s a body; one we must put to rest today.”

The funeral is soon. Uncle has been reminding you lots and lots, and when you asked, he said a funeral is what people go to so they can say goodbye to the person who has died and put their body back where it is meant to go. And because Mama is a Targaryen like you and Uncle and Papa and ’Nyra, her body has to be put on fire so that she can go back to the wind.

She’s not a person anymore. She’s a nothing. It scares you.

You sniffle. “But… I don’t want her to be gone like Rhaenys did. I want her back.”

“I know.” Uncle hugs you then, pulling you so close that your nose gets stuck in all his hair. When you breathe in, all those hairs go up inside your nostrils and make them itch. You hope he never lets go. “I know.”

Put on the dress, then sit in the carriage, then walk up the Hill, then stand quiet. Put on the dress, then sit in the carriage, then walk up the Hill, then stand quiet. Put on the dress, then sit in the carriage, then walk up the Hill, then stand quiet.

You keep saying it over and over in your head, just like Uncle had said. He is the only one who would tell you what is going to happen at the funeral, because he knows that you like to know things even when you’re afraid of them. It makes you feel better, makes you feel a little less scared.

Uncle never told you how many people would be here, though.

Everyone comes to watch you and ’Nyra and Papa and Uncle walk through the Keep to the carriage—the maesters, the maids, the pageboys, the lords and ladies that like to stay in the city—but they stay silent as you pass. You wonder if pressing yourself against the wall and thinking really hard about being made of stone will turn you invisible, which is when you can’t be seen. You wish you could. There are too many gazes on you, and it makes all the hairs on your arms and legs and neck stand up. Uncle has to press you forward when you slow down to look for an escape.

You sit in the carriage beside ’Nyra while Papa and Uncle sit at the front, because Papa is the King and Uncle is his heir. She is very pale, almost blending with her hair except for her red eyes. You slip your hand into hers and she squeezes hard, but you try not to show her that it hurts. She looks less sad holding onto you, so you don’t mind at all that her fingers pinch.

It is the first time in a long time that you have been able to see any of the people outside the walls of the Keep. Before Mama died—before Mama’s belly got too big and she had to stay in bed—she used to take you just beyond the gates to where the really poor commonfolk would line up every sennight on the day of rest to get their alms, which Mama says is an important part of being good. She would say that you have to give coin and food and whatever else the people might need so that they are well and happy, because that means they will support the King’s reign and be peaceful. You don’t know what that means, but Mama is always right.

You miss it—giving people things, letting them pat your cheeks or your hair and calling you the People’s Princess. Because Mama is Queen and giving alms is what the Queen is meant to do, no one else could take you when she stopped going out of her chambers. And, when you went with her, the people were always very loud and cheerful and smiling, and they thanked you with tears in their eyes when Mama let you give them the pouches of coin yourself.

As the carriage takes you through the city today, the commonfolk are quiet.

None of them are smiling, or happy. They watch on as the horses take you through the streets, and some of them even cry when they see the long box that the cart ahead of you is carrying. It is the biggest, nicest box you’ve ever seen, made with dark wood and borders that look like real gold, glinting in the sun. Uncle told you that the box has the bodies inside it, the ones of Mama and baby Baelon.

You think that the people miss Mama very much. Maybe they miss her almost as much as you do—but not the same amount. You think you miss Mama most of all, even more than Papa or ’Nyra, because at least they have Lord Otto or Lord Lyman or Lord Corlys or Alicent or Betha Strong or Ser Harrold to keep them company. All you have is Mama and sometimes Uncle, and now Mama is gone.

After a while, the carriage starts to take you up and up, which means that you are almost at the point where you will need to stop and get out and walk the rest of the way. This is because the horses cannot pull so much weight up Visenya’s Hill. Uncle said it would be hard for you to walk, being so small when the hill is so large, but that you have to so that everyone can see how brave you are. “Targaryens don’t show weakness,” he says.

He is right—the walk is hard. At first, when you get out and take ’Nyra’s hand and start to follow Papa up the hill, it isn’t so bad. But then, it gets steeper and steeper, almost so steep that you feel like you need to use your hands to climb the rest of the way. Your legs burn so much that you want to cry, but you don’t. Uncle said you cannot be carried, either, so you don’t ask ’Nyra to pick you up. You must be brave. You must be brave.

By the time you reach the top, the men who were made to carry the box have opened it up and taken out the things inside. There are two funny-shaped objects covered in brown cloth lying in the middle of the pyre that has been built for the funeral—one is big, bigger than you, while the other is very small. They are the bodies of Mama and Baelon, and you have to hold on tight to the memory of Uncle’s words to keep from running over and trying to shake them awake.

“What remains of them will be set upon the pyre, yes—but remember, they’re not people. They’re just skin and bone and meat now. You must let them burn as all Targaryens burn.”

’Nyra’s hand feels like ice around yours as a man in a strange dress with a hood comes forward, past all the lords and ladies and past Uncle and Papa to stand right in front of the pyre. Two other men wearing dresses that look almost the same go with him, but stay one step behind.

“Tubī Arryno Lentro Dārie Aemme se Targārio Lentro Dārilaros Baelon perzyrty mōrqittot…” he says. You don’t know all the words, but you think he must be talking about the way Mama is a queen and baby Baelon is a prince, which seems silly to mention now that they’re not real anymore. “Sȳndor zijosy rēbarose, Dāria Aemma eglio ilvot trēso Dārilaros Baelon zȳhos gūros se tegot…”

Syrax is standing on the very top of the hill above everyone else. Because it would be very rude to look around at the others—Papa’s Councilmen and Alicent and the men who live on Dragonstone, your family’s special home, and Princess Rhaenys too, who is very scary, as well as so so many people you don’t know at all—you keep your eyes fixed on the dragon, admiring how pretty she looks in the sun. Usually, she makes lots of noise and is very mischievous, which is another word for naughty, but today she is quiet like all the rest. You wonder how she knows about funerals when she cannot speak in Valyrian or the Common Tongue or any other words that people can understand.

“Targārio ānogro rȳ ōrbrar ojāris, sētenondi hen ībī iemnȳ nȳmas,” the man says. His dress has what looks like an eye sewn on the chest, which seems an odd thing to want to wear. No one else in the Keep wears eyes.

The two men behind him step up with jugs in their hands, and they walk around the pyre pouring what is in the jugs over the cloth. It turns the brown even darker brown. After they bow, they move back, and no one speaks for a while.

Finally, the man with the eye on his chest says one last thing. “Hen perzȳ sīdas. Va perzȳ āmāzissi. Hen prānot istas, vapār drējī mōrī iksis.”

Something about fire, you think. Maybe he is saying your House words in High Valyrian. Fire and blood.

It is silent then, nothing but the sound of the wind whistling filling your ears. Everyone is still, from the lady with the kind eyes that remind you of your own on the other side of the pyre to the funny men to the side. No one speaks. You wonder what is supposed to happen now.

Uncle puts his hand on your shoulder, leaning in to whisper in ’Nyra’s ear. “They’re waiting for you.”

At first, you think she hasn’t heard him—she doesn’t move or do anything at all, just keeps staring where Mama and baby Baelon are. You nearly jump when her fingers tighten on yours. “Ñurho valonqro paghyro jēdunna, lo tolijī kepa ñuha kirimvī rhēdos pendan.”

My brother lived, father found happy. It makes no sense, but Mama told you once that it is rude to listen to other people’s conversations, so you try not to listen too hard.

Uncle speaks too low for you to hear him, to which ’Nyra replies with something you do understand. “Trēsy dōrī kesan.” I will never be a son.

She sounds very, very sad. Poor ’Nyra, you think. I will never be a son, either. I’m just a daughter, a girl, like you. Maybe Papa would be happier if ’Nyra or you had died instead of Baelon, if your body was wrapped in the brown cloth on the pyre and you weren’t real anymore.

’Nyra lets go of you. She looks to Papa, but all he is doing is staring at the pyre where Mama and Baelon lie. Her face is very red, which means she has been crying. When she steps forward, Uncle takes your hand and pulls you back to stop you following her. He is warm, so you try to hug onto his leg in a way that doesn’t make you weak like he told you not to be.

Syrax makes her chirping noise, all of a sudden paying attention to what her rider is doing. ’Nyra tries to speak, but it doesn’t come out. “Dr…”

She looks at Papa again, so you do too. He still hasn’t looked away from the pyre. You wonder if he knows you and ’Nyra and Uncle are even here, because he hasn’t so much as glanced at you since the night he came to your rooms and told you that Mama and Baelon had died. Not once.

“Drakarys.”

Syrax rumbles, and then begins to climb down toward all the people. For a moment, you’re worried she might try to eat someone, but the Dragonkeepers are here with their spears to stop anything bad happening. She opens her mouth, and fire comes bursting out.

The pyre lights up, and Mama and Baelon disappear in bright-white-orange.

“Mama?” you whisper, eyes stinging and throat feeling strange, like you want to be sick but not. “Mama?”

The only thing that you can hear is the sound of burning.

Papa bends his head, and ’Nyra looks away. You think that you may be the only one who keeps watching the fire as it takes your Mama away from you forever.

(When you are grown, you will not remember this day. You will not remember the ache in your bones or the wind in your hair. You will not remember the faces of the commonfolk you passed along the way, or the sorrow in Rhaenyra’s voice when she called down dragonfire upon the hill. You will not remember the cold that leached into your blood as you stood beside what was left of your family, a slow freezing that will take its toll over the days and moons and years of your existence.

Even so, the sight of the bodies on the pyre and the smell of burning flesh will remain etched into the very fabric of your person forevermore.

At night, you will sometimes feel as though ash clings to your tongue, the taste of rot lingering in your mouth. In dreams, you will see brown cloth and a faceless babe wiggling beneath wrappings as it burns to nothing. You will wake in a panic, near to choking on the air you cannot seem to make yourself breathe, looking about wildly in search of the horrors that had plagued your slumbering thoughts. Melancholy will follow you, lurking just beyond reach, haunting, nameless.

But you will not remember this day.)

After the funeral, Uncle Daemon leaves.

You don’t know why, because he didn’t say goodbye and no one will tell you anything. When you ask ’Nyra, she tells you she doesn’t “want to talk about him” and walks away with Alicent. You ask Brella, but she just says, “Not right now, Princess.”

You don’t ask Papa, because he is still grieving for Mama and baby Baelon. For you, that means he doesn’t want to tell you about anything at all. But whenever someone says Uncle’s name in front of him, he gets very, very angry and storms off with his boots making a lot of noise on the ground, so Uncle must have done something very naughty.

A big ceremony is happening today, though, which makes it harder to be sad that Uncle isn’t here. ’Nyra told you that Papa has decided to make her the heir, even though Uncle is supposed to be. Maybe that is why he left. It has been very busy in the Keep because everyone came for Mama and Baelon’s funeral, but they are being made to stay for the ceremony so that they can swear fealty to Papa and ’Nyra. And, for the first time ever, you have a special role, too.

“… promise to be—to be faith–faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhae-nyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall def—defend them against all e-ne-mies in good faith and without de-ceit. I sw–swear this by the Old Gods and the New.”

Alicent claps, smiling. “Well done, Princess! Much better!”

’Nyra comes out from behind her screen wearing a pretty red dress, like the colour of the dragon with three heads on your House sigil. “Just try not to stutter so much, little sister.”

“Trying,” you say grumpily—the words are hard—but ’Nyra isn’t paying attention. Instead, she is looking into the mirror as Alicent helps her with the laces at the back, staring at herself in a way that doesn’t look very happy.

Alicent stops and hugs her. “You will be fine. This is what you were born for.”

“I wasn’t, though,” ’Nyra says, frowning. “Was I?”

They both go quiet, so you say, “You look very nice today.”

That makes ’Nyra smile, finally. “Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for Alicent to finish lacing up her dress and helping her with her gold cape and jewels. When she is done, ’Nyra leaves the room and Alicent moves toward you so she can take your hand. “Come, Princess,” she says. “Let us walk to the Great Hall together.”

