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writingoddess1125 · 6 months

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It seems like a great Morning for DEPRESSION!

You Pass Away Giving Birth

Buggy, Mihawk, Crocodile

⚠️Warning:⚠️ Depression, Death, Light gore, Character Death, Overall Saddness

Was listening to sad music and wrote this.

Buggy

There had been complications from the start- being pregnant with twins always had this.. and truthfully Buggy had wanted to curse himself when he learned that he had accidently done this to you. However you remained optimistic- even at the face of peril.

Buggy had hired so many doctors, wanting at least one of them to save you but it seemed that fate was too tightly wrapped around you.

"Y-You're going to be fine I promise (Y/N)-" Buggy said desperately as he sat next to you, watching you battle for the lives of the babies. Another sobbing scream leaving you as doctors rushed in and out with new tools, techniques and more to keep you Alive. However the growing pile of bloody towels and bowls was a clue it wasn't working.

Your mission wasn't to survive but to save the children. Giving Buggys hand a tight bone breaking squeeze you pushed with all your might- Buggy saying words of encouragement till two new lives were brought into this world and you slacked against the bed, pale as paper and your breathing getting shallow.

They rushed the babies to the side of the room as Buggy leaned over you in a panic. Rubbing the hair from your face as he spoke in a panic seeing you slipping away.

"You did it! N-Now Don't leave me please (Y/N)! I'm begging you p-please" He sobbed, but you looked up at him.. gave a gentle smile and worded 'love you' one final time before slipping away right under his fingers... He sobbed and continued his desperate plea for you as he pressed his face against your cold on.

A nurse pulling him back slightly as his world seemed to blur around him- realizing the panic noises of the staff was not for you but for the twins. He didn't even have to say anything as the staff grew quiet at the single newborn cry in the room, sorrowful looks in their eyes as they looked to Buggy. One child laying still on the cot while the other was brought to him.

"I-Im so sorry- Only one survived" The midwife said softly and placed the tiny bundle in his arms still not cleaned and just wrapped in a blanket. Buggy held the suiviving twin, his body feeling cold and chest hollow as he stared down at her beautiful face.. She was so small... so fragile.

He felt his body shake as broken sobs left him and all he could do was hold her close to him, sobbing at the same time the newborn wailed.

"I-Its okay Cry away" He managed to say as he sobbed, feeling it was better in this moment and only this moment to not cry alone. He rocked the both of them in a desperate need to feel comfort at losing the love of his life and one of his children in one night..

He only glanced up from sobbing when the doctor placed a fresh white sheet over you and the deceased child's body. Covering it from sight as the Captian grieved.

Buggy smoothed a shaky hand over the newborn as the Midwife stepped forward to clearn off the newborn and get her dressed. Buggy not even realizing or caring the baby was covered in blood and goo. The midwife was quick, dressing the little girl and handing Buggy a bottle.

The new father still in a whirlpool of sorrow starred to feed her, still crying as before but with a broken smile on his lips.

"I-Im sorry you got saddled with me little one.. It's just us now.. You and me against it all" He said softly trying to ease his crying as the newborn began to down the bottle.

"You look like your mother... I-Im so happy for that... we hadn't figured out names yet, S-So hopefully your mother won't curse me but What about Mei-Mei? Hm?..." He managed as he pulled the empty bottle from her, holding her to his chest and patting her back as he continued to sob.

"Y-Yeah..My little Mei Mei"

Mihawk

It was his fault... he should have stopped you- It was ment as a journey to find a doctor to assist in your soon to be delivery- Mihawk wanting to keep you behind but you insisted on coming along, but due to the enemies of the past it turned into a battle. Mihawk had been sure he had secured you in a safe place, away from the carnage but who would have known a young man barely out of his teens had spotted him and walked into the safe house with his gun raised and shot you-

He heard it, rushing back to slaughter the boy as he saw you laying there holding the wound to your chest and gasping for air.

Mihawk pressing against the wound to stop the bleeding but it was so close to your heart he was sure you grazed it. Your eyes widened as you touched his arm desperately tears flooding your gaze.

"S-Save them" You managed, Mihawk still pressing all the bullet wound on your chest before feeling your body go limp and heart stop right under his palm.