When you get there, the room is full of people. You wonder if every single lord and lady in the whole of Papa’s kingdom is here, all together in this one place. It is only because you are a princess that you don’t have to stand with all of them, and Alicent leads you over to Ser Harrold so that you can stay next to him by the Iron Throne. There is even a little chair just for you there, in case your legs get tired.

“Princess,” Ser Harrold says. His voice is funny, like a growl, and it makes you giggle every time you hear it. And, every time you giggle, he smiles, which makes all the wrinkles on his face deeper, which is even funnier. He does it again now.

A big bang at the door has everyone go very quiet.

“Presenting—Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen!”

No one speaks when ’Nyra comes through the doors all by herself, chin lifted straight up and walking down the middle of the two groups of people. Everyone stares at her, even Papa, and you think that it’s only right that they do because she looks so so pretty today. She curtseys to Papa at the bottom of the Throne, and then turns to face the people.

Without a word, Lord Corlys comes forward and kneels. “I, Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named…”

You decide to sit in the chair while you wait. All the lords here have to say the same words you do when they pledge fealty, but you are going last because you’re the most important person to say it, which is what Alicent told you.

Lots of men and some ladies come up to the front to kneel and say the words to ’Nyra while Papa watches. It takes a long time, so you spend it looking around at all the different faces and dresses and coats that you can see. There are all sorts of things sewn onto the chests of people’s robes—you see a black stag on a yellow coat, a yellow lion on a red one, a grey wolf on a white one, a flower, a bird, even some boring ones like plain stripes or dots. Some of the ladies are wearing dresses that look very strange—the neck comes far far down so you can almost see some parts that are not proper for a lady to show. When those ones say the words, most of them are actually saying them while looking at Papa instead of ’Nyra, which is very rude because today is all about ’Nyra and not Papa. No one tries to make them stop, though, so maybe only you notice it.

When it is your turn, Ser Harrold taps you on the shoulder. All of a sudden, you feel very scared. So many people are looking at you now, and it makes you feel small and weak like you’re going to be smacked if you do anything.

But you must be brave. If Uncle were here, you’d want him to be proud of you.

You kneel in front of ’Nyra a little closer than everyone else did, but you think that no one will mind very much because you are her sister. Besides, your legs are feeling very shaky, and you might fall over if you have to go any further.

For a moment, the words won’t come out and you panic, but ’Nyra smiles. It is the only smile she has shown the whole time, and it’s just for you.

You find the words.

“I promise to be faith-ful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all e-ne-mies in good faith and without… deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and the New.”

You rise up, feeling like water is rushing in your ears, almost like it does whenever you have to take a bath. A sound like a heartbeat is all you can hear as you walk back to your spot, but you don’t sit down. ’Nyra said that you have to stay standing for the final part, the words that Papa has to say.

Your sister turns around to face the Iron Throne and bends her head to Papa. He says nothing.

Then, Papa stands, his sword Blackfyre in his hand and pointing down into the ground. “I, Viserys Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm”—so many titles go after his name, you think, glad that you only have ‘the People’s Princess’ after yours—“do hereby name Rhaenyra Targaryen Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne.”

Everyone bows their heads, so you do, too. When ’Nyra turns around, all the lords and ladies and knights and guards clap.

Beyond the noise in the hall, you think you can hear a dragon roar.

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muneca-lemon-steppa · 5 months

Note

can i just say that i am OBSESSED with your Alfie series. literally cannot get enough of it. Also!! Was wondering if you could write a fluff piece were reader gets injured and alfie comes to her rescuee? Your writing is so good <3

Hi my love! This ask was so so sweet! I am so glad you like the series, it was so much fun to share it with you guys, I know I tell y'all all the time but it's true! My heart is just so full I can't help it! And of course I can write some fluff! You know I love it hehe. I'm sorry this took a while but I hope you like it! This was actually inspired by my Thanksgiving fiasco this past year lmao. I was in charge of the turkey, mac and cheese, dessert, and potatoes. My little brother was my sous chef and I completely cut my thumb open and my brother almost passed out lmao. Anyway, sending all my love to you! - Mo

Ouch

Alfie Solomons x F!Reader, fluff, Warnings: injury, mentions of blood

There is something so soothing about the kitchen. When the world is so chaotic and cold and uncertain, the kitchen is a haven. Here it’s safe and warm and systematic. The chops and bubbling of the stove are so rhythmic, any harshness of the day just falling off your shoulders in waves. Because here you could understand and set the temperature. Here you could control the outcome and be free. Even if you were trying something new, you could be confident in the knowledge that it would always have a good outcome. It was your favorite part of the day, just cooking with Alfie. You on one side with Alfie on the opposite, working separately to jointly create beautiful.

The only problem that came with cooking, was that it was a little too peaceful. You became too relaxed. And as Alfie was apt to remind you, it wasn’t good to be too relaxed around knives and hot stoves. But it was too easy. The steady hum of the fire and boiling. The pattern you’ve gone through many a time. Your body would take over like a dance from your childhood. Your hands knew what they were doing. Your mind could take a break. And she would wander. Things to be completed in the office tomorrow. That new quilt you were making for your mother. Alfie needing a haircut.

Stir.

I need to make time for that book this weekend

Pour.

Alfie looked so handsome today if it weren’t for that awful stain on his shirt

Stir

Mama and Papa asked us to come for Shabbat this week. I need to tell Alfie.

Chop

We should go to the park this week

Chop

I wonder if we can visit Rabbi Reuben as well

Chop

Alfie’s birthday is also coming up

Chop

I’m so excited for his birthday surprise

Slice

“AH!!! Oh God ah!!”

A long and deep line blossoms on your palm. Far too entrenched in your mind, you were completely missing how the knife was getting closer and closer to your hand. You quickly grab a nearby dish towel, tightly wrapping your hand to catch the trickle dripping to the wood on the floor. Alfie is quick to you though, loudly dropping the cutlery and bowl he was holding. "Shit! Sweet heart you alright? What d'ya do to yourself?"

"Nothing nothing Alfie darling! Just a little scrape I'm sorry!"

Alfie peered at the slowly soaking dishtowel and raised his thick blonde brows at you. Mustache quirking, indicating that once again, you are a terrible liar. Gently but without holding room for argument he unraveled your makeshift bandage as you winced. His mouth furrowed and grumbled, "Ah shit treacle. This is why I always tell you right? You can't be all day dreaming when you're working in here! You insist on not letting me help ya, and then there you go fucking filleting yourself!"

Cool tears start trickling down. It burned with the introduction of the air and the embarrasment of getting a nasty cut. Alfie sighed, wiping your tears with one hand has he cradled your injury in the other. If there was one thing he hated most in the world, it was seeing you cry. "Aw my dove, no tears yeah? Not too bad ain't it? Why I don't even think it'll need a stitch I wager. Just a little alcohol on it and a bandage and you'll be right as rain. C'mon my angel, let's get you better aye? Dinner can wait a few minutes."

Despite having a terrible temper and being completely and utterly impatient... Alfie Solomons was an incredibly gentle and tender nurse. Stern. Always stern. And teasing. And scolding. But gentle above all else. You winced and shed a small tear when Alfie poured the clear and horrendous smelling alcohol on your wound. He tutted and kissed your temple all the while telling you, "Maybe this'll teach you eh? Nothing like a war would to make you more smart about your surroundings."

You thanked your lucky stars you didn't need a stitch at all. Despite the blood it was really a shallow cut. Alfie wrapped your hand skillfully. Pressing a kiss right over the bandage as the final salve. As you whispered a chaste thank you, Alfie pulled you into his chest saying, "Now listen my dove. I don't like to baby you. You are a grown woman and I'm not one to tell woman how to conduct herself or her affairs. But I get worried about you. Always drifting off somewhere in that pretty head. Not watching yourself. Not wanting help. You have got to let me help you my darling. Yeah?"

You nod, kissing him to assure him that you are ok. He chuckles kissing you back. Pushing you to the dining room chair he teases you further, "Now my dear patient, it is imperative that you sit there and keep that hand elevated. Lots of rest of relaxation yeah?"

"Alfie! I have to finish dinner!"

"No I'm sorry treacle but it is the doctor's orders! Can't have you losing a finger next can we?"

You laugh and argue with him, eventually get him to compromise to allowing you to fill a pitcher with water and set the kettle on. No matter what the others of Camden said, they could never say that he wasn't a good man.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #tom hardy

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generalhumancloudalmond · 1 year

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Wonderful child

Platonic!Yandere!Muzan x Child!Fem! Reader

You were a wonderful child not only in the opinion of your own mother, but also in the opinion of your new father, whom you and your sister unconditionally accepted. But to tell the truth, first time your new father bothered you. He may not have done anything wrong, but you were a child with an incredibly developed sense of empathy and you felt every change in his mood better than your mother and sister.

That's probably why Muzan thought you were a wonderful child. You never bothered him and when it was necessary, you left and even more, you took your younger sister away when he was not in the best mood, which made it easier him to stay here.

That night, you saw how annoyed he was after meeting with a strange boy, so when you and your mom and sister said goodbye to him, he was leaving for some business meeting. You, unlike your sister and mom, didn't hug or kiss him, just wished him to come back soon and waved.

"Y/n, I don't think you get along very well with Muzan."

You looked surprised at your mom, who was talking to you.

"You hardly talk to him, I understand that you miss your real father, but..."

"No, I get along well with Muzan. He doesn't even mind anymore if I'm in the same room with him when he's busy."

"Was he against being in the same room with you? I mean, you're a calm girl and don't bother..."

"He didn't kick me out, it's just that my presence, at first, often annoyed him, and now he doesn't mind."

You smiled at your mom, calming her nerves, and your little sister repeated after you, your mom giggled. You really were a wonderful child.

However, a good streak cannot last forever and one day it really ended. Now you were lying in bed in terrible suffering. Muzan still hasn't returned, but his money was enough to delay the progress of your illness. The problem was that neither you not your mom had the strength. You couldn't fight with illness anymore, and your mom couldn't watching you cry and moan in pain, couldn't watching your medical analysis get worse and worse every day. Your mother couldn't contact her husband, and therefore she had to make this important decision on her own.

Muzan came back at night and he was furious when he heard that he had an hour to say goodbye to you when your heart stopped completely. Not caring about the force, he pushed your mother away.

Why can't this useless woman even take care of her own child?!

When he entered your room, he discovered your unconscious figure. You were lying on the bed and looked very much like a dead, but the demon still heard your weak heart. With his claw, he sharply scratched your cheek, giving a small amount of his blood.

At that moment, your sweet dream ended, you thought that the disease was terribly painful, but it was worse, much worse. Your whole body was bending in the opposite direction, you even heard the crunch of your own bones, but all this faded against the background of your cheek, it burned with hellish pain, and the skin near the wound seemed to melt.

Your little sister ran into your room after hearing the screams. And froze in horror. Muzan sat on your bed and held you in his arms while you squirmed and screamed. The father was calm, while you beat him with your head in agony, while he held your legs and arms. The girl immediately covered her eyes with her hands and wanted to run away, but the demon stopped her.

"Come here. Don't you want to help your sister?"

She wanted to help you, she has to help you, so she listens him and approaches you. You began to shake less, but blood poured out of your mouth.

"Dad, what can I..."

Abruptly Muzan grabs her by the head and begins to squeeze.

"Y/n will be very hungry when she becomes a demon and you will help her with that."

#reader #yandere #platonic #platonic yandere #kimetsu no yaiba #platonic kimetsu no yaiba #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere muzan kibutsuji #platonic muzan #platonic yandere muzan #child reader

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pearlofthesirens · 2 months

Text

You're Mine- Valeria x Fem!Reader(wlw)

my first ever wlw fic!! i feel like valeria doesn't get much love in the fandom either but i'm ready to be gay for her.

summary: Valeria is not afraid to show you that she loves you, even if it means to drop her tough girl attitude outside your lovely household

pairing: Valeria Garza x Fem!Reader

warnings: she/her pronouns used, internalized homophobia, slight cursing

now playing: Sofia by Clairo

word count: 1208 words(one thousand two hundred and eight words)

"I-I cannot explain why I feel this way."

"It's supposed to be wrong but I cannot stop it."

"I think I'm in love with you, Val."

Love. It was such a strange word to her, yet she never got tired of hearing it. What did it mean anyway? Caring for someone? She cared for her men, her money, the drugs she smuggles into the country, and she definitely did care for the reputation she had in Las Almas. But did she love them? Did she love all this?

A simple answer would be no. Because in a singular word, El Sin Nombre could easily say that her love was that one person who would place gentle kisses on her face and help her relax after a long day of dealing with shit at her job. Her love was that one person who kept an extra rubber band around her wrist just in case she needed to tie her hair, which usually rested in a overgrown bob around her face. Her love was the one she came home to, the one scurrying around in the kitchen to cook her childhood favorite. It was you.

"Need you, mi amor."

"Come here, Val."

Valeria couldn't help but instantly melt in your arms, her tactical vest and gloves discarded messily on the living room floor. She knew she might have to hear her girlfriend nag at her for it, but your sweet voice was worth it.

"Your stuff."

"Later, cariño. Just give me some love right now, won't you?"

You let out a small huff, the look of disbelief on your face when Valeria laid her head on your lap, expectant of some physical affection. Nevertheless, your lips turned upwards and your fingers immediately hooked onto her hair, gently swiping through her black strands as she let out a sigh.

Valeria did not regret a single moment she was with you, ever since you two met in middle school. Best friends was what everyone would call you two, till she started to get pissed about guys hitting on you. Why should they? You're so innocent, they're probably trying to take advantage of it. Her protectiveness was so evident, everywhere you'd go she would be there to hold your hand and lead you.

You didn't understand the blooming feeling inside your chest until it started to hurt more than you could take. It couldn't be, right? The kind of feelings girls felt for boys, not girls. It was wrong, everyone said it was wrong. Then why did it happen to you? Were you supposed to feel guilty about it?

Valeria was more upfront about how she felt, declaring that she was a single and proud. Yet every time she saw your face smiling back at her, she could feel all the air kicked out of her lungs. Her heartstrings felt violently tugged at whenever you found a wild flower to tuck behind her ear. Or the times you would sit with your face close to hers, focusing on drawing her eyeliner perfectly as her eyes were fixed on your glossy lips. Feeling for your best friend was so cliche, how did she find herself in the same damn situation as those lame telenovelas?

Confessing to her was tougher than when you had to count money at the market for groceries, you were never good at math. Valeria would laugh and return you the change, coins clinging against each other after she sorted out the price of whatever trinket you wanted to buy, not without bargaining a little. Saw a little ring? Cannot be too much, a pretty girl like you deserves it. A small cat carved out of wood? You shouldn't pay, consider it as a gift from your best friend.

It wasn't until you were crying in her arms, tired of the world beating you down, that you realized how you much you had actually fallen for her. Yes, it was love indeed. Pure romantic love. Her arms around you, her gentle voice consoling you, everything she did just increased the urge you had to kiss her on that spot.

"It's okay, life gets shitty sometimes."

"Val, I-"

"No, it's okay. I'm happy to be there for you, you're my best friend after all-"

"No Valeria listen!"

She was surprised to see you raise your voice for the first time since you two met, you were never like this. There certainly must be something that had been bothering you for a long time.

"This will come off very weird to you and I don't even know why I'm feeling this. But it is happening and I don't know how to stop or handle this. It's just so hard."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm in love with you, Val. And not in the way I say that I love you when you're being friendly. I'm in love with you like I want to kiss you and pull you closer and tell you about my day"

"Hold on, wait what-?"

It was as if her heart had erupted like a volcano at your words. You loved her? Is that what you were feeling all this time? Those shy glances and making paper rings for her, did all of it mean this?

"I cannot explain why I feel this way but I do..and it hurts so bad to ignore it.."

Standing alone at the balcony of your house, you let the cool breeze mess up your freshly dried hair from the shower. Your smile grew wider when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist, gently pulling you back to their owner. Valeria rested her chin on your shoulder, your cheek pressed against her head as you two stood with your back against her chest.

"Do you know how much I love you with your hair down like this, mi amor?"

"I don't think you've ever failed to let me know how much you love me, baby."

"Hmm good. You're mine."

"All yours, love."

"Munequita, you don't know how much I love you."

"I love you too, Val."

Her hands immediately spun you around to face her, one hand on your waist and the other behind your head. You let out a giggle, keeping your arms around her neck. Her brown eyes always softened for you, never once she had thought about treating you with anything but love. The strong hands made to hold a gun could also touch you like you were made of glass.

"Val?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for always being there for me."

It was Valeria's turn to giggle, smiling ear to ear as she lowered herself closer to you. Her thumb gently kneaded your waist, your warm breath hitting her lips.

"You know I'm here to stay, right? Wouldn't have done otherwise, cariño."

The last thing you saw was how her cheeks flushed a little before a pair of lips smashed against yours, earning a little yelp from you. She could feel you smiling in the kiss, not letting her tongue take control yet. Only Valeria knew that she couldn't stop even if she wanted to. She wanted to feel you, all of you, and your love. A single kiss wasn't enough, it was never going to be enough.

proofread ✓

pearly venus, 18:20 240330

#pearly venus #cod #cod fanfic #valeria garza #valeria cod #valeria mw2 #valeria x reader #valeria x fem!reader #valeria fluff #valeria x you #wlw #wlw fanfic #valeria wlw

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w1ldthoughts · 6 months

Text

(Not so) Happy Birthday Part II

A/n: thank you all so much for your patience I hope this was worth the wait!

Part I

“Are you serious?” You heard a groaning voice behind you, belonging to your friend Jade who you’d been staying with. “How many times are you going to watch A Star Is Born? It’s getting concerning.”

You let out a small laugh, digging into what was your second popcorn bowl of the day. “I’m going to keep watching it until they live happily ever after. Or until I feel less bad about where my life is headed.” She sits down next to you and lets you rest your head on her shoulder while you desperately try not to cry for the second time today. The first week after the breakup you allowed yourself several meltdowns a day, the next week just one and this week you were really trying to keep it together as much as humanly possible. Needless to say, with your movie selections and inability to turn the camera or microphone on during your work meetings on Zoom in case you did get overwhelmed, things weren’t looking good.

“Do you think I made a mistake? Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled the trigger so fast and heard him out?”

Jade’s sigh gave you the answer you weren’t wanting to hear, but told you everything you needed to know. “Look, I'm not going to tell you how to live your life. But I am going to tell you that you are going to have to go over there and grab your stuff. You can’t just live in my clothes for the rest of your life. This depressive state cannot last forever.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll text him now and make sure I’m only there when he’s at the facility.”

The next morning you found yourself in a very familiar place. Everything was spotless like no one even lived there. But the place was full of some of your most fond memories. The spot in front of the fridge where you kissed Justin for the first time. The couch where you spent many nights watching movies or looking for missing cards from a Settlers of Catan game that had Justin flipping the board over when Patrick beat him. So much time spent in the bedroom you were standing in now, where all of your things remained exactly where you’d left them.

“I’m sorry I didn’t pack your stuff. I really wanted to—make it easier for you but, that just made it more real that you were really gone.”

Of course he came home just for this.

The sound of his voice should have startled you but it brought you peace instead, it was a sad form of validation to see and hear that he was also struggling. “Is that why you haven’t slept in your bed?” You ask, finally feeling brave enough to turn and face him. He looked good, tired but good.

He lets out a dry chuckle. “You really don’t miss a thing do you? I’ve been sleeping in the guest room near the office. Didn’t feel right being here alone. But I understand why you left. And I can’t tell you enough how sorry I am y/n.”

“Well… are you sorry enough to help me pack up all of this stuff?” Under the guise of your humor, he could tell this was the very last thing you wanted to do so he just nodded and got to work.

The next few hours were spent packing and loading things into your car, every box held a piece of him in it. He held the last one in his hands and stopped you as you grabbed your keys.

“I want to be the man you deserve. And I promise I’m working on it.”

You motion for him to put the box on the floor and he does so immediately, gladly welcoming your body into his arms. This is where you wanted to be for all of eternity, without worrying about the real world and ignoring your intuition and just letting your heart cloud what your brain has been yelling at you since you walked away from him. You pulled away from the hug and looked up at him, running your fingers through his hair and watching him melt into your touch. This is your home, this is the man you love. So why in the world would you walk away from it? Letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, the distance between you two became nonexistent and all you could think about was giving into this moment and letting it all go. You closed your eyes and felt him inch closer and closer to your face.

And then you remembered everything that went wrong.

“Justin, I’m so sorry. I can’t.” You pulled away from him. “I need you to show me you’re trying. The best apology is changed behavior. As embarrassing as it is to admit, part of me will always belong to you and I need you to either match my energy or I need to move on because I can’t keep living like this. I’m not going to.” You picked up the box yourself and walked as fast as you could back to your car and drove away without a second glance. If this was going to work, he was going to have to earn you back.

“Should I throw her a makeup birthday party?”

Keenan and Derwin both look at each other and shake their heads. “Her birthday was like a month ago bro, a little cake and some flowers isn’t gonna do shit for you now.”

“How am I going to show her how much I care about her?”

Derwin places a hand on his shoulder, “you gotta dig deep, Herbo. Think about what the fight was about and deal with the problem head on. And be honest with her…and yourself.”

“Aye…that was deep man. I didn’t know you had all that in the drafts.” The wide receiver nods at his teammate. “But forreal Herb, do what you gotta do to get your lady back man. You got a good one, make sure she knows that.”

“No you’re right. We gotta beat Denver first and then I can figure out what to do after that. Thank you guys.”

Keenan stands up to dap him up before they head to practice. “You know we got you brother.”

He had to admit the protection had been pretty shaky all game. The quarterback felt rushed and had little to no time in the pocket before getting hit and the receivers had been struggling heavily with drops the last few weeks. The offense had just not been rolling in the way he hoped and their playoff window was closing quickly. On 2nd and 7 he threw a zip pass to Donald Parham over the middle for a first down, bracing himself for impact as Zach Allen, the Broncos’ 285 pound defensive end, came running at him. Their bodies got tangled up on the way down and somewhere in the fold his index finger got stuck as the rest of his body continued its descent to the turf. Something was off and he knew it but continued to play until the drive was over. The trainers looked him over on the sidelines and decided it would be best to take him back into the locker room for an x-ray.

Meanwhile, you had it been able to resist turning on the game, having watched everything unfold. But this time all you could do was sit in anticipation instead of going straight to the tunnel and speak with the staff. You’d been here before. You've seen this. He’d broken another finger just weeks earlier against Las Vegas but they’d just thrown a shit ton of tape on it and he went right back in. But this was his throwing hand, his money maker and admittedly, it had you worried. You opted to send him a quick text letting him know you hoped everything was okay, even if your gut was telling you it wasn’t.

Justin slammed his helmet down looking at the x-ray results and threw a hoodie on to head back out onto the field and cheer on his guys. The physical pain in his finger paled in comparison to how he was feeling mentally. He’s let down his teammates, his guys. The coaches. The fans. All these people that were counting on him were going to be disappointed. With four weeks left in the season he knew it was a long shot to try and play again. But that wasn’t going to stop him from doing everything in his power to try to be ready until the doctors gave him the official word that he couldn’t. After the game was over and he headed to the locker room to change, he shot you a text back that he was fine and headed to his post game presser.

You know that feeling when you don’t even remember going to sleep until you open your eyes and question your entire existence? Yeah that’s what was happening to you now. The knock on the door startled you out of a sleep you didn’t even mean to take and you sleepily stood up from your seat on Jade’s couch and opened the door.

The man on the other side of it had you thinking you might still be asleep. But there he really was, hand heavily taped and in a splint. At least his hair was finally dry. “I’m so sorry for coming by so late, is Jade asleep? Were you?”

“She’s out with some guy tonight and you’re fine. What are you doing here, what’s going on?”