"No..." He growled, anger flooding his system as he was ready to burn this island to the ground- That was till your words rang in his ears and he placed his bloody palm on your stomach, Feeling the fluttering movement of his still alive child just before the surface. He knew what he had to do... Save them- Pulling the cross from his neck he uncapped it and took a shaky sigh.

"I-Im so sorry"

Mihawk felt for the first time his hands tremble, warm tears flooding his yellow eyes as he took a breath... he didn't have much time... Lifting the blade from his cross he struck down, cutting into your flesh as the warmth of your blood flooded his hands. Something he had never wanted to feel-

With care he cut through the corpse of your abdomen and to the womb- With skinned hands he pulled up his child and held them with care. Panic filling his eyes as he didn't hear a cry or them even move- Tossing the cross to the side he began to do cpr on the little girl, carefully forcing air into her lungs and trying to start her breathing.

"Please..." He whispered as he used three fingers to press on the little girls chest to start her heart, Before she coughed and began to wail into the night air. Mihawk sighing in relief and cutting the cord with his teeth unfortunately due to tossing the blade as he held the baby to his chest- Staring down at the gory mess that was you and he had to closed his eyes..

"I'm sorry (Y/N)..." He whispered both at having to disrespect your body even at your request.. and for you not being able to meet your guys daughter.

"... You were right.. a girl" He whispered, looking down finally at his child who was still crying- Shivering a bit from the cold so he took off his coat and wrapped her tightly in it.

"We will name here Meira.. the light of you" He whispered softly. He knew he needed to get his daughter medical attention but wasn't going to leave you like thisveither. So he buried you and placed all the flowers he could ontop of your makeshift grave- Walking away with his daughter in his arms to the closest village.

Crocodile

It had all been going to well- yet in a second it changed.. You had gone into labor just hours before and Crocodile knew what to expect some pain, screaming and other discomforts before you gave birth to a healthy baby. However this? The back to back complications that left you exhausted and You had started to bleed during it all and the nurses started to panic...

You were fighting so hard, Crocodile holding your hand as you struggled to bring his child into the world. While his face was stoic and solid you knew the panic behind his eyes.. his wife the only one he would allow close to his heart- and the doctors were scrambling around you to ease the birth.

However you knew... you left it.. and Crocodile did as well.

"C-Croc promise me... you will love them like you love me..I love you" You manage to whisper out, Crocodile nodding hesitantly in agreement to your shaky words whispered voice managing out a 'I love you too'.

A cry ripped through your throat as another wash of pain hit you. Doctors trying to slow down the bleeding- After a few more desperate moments the doctors pulled the screaming child from between your legs. However that wasn't even highlighted as they scrambled to keep you Alive-

Crocodile being pushed to the side as they started CPR but- he felt it... he saw that final breath leave you and thay light fade from your eyes...

His world felt like it crumbled then, a nurse escorting him out to the benches just outside the room. Truthfully he was too dazed to care- the image of you gone still burning in his eyes.

Crocodile sat there in what could only be a state of shock- His wife was gone... ripped away due to his blood. It didn't take long for a skittish nurse to step forward, holding a blue bundle in her arms.

"I-Im sorry sir... I know there is nothing I can say to-" He shot her glare. Forcing her to shut up as she nodded and instead stepped forward to show him the bundle. There laid a plump baby, Crocodile felt his heart clench- especially when he could see the perfect mix between you and him.. Slowly he reached an arm out and took the baby slowly.

He watched the newborn yawn and cuddled into his chest carefully for warmth, sucking hard on the blue pacifier in his mouth as he clearly dreamt of food.

"...You are fortunate.. I loved your mother more then I can dislike you for taking her away... and I promised her" He said calmly down to the baby, holding him close as he stared down at the boys features. His mind drifting to you laying in bed next to him rubbing oil on the stretch marks of your swollen belly talking about all the hope you had for your child and the future...

"Hope... hm.. In honor of your Mother- your name is Kibo.. her last shred of hope"

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #one piece mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #buggy the daddy #dad crocodile #dad buggy #crocodile x reader #op crocodile #one piece crocodile #crocodile #sad thoughts #saddness

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misguidedasgardian · 9 months

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Storm's End 2

HOTD Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Strong!Reader

Summary: your mother sends you to Storm’s End to rally Lord Borros Baratheon for your side, but your uncle arrived there before you

Warnings: Cursing, use of the word bastard, angst, heavy, canon level incest, thoughts about dying, mentions of bedding, and more, dark fic, Aemond is unhinged, rape, non-con, minors engaging in sexual activities, mentions of a minor in a pleasure house, maiming, blood, violence, victim blaming, self blame, and other very dark things.