You step aside to let him in and close the door behind him. “I lied to you earlier. And then I realized that I was making the same mistakes that got us in this mess so I got an Uber and wanted to finally be honest. With you.”

“Justin what are you—what do you mean?”

“I’m not fine,” he states with a shaky sigh. “I signed this big contract in the offseason and was on top of the world. This is my team, you know? I’m the guy. They trusted me with all this money and I don’t even know if I deserve it anymore. I let them down and now I’m not even sure I’ll get to play with these guys again this year. And I don’t even know why my first instinct is always to tell you that I’m okay. Maybe I’m trying to spare your feelings and not burden you with this ‘whoa is me’ attitude but I do want to tell you everything. I—I trust you with my life, I just haven’t been acting like it. You’re the only one I want to tell everything to and I haven’t been treating you like my partner and I’m sorry for letting it get this bad.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat before speaking. “Justin I need to tell you something and I need you to listen to everything I’m about to say.” He nods and waits for you to continue. “You. Deserve. Everything. Okay? I mean god this team is probably winless without you. You’ve willed them to be competitive ALL year and somehow along the way you’ve been convinced that this is your fault. It’s not you. You are NOT the problem. If anything babe, you’re the fucking standard. You set records, you are who everyone compares their quarterback to and you know why? Because you have rallied those guys and they believe in you. Your organization believes in you. I believe in you.”

“Thank you for saying that,” he whispers, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. “And I know I can’t erase the past or what I did but you’re everything I could ever want. Much more than I’ve ever asked for. And I fucked up the best thing I had. There isn’t a moment that I don’t think about it. Maybe…we could start over? Not forget any of the mistakes that were made along the way but learn from them. Clean slate, so I can earn your trust back.”

He waits for you to respond, the silence quickly killing his confidence. Maybe he really had lost you for good. You look down at the floor in sadness, still unsure about if this one conversation was enough to change the course of your relationship. Justin doesn’t wait any longer, kissing you on the forehead and walking out the front door. The quarterback sat in the Uber with a heavy sigh, trying to come to terms with the chaos of his professional and personal life. A few hours later when he couldn’t sleep in anticipation of his doctor’s appointment in a few hours, there was a knock at the door.

“I’m so sorry to bother you this late but I just couldn’t shake this feeling that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Oh I’m sorry I didn’t even introduce myself, I’m y/n.”

Justin’s smile takes over his face, dimple in full display. “It’s nice to meet you y/n, I’m Justin.”

Maybe, just maybe…what started with the worst birthday of your life could be a really funny story to tell your grandkids someday.

#Justin Herbert #justin herbert imagine #justin herbert x reader #justin herbert angst

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atlasscrumpit · 5 months

Note

It may be kinda wierd. Yandere stuckony.

The reader is a uni student. And they're her guardian angels who fit into the society by being her professors. They fall in love with her even though they aren't allowed to fall in love with human.

And the reader doesn't understand why they keep looking at her. She's even more surprised when she notices that they appear everytime she's in trouble.

(not really Yandere but still)

Bucky/Tony/Steve platonic x reader

Bucky sat at his desk while Tony paced up and down his office.

"Look I'm thankful and all but after I died I thought I'd have like...heaven and peace and all that nice shit. Now I just have to spend my days as a goddamn professor to protect a girl?" Tony grumbled as Bucky took his glasses off and rubbed his face.

"You should be thankful, being a guardian is one of the highest jobs. They don't choose just anyone." Bucky replied making Tony roll his eyes.

"Can I at least get drunk?" Tony asked, Bucky stopped and groaned.

"No, you cannot. You have a duty and you'll complete that duty." Bucky replied before Tony walked out mumbling under his breath.

He passed Steve while he entered Bucky's office.

"Trouble with the new kid?" Steve asked sitting accross from him.

"I still have no idea why they chose him." Bucky grumbled staring at the work in front of him.

"Well, they obviously saw something in him, how's Y/N going lately?" Steve asked as Bucky looked up from his work.

"She's started dating someone and her grades are going down, he seems like a piece of shit too. I know we're not supposed to interfere but I have a bad feeling about this guy, just keep an eye on her, okay?" Bucky warned as a Steve nodded.

"Got it, chief." Steve replied before leaving.

Bucky didn't love being the team leader, but he'd been a guardian longer than Steve or Tony.

Bucky died in war and Steve only a few years later.

But, Tony had only been doing this for less than a year.

Steve was about to leave when he felt an odd sensation.

"Did you feel that?" Steve muttered, turning around to see Bucky already standing up.

"It's Y/N." Bucky said as him and Steve rushed out.

Tony wasn't fair behind them shouting about something.

They got to your dorm room and heard you crying and screaming for help.

Bucky kicked the door down while Steve ran in, he saw your boyfriend pinning you down as you cried out.

He instantly grabbed him and threw him to the floor.

"Get the fuck off her!" Steve shouted as Bucky forced him out of the door.

You scrambled to get your pants back on as you cried softly.

Steve knelt beside your bed.

"Hey, it's okay. It's alright, Y/N." Steve said as he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around you.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry." You whispered as Bucky came over and handed you some water.

"What are you all doing here?" You asked, your eyes still wide.

"We were passing by and heard you call for help." Steve explained as you nodded a little.

"Did he manage to..." Steve muttered as you shook your head.

"No, you got here just in time." You whispered as Steve nodded.

"W-Will you help me report him?" You whispered, looking at Steve as he offered you a soft smile.

"Of course, Y/N."

After Steve, Bucky and Tony had called your best friend they left your dorm, knowing you would be safe.

But, they were definitely going straight to the head office to report the man that had tried to hurt you.

"I don't get why she needs two guardians like you two and also me. I mean, just one of you could've stop what just happened." Tony said making Bucky groan a little.

"Don't question things so much." Bucky grumbled making Tony roll his eyes once more.

"Or what? I'll become a demon or some shit?" Tony grumbled, Steve decided to just say out of it for the moment.

"Demons aren't real, Tony. Humans created them as an excuse to do bad things." Bucky said, Tony slowly realising a lot more about the world he lived and died in.

It had been a few months since the incident and thankfully your ex had been kicked out of university.

But, there was something about your favourite professors... They seemed too know a lot about you that professors shouldn't.

Bucky was working in his office like usual when Tony burst through the door.

"Have you ever heard of knocking, Tony?" Bucky grumbled, not even looking up from his work.

"Can we have sex?" He asked as Bucky looked up.

"You're not my type." He grumbled making Tony roll his eyes.

"Not you and I! I just mean...whatever we are. Is it okay to have sex?" Tony asked with a hopeful smile.

"As long as it doesn't interfere with your job, yes you can indulge in those pleasures." Bucky replied before Tony rushed off again.

Not long after Tony had left, Steve entered Bucky's office.

"I feel like Y/N might be on to us or something... I don't know, she seems different around us lately." Steve muttered as he sat across from Bucky.

"She has been a bit off lately, I'll pull her aside after class tomorrow and talk to her. She has been avoiding us." Bucky muttered looking at Steve.

You packed up your bag as quick as you could, ready to rush back to your door before you were stopped.

"Y/N, can I see you for a moment?" The professor asked as you sighed and rolled your eyes, so close.

You walked up to him and smiled.

"Everything okay?" You asked, he returned your smile.

"You just seem a little off lately, I wanted to make sure you were okay." He said as you looked at him in confusion.

"You never care if the other students are a bit off." You grumbled as he chuckled softly.

"Maybe not, but you have a lot of potential and I don't want to see you fail." He said as you crossed your arms.

"What is it with you, Rogers and that new teacher? You guys never stop staring at me, are you attracted to me or something?" You asked, Bucky was surprised you were so upfront about it.

"No, Y/N." He said as you narrowed your eyes.

"So, what is it then?" You asked, he could see you were getting quite paranoid.

Bucky sighed and sat down.

"Have a seat, Y/N." He said as you reluctantly sat down.

"It's complicated, Y/N... We're here to protect you, you don't ever need to be afraid of us." Bucky whispered, only confusing you even more.

"Just fucking tell me what's happening!" You shouted making Bucky groan with annoyance.

"No, I know how to test it." You grumbled grabbing scissors off his desk.

"Anytime I'm in danger all three of you somehow know!" You said as you grabbed the scissors and cut down your arm.

"Y/N! Enough!" Bucky yelled as he stood up and pulled the scissors away from you.

Steve and Tony came running into the room and you looked at Bucky.

"The truth, now." You growled as he sighed and looked at Steve and Tony.

"She may as well know." Bucky said, the two men looking at him in shock.

Bucky was always a stickler for rules.

"She's driving herself mad with this, the only way to help is telling her the truth." Bucky continued as the two men nodded.

"Then tell me!" You shouted, Bucky groaned and waved his hand over the cut on your arm and healed it.

You looked at it in shock and then back up to him.

"Y/N, we are guardians. That's the best way to describe it. We're here to protect you, we don't know why there's three of us but...what we do know is that for some reason you need us." He said as you looked away and took in a deep breath.

"This is a lot to take in... But, I also read a lot of comics and kind of prepared for this... Okay, I'm good." You said as Tony looked at you in shock.

"Did you just talk yourself through this whole thing in like ten seconds?" He asked as you nodded.

"Yeah, is that weird?"

#Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #Tony Stark #Platonic #Reader insert #Bucky Barnes x reader #Steve Rogers x reader #Tony Stark x reader

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whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell · 5 months

Text

Vatic - Chapter XVI " Threads "

Series Description :The youngest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent grows up split between the two sides of her family. With dreams plaguing her sleep of people she does not know, and a war looming ahead of her. She will be forced to choose between the two sides of her family, between the love for her brother, and the loyalty for her sister.

Chapter Description : Y/n has a nightmare that she cannot seem to stop thinking about.

A/n : Merry fucking Christmas. hope ya’ll enjoy, this chapter kicked my ass

Warnings : Y/n is beginning to have subconscious feelings for Aemond, other than that I don’t think there’s anything, taking glee in someone else’s misery ig, tourney violence, absolutely not beta read or edited ( ya’ll been waiting close to two months idk )

Pairing : Eventual Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 6.2 K

The throne room was empty. No lord, lady, king or queen gathered. The columns supporting the ceiling were a far cry from the ones Y/n knew. Instead of the king’s prior to Viserys, they were now a warm beige with leaves carved out to look as though they were twisting around the pillars, and they were painted green. She recognized the room. . . but it felt empty. And then she was finally able to understand why.

The swords that had been melted into the ground surrounding the throne weren’t there and the throne itself looked smaller, more presentable and organized.

The very stone beneath her feet was not the rough stone tiles she’d always known. No, it was instead a polished stone, and as she took a step forward from one edge of the great hall towards the throne, the sound of her shoes against it were far different.

The window behind the throne was different. It was stained glass instead of the usual clear. The Targaryen banners on either side of the window were gone. There were no banners.

Y/n continued to walk towards the throne, and as she did, she could hear other footfalls throughout the hall, however saw no one. And as she went to take another step, she found she could not, with a tugging on her shoulders she turned to look and see what it was. The Targaryen banner seemingly stitched into the fabric of her dress on both shoulders, and then suddenly, a banner unfurled from right beside it, Targaryen. And then another from the other side. Stark.

But both banners had appeared to be ripped at the bottom, with loose threads hanging.

Y/n felt a sudden wave of panic hit her, her heart beginning to hammer against her ribcage as she began to tug on against the banner stitched to her dress. Crying out in fear as it suddenly ripped from her gown, sending her flying to the ground, the upper half of her gown torn from her body, leaving her in her stays and shift underneath with her skirts staying in place, but as she turned to look at the banners, the green fabric from her clothing was hanging from the banner.

“Mother!” She shouted, gripping the skirt of her dress in her fists so tight that her knuckles were beginning to turn white. No response came. “Aemond!” She tried once more, to no avail. No one came.

Y/n approached the banner, grabbing the green fabric and tugging at it to get it off of the banner. As it finally ripped off from the black banner, she could hear as the sound of flames began to become clear. Metal stands where fire light would be offered in the night were ignited around the great hall. And the other Targaryen banner turned from black and red, to green and gold.

The field of it was first, threads slowly turning green, and the then the threads of red turning gold in front of her very eyes, and the loose threads began to extend, as though it were growing as did the now loose threads of the banner that had held her captive to itself. The two threads eventually met and as though it were growing ivy, the meeting threads crawled up the wall to the ceiling, right beside the green and gold banner, that of the traditional Targaryen banner, but only a second later, a very sheer banner dropped down right in front of the new banner, so sheer you could make out the three headed dragon underneath. It was the sheer banner of House Reyne.

One of the footfalls made itself clear as a woman walked past Y/n to the new banners, and stood under it, turning her body to face Y/n. The woman had striking violet eyes. Her pale skin was freckled across her cheeks, and her red hair was pulled back into an intricate style, and draped over her shoulder with a ribbon intertwined into one of the small rope braids. Her dress was red with white embellishments.

Then she heard more footfalls approaching, and she turned to look at who they belonged to. The Stark and the Targaryen banner she had been connected to began to intertwine their threads as well, and another woman came to stand under the Stark banner, wearing grey colors that of house Stark. Her dark brown hair in cascading waves down her back and over her shoulders, her pale skin and gray eyes were captivating, and the necklace she wore, was that of sapphires. It was familiar to Y/n.

These two women must have been the most beautiful she’d ever seen.

But it did not seem to end. No. More banners continued to unfurl from the wall, revealing different houses. And under each banner stood a different woman. On the side where the Stark banner was, the threads from each banner connected.

Y/n did not understand.

After Stark came Cerwyn, then Slate, Blackwood, Flint, and then Stark again, and once more. At the last stark banner, Y/n watched as a young woman, possibly only a few years her senior, came to stand under it. She was slim, a wild beauty could be attributed to her. A long face that was so frequently found with the Starks. Her dark hair was in a braid, and her brown eyes followed Y/n’s. The blue winter rose laurel she held in her hands seemed to look dry. As though it were weeks old.

and as Y/n looked to the other wall, she watched as the Targaryen banner under the sheer Reyne one began to intertwine it’s threads with the next one, and that one with the next. It went Targaryen, Parren, Drox, Lydden, Prester, and the next threewere all Lannister, but the last one had a sheer banner over it as well. That of house Baratheon. And the woman who stood under it must have only been a few year older she was.

She was so familiar. Her hair golden and in a similar style to the woman before her. Her gown red and gold.

This was the young woman she’d seen so often in her dreams. Standing before her with a house attributed to her. But what was she? Lannister? Baratheon? Neither? And while nearly every looked directly at Y/n, the young woman stared straight ahead. An enamored look upon her face. And so, Y/n turned to look as well, and found the only man standing there. Under a new banner connected to the last Stark banner.

It was once more Targaryen, this also with a sheet one over top it. That of Stark. He also stared straight at the woman. This was a man Y/n had seen once before.

In her dreams where she saw the northern wall. She’d only ever seen it once, the after King Viserys had sentenced three rapers and five theives to the wall to repay for their crimes.

He looked exactly how Y/n vaguely remembered him from years ago when her sire was not rotting from the very inside out. His dark hair curled around his face, a light stubble along his jaw and cheeks. Warm brown eyes filled with nothing less than love for the woman he stared at across from him.

She’d seen the look before, directed at her everyday. But the look she received was not from brown eyes, but that of violet.

Was this a dream? Y/n did not know. Who these women and a singular man in front of her. And why was the great hall so different? Why did their eyes follow her so intently?

She could not answer any of the questions as a final banner unfurled directly in front of the dais the iron throne sat upon. split into four sections. The top two, Stark and Lannister, the bottom two, Targaryen and Tyrell, but stags were stitched into each corner.

A child walked down the steps from the lifted walkway of the great hall. Her skin freckled from the sun, her giggles echoing off the walls, her dark curls bouncing as she hopped down each step. Her brown eyes shone with an innocence only ever found in a child. She could not have been more than six as she bounded towards the dais. Her clothing was thick. That of a northerner, but it was a deep crimson, embroidery of the same color thread of the fabric contained the Tyrell rose, and the Lannister lion. The fur peeking from the collar of her clothing was a warm cream. It mimicked gold.

It happened quickly after that, The banners began to fall to the ground, erupting in flames, the other women disappearing like ashes in the wind as even bricks of the great hall began to collapse, letting in light and ash from the sky, and as the banner of many houses erupted in flames, the small girl screamed and ran from it, and as it fell to the ground in flames, Y/n watched as the throne melted, fire licking at the rusted and blackened blades, the steel and iron of old swords beginning to pull down the dais, dripping onto each step as it formed a large molten puddle.

“Aemond! Brother!” She screamed once more.

The only two left that weren’t the girl was the last Lannister, or was she Baratheon? And the Targaryen, or was he a Stark?

Where was Aemond? Her mother? Aegon or Helaena? Where was Rhaenyra? Why was their home crumbling to the ground in front of her, why was she the only one there to witness it? “Rhaenyra! Aemond!” Her screams were so guttural and blood curdling that this were not a dream, it would have strained her throat.

But as each boring red brick fell, so did the reality of the dream. She was in the great hall. . . and then, she was in her dark bedchambers as Aemond held a lantern and looked down at her from the side of the bed, a boyish grin on his face.

She leapt from her bed, throwing herself into his arms. The sudden action caused Aemond to stumble back, pulling her off the bed by how tight her grip around him was. But once he had regained his footing, he had quickly wrapped his own arms around her as tightly as he could in return.

He was fully dressed, even wearing his riding boots. She was on her tiptoes atop the toe box of his boots. But he did not complain.

“What’s wrong little sister?” He questioned gently, one hand on the small of her back, holding her steady, and the other one around her upper back.

“A bad dream.” She said simply. Her face was buried in the crook of his neck. Finding comfort in his warmth, smelling the fresh scent of dragon on him. Her eyes squeezed shut so tightly that she was only getting snippets of the terrible dream that had crept its evil self into her slumber.

The first two women were etched into her sight. Red hair and violet eyes, dark brown hair and grey eyes. And the last man and woman, and the child. She could not get their faces out of her memory.

She felt him nod against the side of her head as he dipped his head to press a firm kiss onto her shoulder. “What happened? In you dream?”

Y/n sniffled a bit, her nails digging into the leather of his riding clothes. “I. . . I can’t remember most of it.” She told him. It was the truth. Lannister, Stark, Targaryen, Baratheon. “But I was afraid. I kept calling for you. . . and you did not come.”

She felt a low hum in his chest that rumbled into her own The hand on her upper back went to rest firmly on her hip, and he moved his head so his lips were by her ear. “I would always come when you call. If you are to have another one of those dreams and I do not come running to you? Then you should take comfort in the fact that it is not reality, little sister.”

Y/n could only nod as she continued to hold onto him. “I was scared that you didn’t come to my aid.” The confession was whispered, but he still heard it.

He pulled back from her, placing the lantern down, and holding her cheeks in his gloved hands, resting his forehead against hers. Y/n’s eyes were still shut, but she could feel his eyelashes against her brow bone everytime he blinked. “Look at me,” Aemond told her firmly. Almost a command.

So she did. She opened her eyes and met his gaze, so close to her she felt dizzy, and her eyes were straining to focus on him.

“I will always come to your aid.” He professed. “I will travel however far I must to be there. You should never allow fear to plague you as long as I am breathing, Y/n. So you understand that?” Aemond urged.

Y/n nodded with fervor, her hands coming to grip the back of his arms as he continued to hold her face.

“You are not afraid.”

“I am not afraid.” The younger one agreed.

The old library was dimmer than most other rooms in the Keep., It was the oldest library in the keep, and it was hardly visite. Old stories and legends that had long been rewritten and pressed into fresh copies that were easier to read. These were books whose ink were fading, the binding was coming apart, and the leather of the covers was peeling away from years of use. But the youngest daughter of Queen Alicent and Alicent’s favorite son favored this library to others.

They preferred the dim lighting that forced them to light the candles and bring lanterns, the enjoyed being away from others.

“I heard Rhaenyra keeps writing to you.” Aemond’s voice was cold as he said it and pulled a book from the shelves, opening it and reading the first page as Y/n sat in the large armchair by one of the windows, her legs curled in so all of her was on the cushion. Aemond oft said that she looked like a fawn when she sat that way.

Y/n rolled her eyes, continuing her sketch in the well lit corner. “She merely wished me a good name day, Aemond.” She explained as she continued on with the woman she was drawing. “She told me about the ghost of Dragonstone.” Y/n added with a small grin. “A white shadow darting across the sky, supposedly alongside Grey Ghost”

Aemond hummed from the book shelf he stood in front of, clearly unimpressed. “That’ wild dragon’ is a figment of drunk sailor’s imaginations, and the whores of the villages below the dragonmont wish to feel more important than they are, and report false sightings.”

Y/n looked up from her drawing, watching as Aemond remained unfazed by his words. They were harsh words, cruel words.

“You don’t think the ghost exists?” She pondered aloud, resting the stick of charcoal she’d been using to draw down on the paper that was clipped to her clipboard, watching as Aemond peered over his own shoulder at her, his hair swiftly moving with every motion of his body. He still had not quite settled on a style he preferred to wear. Still, he wore it down. And Y/n knew why he did such things, he was still somehow embarrassed of his wound.

“Why would I?” He questioned. “The tales say it’s a large beast only spotted in recent years. You expect me to believe that such a large beast went unnoticed until now?”

Y/n chuckled a bit, shaking her head at his response. “People didn’t think Grey Ghost was real either. Not until Rhaenyra’s own guards saw him.” She grinned, so sure of her own words as Aemond now fully turned around to face her, leaning against the bookshelf now behind him, an amused grin on his face as he shook his head and continued reading from the book.

But as Y/n stared at her brother, she realized just how truly beautiful he was in the moment. The dim light casting harsh shadows across his face, accentuating the already sharp features he possessed, his white silver hair draped over his shoulders, his sapphire and scar on full display for her to see. His eyepatch was beside her on the arm of the chair.

She had taken to doing that more often now. Whenever they were alone, she’d walk straight up to him and pull the leather strap off of his head and take it with her. The princess wished to see him in all that he was. As she had seen him all her life. She did not wish for him to hide his face from her, and so he did not.

“Grandsire has been talking more about Ser Raymond.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, looking back down at the drawing in her lap, picking up the charcoal and continuing on with the rough sketch lines of it, the hilt of the sword she held was too intricate that she could not get every detail onto the parchment, but she tried never the less.

“I do not like it.” Aemond confessed gruffly.

Now she chuckled again. “Do you like anything, Brother?” She teased.

“Of course I do,” He stated. “I like reading, training with a sword, dragon riding, sugarplums, wine from Oldtown, and of course I love you and our family. I however do not like Ser Raymond, nor his family.”

Aemond certainly had always loved sugarplums. Ever since they were young children. Y/n would pretend she enjoyed them more than she did, because Rhaenyra would always gift them to her as a surprise, and not long after she and Aemond had eaten them all. However, Y/n always let Aemond have the majority of them, just as he always allowed her to have the most lemon cakes. It was a fact that made her smile.

“Why do you not like the Reynes? They seem perfectly kind. Perhaps a bit over ambitious, but kind. And Ser Raymond is chivalrous to be sure.” She responded, attempting to persuade her older brother, but it was clear just from his tense shoulders and uninterested ‘hmm’ that he had no intention to be persuaded.

“That’s exactly why I do not like him.” Aemond grumbled as he soon made his way over to her taking his spot on the ground right in front of her, one of his hands coming up to grab her ankle that was poking out from her dress in the position she was sat in, pulling on it to bring one of her legs to rest over his shoulder as he rested his head against her knee.

How he was able to still read while maintaining a conversation was truly beyond her.

“You do not like that a potential suitor is kind to me? Or chivalrous? I had figured that was the sort of suitor I was supposed to find.” Y/n told him, reaching a hand out to run her fingers through his silk like hair, allowing her nails to run across his scalp.

Aemond did not respond for a moment, and yet, it did not look like he was reading the words on the page either. But rather stuck staring at the crease between the two pages in front of him.

But he answered soon enough. “If you were to marry Ser Raymond you’d be in the Westerlands. Future ‘Lady Reyne’ and ‘Lady of Castamere.’ And only the gods would know when we’d next see one another. I do not wish for you to go.”

It was Y/n’s turn to hum as she set her clipboard and charcoal aside on the table next to her, fully leaning forward to rest her cheek on the top of his head, resting an arm over his shoulder, her palm against his chest. “That’s not how it works.” She said simply. “I am a woman of higher status than him. Daughter of a king, though I’m sure Viserys often forgets I exist, but nevertheless, I am a princess. I would maintain my own name, I would still be Y/n Targaryen, and I would never be called Lady Reyne, though. . . If I were to marry Ser Raymond I would one day be Lady of Castamere, just as Princess Rhaenys is the Lady of Driftmark. But I’m sure we have more time before Grandsire insists on my marriage” The argument they’d once heard through stone walls in the secret passages plagued her in that moment.

“She must be married before the King’s health declines to the point where he cannot effectively rule.”

Viserys no longer ruled in truth. He was given so much milk of the poppy to keep his pain at bay that Y/n did not remember the last time she had seen their kingly father. It must have been many moons at this point. And she did not find herself missing him.

“You remember as well as I what Grandsire said.”

The night of her eleventh name day was flooding every thought she had. The sounds of Alicent and Otto arguing through the wall as she and Aemond made their way to the waters, and what Aemond had said that night as well.

“The King’s health has declined to where he no longer rules. I do not wish for you to make the wrong decision in a husband.”

The gossip of the court was insidious. And as each year passed, she understood just how vile even the most noble of lords were.

She learned just how cruel even Aegon was. The gossips in corridors echoed, and the youngest princess had excellent hearing. She knew what the maids who cleaned up Aegon’s chambers had said the day after Helaena and Aegon’s wedding. The sheets with blood, and Helaena curled up in a corner, wearing Aegon’s robe, and even Aegon looking ashamed of what he had done.

Y/n shrugged with a hum. Beginning to pick up Aemond’s habit of humming whenever she was about to speak, or when she did not have an answer to something. This was something she did not have an answer for.

She was afraid she did not know how to choose a husband. She had, in truth, not been putting much effort into it. Y/n spent more time with Aemond, or practicing with Theobrand than she had with any suitors. She was prepared to just tell Otto to pick a husband for her.

Otto Hightower did not show strength in arranging happy marriages. Their mother and father were a good example of such a thing. Viserys had never cared much for Alicent, and Alicent resented Viserys.

But perhaps, it would save her the trouble.

Y/n had always been good at talking to Aemond, but in this moment, she truly was at a loss. What could she possibly say to ease his fears?

But it not appear that he needed such fears to be placated, as he then flipped to the next page of his book, and began to trace shapes and patterns into the red fabric of her stocking with his thumb.

He only ever showed this much affection to her in private. He only ever became this touchy when they were behind closed doors. The princess did not mind that their affection was more oft than not private. She found comfort in it. Both of them being able to show the other exactly how much they cared for the other.

Y/n relied on her elder brother so heavily. His presence kept her from a soul crushing lonely solitude she would have been left in otherwise after Rhaenyra left.

Y/n loved her family. There was no hidden secret behind it. She loved Helaena and her spouting of nonsense, her mother and her obsessive prayers, Rhaenyra despite having not seen her in many years, even Aegon and his lecherous behavior, he was nevertheless her brother. But out of all of her siblings, Rhaenyra and Aemond had cared for her and been the very most affectionate. She was grateful to the gods for her elder brother.

The uneven stone floors they walked on behind Maester Orwyle made a clicking noise every time Maris and Y/n took a step behind him. The people they passed by all talking to whoever they were with, though when they had passed Maris’ brother, he had given them a suspicious look as to what exactly they were doing. But in truth, they were doing nothing wrong. Not unless you considered curiosity to be a sin, or shameful.

It was not a frequent occurrence for both Y/n and Maris to both get an idea at the same time, so once it had happened, they acted on it quickly. Searching out Maester Orwyle near the king’s quarters. Even from just outside the door, you could smell how the king was rotting from within the confines of his chambers. You could smell rot, ointment, stale air, and milk of the poppy as it crawled its way through the air to come out in waves when the doors opened to the chambers. Y/n was sure that if smells had an appearance when they entered the air, it would look like the smoke that comes from candles when you blow out the flame from the wick. And whenever someone opened the doors to the King’s chambers, it would look like when one of the cooks accidentally burns something, and everyone attempted to get the smoke out of the kitchen, opening all doors and windows, allowing the smoke to billow out in ribbon like shapes.

Even the maester stank of the chambers as they followed him from a safe distance. Far enough away to not get a full whiff of him, but close enough to not appear rude.

Orwyle seemed happy enough to have guests in his study when they had ambushed him as he was leaving the King. And as they neared his study, Orwyle pulled keys from deep within the pocket in his robes and slotted one of the many keys into the keyhole and turned it, a clicking sound heard quite loudly as the two girls stopped and watched as he opened the door, moving to allow them both to go inside before him.

It was a room with high ceilings. She had never really known that the Grand Maester’s study was on one of the lower floors. And she had never been aware of the beautiful lighting of the room. The large windows allowed beams of sunlight to filter in through gaps between the lemon trees right outside the window. The room smelled of incense and medicinal liquids stored away in glass vials that were on the shelves above the hearth.

Maris was the one to fully venture in before Y/n did. The silver haired girl was in awe of the beautiful view from the window. Yes, it only had the view of the gardens, but it must have been nothing short of enchanting to study in such accommodations. What must it be like when it was raining?

Y/n had always found the rain to be a calming thing. The sound of it hittings the glass windows, going ‘tap’ ‘tap’ ‘tap.’ The sound of it hitting the stone of the balcony that overlooked the city could always lull her to sleep on her most restless nights. With such tall and magnificent glass windows here, it must have been like a lullaby sung by the heavens.

Stepping further into the study, she found herself approaching the windows, gently resting her hand on one of the frosted tiles of glass that was at the bottom of the tall window. The windows started roughly around the height of Y/n’s waist, and went to the ceiling.

“I’ve never noticed that we had lemon trees.”

Maris giggled a bit from where she was, examining some of the beautiful plants that grew in the corner in clay pots. “Of course we do, Princess. We cannot always have lemons brought from The Reach. It’s how they make sure to have lemon cakes at royal events, or when their Princess decides she wants lemon cakes in the middle of the day.” Maris teased, now looking over her shoulder to gaze and Y/n who turned her head to look at Maris with a playful glare.

“Lady Maris, please don’t touch the plant with the red leaves.” Maester Orwyle advised as he sat down in a wooden chair at a desks with a heavy sigh.

“Of course Maester,” Maris said quickly, taking her hand away from the plant and stepping back from the pot. “But may I ask why?”

Orwyle glanced at Maris and then to Y/n at the question. He then stood up from the chair, approaching Maris, and waving Y/n over to the pot.

At a brisk pace, Y/n approached the two, watching as Orwyle picked up the clay pot, placing it on the table directly in front of the window, allowing the sunlight to hit the plant directly. In an instant, both girls were fascinated by the plant.

The red leaves practically sparkled in the sunlight, the red turning a deep purple in response to the light. The shade of purple was almost that of some of the gowns Y/n had worn in the past, or had seen other women wear at court.

“It’s gorgeous!” Maris exclaimed.

“It’s deadly”

At Orwyle’s words, both girls now looked at him.

“Pardon?” Y/n stuttered out.

Orwyle then looked down at Y/n and then to Maris, a grin now forming on his round face. “I must confess, Princess, Lady Maris, I have never had people be truly interested in what I have in here. . . This is a Raven Violet.” He informed. “It is used to make a poison.”

Y/n looked back down at the plant. It was beautiful. Even in the shaded corner it had been placed in it was beautiful with its red leaves, and now, with the purple leaves in the sun, and the sparkle of the leaves made Y/n skeptical.

Could it truly be a poison? How could something so beautiful and unassuming be so dangerous?

“It works similarly to the strangler. It’s even the same color. . . but this is far more common. You receive air from breathing it in through your throat. You give someone this. . . it closes their throat, strangling them. But unlike the strangler, this is a plant based poison, and its strangling properties is not what usually kills you.”

“Then what does?”

“More oft than not, the poison stops your heart before it strangles you.” The Maester informed, placing the plant back down on the shelf it had been on in the corner, the leaves slowly turning back to its deep red from the purple shade.

Y/n continued to stare at it however. Who would ever need such a thing? Y/n had read history books all of her childhood, and had them read to her as well from Aemond. She knew the ancient legends of kings and rulers having someone killed. She had always found it to be so cowardly. Men were meant to fight battles. Its the reason boys were trained with swords and bows. Taught how to ride a horse at such a fast pace. It was honorable to go out as a soldier, fighting. Not being killed in such an unsuspecting environment. Perhaps not even knowing who their killer was.

“What’s ‘The Strangler’, Maester?”Maris suddenly asked, pulling Y/n from her thoughts.

Orwyle seemed to hesitate to answer as he looked up at them from the other plants. “It’s a purple crystal, it almost looks like an amethyst. . . it dissolves in fluids. It’s far worse than a Raven Violet. It truly does strangle you.”

Y/n didn’t have much to say as she looked back out the window at the lemon trees. The bright yellow fruit ready to be picked and made into something delicious that would surly have both her and her mother asking for more. If Rhaenyra was there, they’d go through it twice as fast. Y/n wasn’t even sure if Rhaenyra ate most of them whenever she had taken them onto her plate, or saved a majority of them to give to Y/n later.

Rhaenyra had never been caught by Alicent doing such things. Rather the oldest of Viserys’ children would wait until it was just the two of them and sneak small lemon cakes to her. Sometimes it would be while Y/n sought her sister out for company while the boys went to the dragon pit, or were in the training yard. Those were moments that Y/n yearned to have back.

The oldest and the youngest princesses would sit alone in Rhaenyra’s chambers, lounging on the couch, or even on Rhaenyra's bed, and read. Y/n had always been the one who took the highest interest in learning High Valyrian other than Aemond, however, Aemond never asked Rhaenyra to teach him, but Y/n did. She’d sit with Rhaenyra for hours, looking through old books with translations, and meanings for Valyrian words, and practice them. Y/n was the most adept out of all the children in the Keep with the language by the time she was six. It likely helped that while she was still beginning to learn, Rhaenyra only spoke to her in the language.

One of those moments came to mind as she stood there. She must have been five, sitting in Rhaenyra’s lap. She’d asked a simple question, “How was your day, Sister?” and the woman had begun to speak in Valyrian, at a normal pace, explaining how the day had gone as Y/n stared up at her sister in confusion until Rhaenyra had said “Sȳz,” It was the praise Rhaenyra had always given her when she’d done something well. Y/n smiled as she recalled what she had done next.

Getting up in Rhaenyra’s face laughing, and grabbing her cheeks. “Good?” She had questioned. She swore she could almost hear Rhaenyra’s laugh now as she nodded in agreement and repeated it “Sȳz.”

Y/n longed for her sister’s presence.

There was noise from outside of the study that had caught Y/n’s attention. Watching the open doorway as stewards, maids, and low lords made their way away from the noises. And then two men passed the doorway, carrying a wood and glass decoration so large it required two men. The seven pointed star, with each point being a different color of glass.

Y/n approached the door, and peered her head out in the direction they had gone, watching as a large wooden ladder was placed against one of the stone walls beside the tapestries.

Taking a step out into the corridor, Y/n finally noticed her mother, speaking to a man dressed rather plainly who was motioning towards the stone wall, a hammer and pick in hand as he did. Otto was not too far away either, standing near another corridor with his hands behind his back, a haughty look upon his face as he gazed at the tapestry.

“Mother,” Y/n called.

Alicent looked down the hall towards Y/n, a warm smile gracing her face as she beckoned for Y/n to come closer. “Come,” She called.

the girl picked up her pace, finally reaching the center of the commotion, the two men sat the statue down on the ground propped up against a wall as Alicent reached out to grab Y/n’s shoulder and bring her close.

“ I think you will find that I put my best men to work on this. I would never allow subpar work for the Queen.”

Y/n watched as a man climbed up the ladder, and grabbed one corner of the tapestry and lifted it up from the wall, dropping it quickly, allowing it to fall to the red stone floor where dust flew off of it as it landed.

Her jaw dropped in shock while another ladder was placed against the wall, and a few servants quickly grabbed the tapestry and took it away, rolling it up before they scurried away. The two men who had carried the statue down the hall, picked it up and brought it to the wall, both of them beginning to climb the ladders, both having a firm grip on the statue with one hand, cautiously climbing up as two other held the ladders steady. The two men then placed the statue on the wall, allowing it to be held up by the old fastens that had held the tapestry there for many years.

“It’s beautiful, Addam. Thank you.” Her mother spoke. “I thought it was time for a change in scenery. Those tapestries were. . . improper.”

Y/n then turned her head to look at Otto, and watched as a smug grin graced his lips. The kind he thought no one would notice.

The Princess allowed her gaze to drop to the floor. Examining over every bump and groove in the stone below their feet, the grout between stone tiles that desperately needed to be refilled, and then, black threads that had fallen off of the tapestry laying on the ground. There was a trail of them leaving down the hall where they had taken it.

Black thread.

Lannister, Stark, Baratheon, Targaryen.

For only an instant, the awful dream she’d had days ago came to mind once more. And the sight of the first two woman flashed before her eyes. Red hair, violet eyes. Brown hair, grey eyes.

Targaryen, Reyne, Stark.

Add yourself to the taglist !

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @winxschester @blissfulbluenights @ghostlypineappl @dreaming-of-the-reality @strangersunghoon @shesjustanothergeek @floralsightings @watercolorskyy

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond imagine #aemond x you #game of thrones fic #hotd headcanon #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon fic

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changingplumbob · 19 days

Text

Pancakes Household: Chapter 9, Part 10

First night with an infant...

CW: Distressed infant, adoption distress

Since Tiana cannot communicate her thoughts will be in brackets

Eliza: Goodnight little one, I’m so glad you’re here. If you need help in the night Daddy will be on it, okay? Sleep well *kisses*

Eliza leaves and Tiana is feeling how tired she is. She’s feeling sleepy but doesn’t understand where mother has gone. She had a mummy but she hardly saw her before some person in a suit took her away. She was in a stuffy place that was noisy for a while, she didn’t like it there. She likes it here but where have mother and daddy gone? Were they temporary to?

Tiana panics. Maybe they don’t love her either. Maybe they’re leaving her here to starve. Yes she was just fed but that’s not the point. She is alone again! Feeling betrayed she bursts into tears.

Bob: Now now, what’s this? I could hear cries from down the hall

Tiana: *sniffles* (better stop crying, daddy might not like it, might get lady in suit to take me away again)

Bob: Do you want some company? Well daddy can stay here until you fall asleep, huh? How about that. You just lie there and daddy will tell you a story

Tiana: *cries* (I snuggly sleeper, I want company)

Bob: It’s okay honey, shush now, shush. Daddy is right here. Once upon a time there was a very badly behaved girl, and her name was Goldilocks

Bob continues to spin his story of the misbehaved girl who thought it was okay to break into houses. He spends extra time on the food section of the story. Eventually Tiana yawns, stretches, closes her eyes and begins to snore

Bob: And that is why you should never trust blondes. I did it? I did it! Oh, fudge, quiet *switches to whisper* goodnight honey, dream of sweet food

He attempts to tiptoe out of the room, doing his best to stay quiet.

By the time Bob returns with the baking book he’s meant to be studying Ginger has come in to join the snoozefest. Bob smiles and looks over the finer points of crust assembly, he needs to learn this stuff for promotion. After an hour or so Ginger wakes up and Bob ushers her to the lounge before she can start barking beside the sleeping infant.

Bob: So here’s the plan, if Tiana is sleeping we don’t bark, okay?

Ginger: *barks* It’s not me you should worry about, Strawberry is the vocal one

Strawberry: *yaps* What an accusation, some sister you are

It turns out that Tiana hates wake up time! In the early hours she wakes up very sad! She had a bad dream with lots of loud noises and wants some comfort. Looking out she sees an empty nursery and worries. Should she cry for attention or will that make mother and daddy go away? She cried and mummy went away. It’s too much for Tiana and she begins to sob. Luckily for her someone was deliberately listening out for her.

Eliza: It’s okay Tiana, mother is here, it’s okay honey

Tiana: *blubs* (mother came for me, maybe mother does love me)

Eliza: Come with me Tiana, up we go

Tiana: *sniffles* (Go where? Not away from mother)

Eliza: Are you a bit sad? Let’s have a snuggle huh? I love a good snuggle with my daughter. Who’s that? Is that you? Yes it is. You’re my daughter, yes you are

She lays a slightly happier Tiana on the changing table and begins the process of giving her a new diaper. Suddenly a pungent odour hits her about the head.

Eliza: *gags* Thank the watcher life with Bob prepared me for fumes like this

Tiana: *smiles*

Eliza: Does a new diaper make you happy huh? Let’s get rid of that yucky yucky smell

Tiana smiles up at Eliza as she finishes changing her.

After a feeding session that didn’t end in spitting up Eliza gets Tiana in her outfit for the day (it has been clearly marked as day attire by Bob) and settles her onto the playmat.

Eliza: Shall we have some playtime Tiana? What’s this hmm

Tiana: *smiles*

Eliza: It’s a ring and we can play with it. See how mother is playing? It’s fun! You have rings of your own there if you want to join in

Tiana: *smiles*

Eliza spends a good half hour entertaining Tiana and near the end it seems like the infant wants to join in. She eyes up one of the nearby hanging toys and reaches out her arm to try grab it.

Eliza: Are you reaching? Well done my baby *claps*

Tiana: *pouts*

Eliza: Don’t worry, you’ll be able to reach it eventually. Shall we have some tummy time? When you get big and learn to sit up you’ll be able to reach the toys all by yourself

Eliza: Come on now Tiana, can you lift your head for mother

Tiana: *cries* (it’s tricky)

Eliza: Come on honey, keep trying, you can do it

Tiana: *whimpers* (I’ll try)

Eliza keeps providing encouragement and after some time Tiana successfully holds her head up!

Eliza: Oh well done you! Aren’t you clever

Scooping Tiana off the mat Eliza gives her a big cuddle to celebrate.

Eliza: Just you wait until we tell daddy, he’ll be so impressed with you

Tiana smiles and Eliza holds her up to give her a kiss before returning to a snuggle.

Bob: Alright, who’s ready for time with daddy? Where’s my little princess

Eliza: Right here, and I think she’s got a surprise for you

Tiana smiles at Bob as Eliza passes her over.

Bob: Hello beautiful. Is surprise code for dirty diaper

Eliza: *laughs* no, she’s been changed and fed, but put her on the playmat and see what happens

Bob: See what happens. Sounds rather mysterious. How about it Tiana, shall we have some tummy time

Tiana continues smiling and Bob places her down gently while Eliza goes to get another couple of hours of sleep.

Tiana begins to cry on her tummy and Bob worries that she wants Eliza to come back. He knows he can’t go running to Eliza for help with everything though, he won’t build his bond with his daughter by hanging back.

Bob: Can you show daddy what you did with mother huh? Can you do that Tiana

Sniffling Tiana raises her head and looks at Bob.

Bob: You’re lifting your head? Oh that’s great! Come here honey

Bob pulls Tiana up and snuggles her close gently kissing her forehead.

Bob: It sounds like you’ve been up for a while now, would you like a nap? How about that? A nap with daddy

Settling into the rocking chair Bob holds Tiana as she yawns and falls soundly asleep.

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#sims 4 #the sims #the sims 4 #simblr #my sims #ChangingPlumbobStorytime #R0904 #ElizaPancakes #TianaPancakes #BobPancakes

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ciellunee · 1 year

Text

You're mine, just mine

Summary- Itachi always considered izumi more and now you've had enough.

Pairing- Itachi X Reader

You were pissed. Absolutely pissed. He thinks everything is a joke and everyone is as calm as him, news flash it isn't like that. The argument you and itachi had was a long awaited one. Everybody knew izumi was madly in love with itachi, except itachi. He just wouldn't accept it no matter how many times you'd sit him down and tell him how she bats her bedroom eyes at him. He would knowingly hold his hands in public, hug him or cuddle him all the time sometimes even handfeed him making your blood boil with anger.

You were understanding, it was fine if itachi had female friends and their company. You never once tried to control his social life and neither did he but with Izumi it was different. She did it on purpose. Like this time, you planned a dinner date with itachi at this exotic hotel because uchiha boy really deserves fancy date nights. He were to pick you up at 6:00 PM but he never did. It was 7:15 when you got a text from him saying izumi fell and sprained her ankle. She called him crying and he had to take her to the hospital immediately. The text ended with "she's fine now don't worry. I'll call you in an hour let's see if I'll even make it home today, she really is hell bent on me staying with her tonight " No! Nothing about your dinner date, no apology, no 'I'll make it up for it' He didn't even mention the dinner date. He forgot. Hot tears running down your cheeks as your stomach churned. You've not had anything since morning because of the excitement. The beautiful velvet gown ripping your skin into pieces "I fucking hate you".

Itachi returned home at dawn, eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Trying to find the keys while on the porch he remembered the date. He was supposed to pick you up for dinner last night. "Ah! She must be really upset" he mumbled. Entering he came face to face with an absolute messed form of you. Mascara running down your cheeks dried and heavy. Eyes red and swollen as you opened your mouth, " I'm sorry Itachi i cannot do this anymore. " that's all you spoke before getting up and trying to leave the room. The Uchiha looked surprisingly shocked. " I know I've upset you my love but I don't quite comprehend what you meant by that ?" He asked voice laced with anger. " I mean I can't fucking pretend I'm happy with you, you're being inconsiderate towards me and my feelings, past month you've barely asked me if I'm okay! All you care about is your goddamn izumi. I am fucking done with you Itachi Uchiha, I don't want to be with you anymore and I am leaving right fucking now! " you yelled till out of breath. The Uchiha tried stopping you, reasoning with you saying stuff like "baby she needed me she was in pain" or " you know I have no romantic interest in her" but you were too exhausted to hear.

Third day after the unofficial breakup you did what had to be done. Wore a red mini dress with a deep sweetheart neck. Tight on all the right places with indecent amount of cleavage put to show. Your stomach burned with guilt and nervousness but one drink and it was all good. At the bar you met Kakashi who looked extra hot today. " fancy meeting you here " you slid beside him, for a moment he scanned you top to bottom, then replied " glad I am or would've missed seeing you look so sexy in that bodycon. " a lot of drinks and a lot of flirting led to him taking you by surprise for a kiss. You closed your eyes and thought of a certain black haired guy. Kakashi's lips were soft and he was definitely a great kisser but it all came to an end when you felt a familiar chakra. He was here and it's no good if he sees you making out with kakashi. You pulled apart " it was a mistake kakashi I'm so sorry " you mumbled and silver haired man looked confused but smiled and let you go. Why'd you let him go? Why was itachi here and even if he was....you guys were no longer together you could do whatever you felt like doing. "Ugh too much for a night gotta sleep" you mumbled as you got yourself and uber and went home. Reaching, you realised door was unlocked...

" Hello my little slut " itachi hissed as you went inside. He was in the kitchen sharpening a knife. " Oh! Don't worry this is for the man who had the honour of touching you first and last time" voice laced with spite.

" Don't even try itachi keep kakashi out of this "

" pretty little slut scared for her new play toy? Did you forget who I am? Do I have to remind you? " He moved a step closer then another step.

He got you in a tight grip, hands held to the back, face pushed to a wall. " so baby, tell me who do you love? " He said as his hands travelled through the mini dress and reached you ass. He spanked you hard on the right cheek earning a big whine from you.

" answer me!" Another slap.

" you ,I love you " you cried as another slap hit you hard.

" Good girl, who's slut are you? Who owns you ? " another slap

"Y-you" you whimpered

" Will you ever in your life pull this stunt again my angel ? "

"N-NO itachi please it hurts so much stop " you cried again, eyes welled with tears.

" I will stop once you realise YOU'RE MINE, JUST MINE! and if you hoe around I will punish your sorry little cunt and you will let me. I will make you come 10 times and fill you up with my semen so much that you'll forget anything but me and my cock. Am I making myself clear here ? "

"Ye-yes sir!" You stutter as the final slap hits your right cheek. Pussy dripping wet from all the arousal.

" don't think I'm done yet love.....you're going to pay a lot more than just some spanks for the little stunt you pulled......... "

#itachi x y/n #itachi x reader #uchiha itachi #itachi x you #uchiha smut #itachi imagines #naruto imagines #itachi uchiha #uchiha clan

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greatbritishsimchallenge · 5 months

Text

Once Isabeau and her family had settled into their rooms, Cassian asked to speak to her alone in the castle's chapel. Isabeau was a little surprised by the location, but agreed.

"So, will you tell me now why you have dragged me and my entire family from our home to yours? Henry said it was urgent but would not provide specifics."

"To be fair, I only dragged you. You're the one who brought the husband and kid," said Cassian, though he shifted his tone to be more serious when he saw Isabeau's warning look. "Sorry. Old habits."

"Thank you. So, what is it then?"

"You follow the faith, don't you?"

"I do."

"I'm not sure I ever did," Cassian confessed. "I went to church and did all the things you're supposed to, but I'm not sure I ever really believed any of it. But... recently... I've started feeling like I'm being punished. And maybe I might be off to a dark, awful place when I die. There's no-one who knows everything that I've done. Different people know different bits. I need someone to know everything and then... tell me if I've got a hope in hell of being saved."

"Cass, if that is what you want then you need a minister of the faith, not your sister," said Isabeau gently.

"No," Cassian replied gravely. "You are the only person who has a chance of understanding. Most people will hear my actions and just think of me as evil. You'll hear them and know there's more to me than that. That I don't mean to hurt people all the time, I just... do."

"You are significantly more complicated than you appear, that I will admit. Alright, if it is me you wish to tell then go ahead. But I do not promise to condone, like or even forgive what you are about to tell me."

Cassian nodded and then began, "You know everything up to when you left for Champ les Sims. Losing you fucked me up more than I realised. I didn't appreciate it at the time, but you were my anchor. You kept me away from the worst of my behaviours and protected me from myself. With you gone, things turned... quickly."

Cassian went on to tell Isabeau about Regina and the attempted assassination; giving up his daughter in exchange for the murder of his wife; travelling to the New World, only to find his lover pregnant and dying; marrying a barkeeper so he could support her financially; thinking he'd fallen in love with the one, only to murder her after discovering her affair.

As she listened, Isabeau's face grew more and more furrowed and grave. Cassian finished by telling her about Lady Catherine.

"She's my punishment, isn't she?" Cassian asked. "Or just my purgatory before the real punishment comes after my death."

Isabeau sat in stunned silence for a while. Cassian watched her, waiting for her reply. She stood and paced the chapel floor.

"Everything you have told me, according to our faith, has you heading for hell. There is no denying it," Isabeau eventually said, her voice weak and faltering. "But I do not think Lady Catherine is your punishment. If anything, she is the closest chance God is giving you to redemption. Take this opportunity and try to be a better person."

Cassian nodded, "Thank you, sis." He reached out to take Isabeau's hand, but she pulled hers away.

"I cannot believe you brought me all the way from Champs Les Sims for that," she said, her voice filled with a pain, sadness and anger that Cassian had never heard before. "You selfish, awful man."

Isabeau stood and walked towards the door.

"Izzy - wait," called Cassian, beginning to cry too. "I needed you. I needed someone who loved me. Please, don't go."

"And so it becomes clear that, despite everything you've said, you have not learned your lesson," replied Isabeau scathingly. "Other people do not exist on this planet to serve you, Cassian."

As Isabeau ran from the room crying, Cassian felt his own sadness overwhelm him. The sobs wracked his body so heavily that he struggled to breathe and he fell to his knees. He reached out a hand to the open doorway, but no-one came. He was alone.

Start (Iron Age) | Start (Roman Britain) | Start (Anglo Saxon) | Start (Medieval) | Start (Tudor)

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#and now he's lost Isabeau too #happy new year #great british sim challenge #sims 4 history challenge

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circular-bircular · 2 days

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The Benefits of Being an Octopus -- Perspective

It's that time of year again!

Each year, right at the end of the school year, we read a book in the 6th grade called The Benefits of Being an Octopus, by Ann Braden. It's a personal favorite of mine, one I reread again and again each year. And each year, the end of the book makes me cry those big crocodile tears, because damn if it doesn't hit hard for me.

I like to make posts about this book, though I haven't actually made it a tradition. I've only made one other post, about the phrase "suck it up" that's used in the book, and how it really felt impactful to me as a trauma survivor -- a reminder that I needed to face my troubles, rather than just avoiding them. It was powerful when I first read it, and it's still powerful today.

However, it's time to look at other aspects. Care to look with me?

Each year, when I read the book, I realize how different the kids are. My first year, the kids were... immature. There's really no other way to say it. These were kids whose last years of elementary school were stolen from them by a plague. They had no socialization at a very very fucking important age, and that fucked things for them in a major way. The next year, the kids were... well, disenfranchised I think makes the most sense. They did not give a single shit. They couldn't. They had bigger worries.

This year... The kids cared. The kids felt. The kids... feel a little too much.

These are kids that are well aware of the world around them. We read about the war in Sierra Leone and they didn't bat an eye; we discussed child soldiers and they made jokes about war, because to them, it was normalized. It was natural. In what world is an 11 year old desensitized to this? I had to impress upon them early that these things hurt. That these things weren't just readings, but true things people go through. And I think, by the time we got to BoBaO this year, they finally got it.

Each year, I have to explain that, no, the main character cannot just stick her food in the air fryer, because they can't fucking afford one. This year, I had kids explaining to me that the chicken nuggets would probably not be fully cooked in the toaster she made them in, and that could lead to her getting sick, and that's just another sign that being in poverty leads to further issues. These kids, remember, are 11. It's so vitally important for them to understand what people around them are going through, but they get it so well. I had kids opening up to others about their own trauma; one student discussed with her table how she lived in poverty, and how the only thing that helped her was her grandmother dying, because of the payout. And even then, that led to a discussion about how people in America can't afford to die.

Like... We can all agree how fucked up that is, right?

But at the same time, I'm teaching these kids that the abuser, Lenny, was abusive the whole time. They can't see it. They don't get it. That same child came to me and said that everyone was being too harsh, and that Lenny probably was hurting too, and that's why he lashed out. I had to very gently explain to her that abuse is never okay, even if there's a reason for it. And her heart was aching for that man, because in the end of the story, the people he was abusing left him. "How will he afford things now? Shouldn't he get another chance?"

I cut off my family in August. And these insights from the conversations I'm having -- about how the systems that oppress us lead to further oppression, or how people are still hurting and that doesn't negate the pain they've caused -- has really put a lot of my own healing into perspective.

It's a running commentary in the planning room about the kids we see growing up. Students spend the majority of their time with strangers they call teachers, and their parents rarely raise them. I think to my own experiences as a kid in school, and I realize just how... different it all is. And I wonder if those comments we have in the planning room were said about me. Particularly, "that's a kid whose parents are going to lose him." We say that frequently about the students who have helicopter parents. There's nothing we can do -- we aren't actually the parents of these kids, after all. But there's something so... insert an emotion here that describes what I feel when I look at these kids and see who I used to be. Like...

I see these parents, hovering over them, and I wonder, do they know that they're Lenny? Do they know that they're discrediting their children? Do they realize the amount of manipulation they're using, and how I am teaching these kids to recognize that? Do they know they will lose them?

Did Lenny know?

This year, more than any, I've gotten asked if there is a sequel to this book. And I always have to tell them, no. And they always respond with what they want from the sequel that isn't -- "Zoey escapes poverty" being a big one, or "I wanna see what Aurora is like when she grows up!"

I sat down one afternoon and thought about the potential sequel. I know what I would write, if I wanted to sit down and write fanfiction for this novel. I know, as a traumatized person, that Zoey's life isn't just going to be magically fixed... I want her to be a social worker when she grows up, someone who fights hard to protect kids from people like Lenny. I want her to be traumatized like me, but in therapy for it, and working hard to overcome her struggles.

But I also... weirdly want to see her siblings struggle. I want to see the bullying they experience. I want them to cut off the mom, who yes, was helpful, and yes, she tried her best, but fuck that, she still hurt them, she still neglected her children due to her own abuse--

And then it all gets fuzzy, because I hit too close to home.

And I wonder... How many students this year felt that too?

And I wonder... How many of you, out there, are feeling that right now?

Looping this back to syscourse (as I do often here), I just... wonder how many of you really understand that the things being said here about trauma aren't hypotheticals. That the things you cannot comprehend aren't just random accusations. They come from a place of hurt and inner truth, even if you cannot wrap your head around it. And that isn't to say some of you aren't traumatized!!! From my perspective, nearly everyone participating in syscourse is traumatized in some way, even by way of participating in these spaces. That counts. It always has.

I see so many posts each and every day just... showing utter confusion about the other side. "How could anyone think that? How could anyone possibly defend that?" And I just shake my head, because...

How could anyone possibly stay with Lenny? How could Zoey not see what her friends were going through? How did the mom abuse her, knowing what it would do? How could Fuchsia not tell anyone, how could Silas not explode, how could, how could, how could-

You aren't them.

You aren't these other people. You assume bad faith so often, just like the people in the story, and that's what led to them getting stuck. At some point, you need to push through, and the only way out is together.

There's a really good pair of quotes we focused on this year, and the kids really struggled with those quotes. One was a metaphor about a pond of algae. This isn't direct, but it's something like... "When you're stuck in a pond of algae, you turn green. It doesn't matter how many times someone tells you to stop." When... people are in that space -- when they're stuck in abuse, or they're in these angry settings, or whatever have you -- they mold to that space. No matter how often people explain that it's bad, or try to get that person out, if they are still in that situation, then they're in that situation until they aren't anymore. Telling people to stop being traumatized will never make them not traumatized. Telling people to just... Get With It? Won't work.

The second quote was something along these lines: "Sometimes you just have to have your back up against the wall to understand what you're made of, and you just haven't had that happen to you yet."

There's a lot of talk about oppression and prejudice and ableism and... lord, every buzzword ever in syscourse. But I feel like a lot of people don't get it. They don't understand those back-to-the-wall experiences, they don't see it in the people they're communicating with.

How do you get it if it hasn't happened to you?

Well. You do what my students did and you learn about it. You research. You grow. You try to look past the edge of your own nose, your own experiences, and see that there is a whole, big, mighty world out there, with people constantly going through things you couldn't even comprehend. And for fucks sakes, you listen to them. You acknowledge what they're saying. You realize that they are being true to their experiences.

And you stop calling those experiences into question when you express your confusion.

Learn to have your back-up-against-the-wall with them. Learn to find the wood for the raft together, instead of watching them drown in confusion: "Why don't they just swim?" you ask, but you let them keep drowning instead of helping. Help each other!

Isn't that what we want these kids to do?

#I may not be the best of us to have written all of this #and it's unedited because fuck it #We've been trying to write this for over a month now #And I'm just. Itching to get my thoughts out this year on it #I highly recommend the book to everyone #Benefits of Being an Octopus #syscourse #keeping up with nerd shit

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