+18 MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 4,7 k

Notes: Ufff It seems I can’t do one shots anymore, I think this required another third part because I didn’t want to make it so long.

They say that when you are dying, all your life passes right through your eyes, making you relive all those moments, and the way you felt

Now you are able to say, that it wasn’t that accurate

Because all you could see was HIM

His head on your lap while you read to him in High Valyrian under the heart tree

You turning to him with a smile on your face the first time Karnax obeyed your command, the way he smiled back

The time you grabbed his hand and patted Karnax’s snout making him purr

But suddenly you were that frightened little girl in that tunnel in Driftmark

“no! stop it!”, you screeched, as Aemond had your older brother grabbed by his vest and he held a rock in his hand

“stop it!”, you begged him again, he threw his hand back to gain momentum and he hit you in the face with the rock

You wailed and cried, your face burning, a warm liquid filling your mouth with a metallic taste, blood pouring from your nose

Because of you your brother grabbed the knife, to avenge you, because of you baby Lucerys jumped at Aemond and slashed his eye off of his face

Soon you were not the only one crying bitterly

Soon some gloved, adult hands grabbed you and lifted you from the ground and took you to a maester

Soon you were seated across from Aemond, as the maester sewed his missing eye shut, his remaining eye didn’t leave your face, his mouth twisted in a dark mock

He didn't even blinked, he barely reacted when the needle pierced his skin over and over

While you only got a bloody nose.

Deeper into the night, after the maester sneaked you a bit of milk of the poppy, you woke up when you could no longer breathe, feeling a weight over your chest, when you opened your eyes the first thing you saw was Aemond’s scowl, the slash on his face still bright red.

“Aemond?”, you called, then he took a knife off his belt, you screeched but he placed his hand in your throat, “what’s happening?”, you cried, “I want my mom”

“Why was I the only one who lost something?”, he asked bitterly, “the only one scarred”

“You have Vhagar”, you whined

“I didn't stole her”, he clarified

“I know”, you said

“perhaps I should scar you too”

“You mom scarred mine”, you whined, a tear falling down your cheek, “please don’t”, you cried

Aemond looked down at you, you didn’t know what he was thinking, you only stood still, afraid. Your uncle seemed to ponder about something, thinking, analyzing, and then , with the hand that hold the dagger, he grabbed the covers and retired them, you were sleeping only in your loose nightshirt,

You were eight and he was ten, he grabbed the dagger, you were so scared you didn’t even move, you only cried and whined when he carved an “A” into your thigh

“Now you are scarred like me”, he said with an even voice, and an uneven stare, looking down at you like he was bored.

Even though you thought the Red Keep was your home, you were so relieved when your mom told all of you that you were going to live in Dragonstone from now on. You were now scared of your own uncle, of your friend, and therefore you managed to conceal your mark, never showing it to your parents

The next part of your memories were only a few weeks back, when you return for the first time to the Red Keep, to defend your own right to inherit Driftmark

You were lucky you were the only one that looked like a Targaryen

But Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s words still hurt

As he screamed bastard and whore to the entire court, you couldn’t help but look up at your uncle, feeling his gaze on you.

And before that in the training yard

That is when the uneasiness began, his gaze on you, that same smirk, like he was mocking you, and Jace, you were barely a year younger than your brother, he was only a year younger and yet, it seemed like Aemond was ages your senior, in abilities, in knowledge, in maturity, in everything

Perhaps that is why he was so amused

He seemed to mock you, to pity you, to be amused of how much of your childhood you still carried with you

You hugged yourself as Vaemond cursed you and your mother, and you felt his gaze on you the entire time

But then Daemon slayed Vaemond in front of all of you, Jacey, before you could see anything, he grabbed you and hid your face on his chest, to prevent you from looking at your now dead great uncle

Soon the impression on Aemond passed, as he watched in anger that bastard touching you, protecting you

He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else other than him.

That’s why he asked his mother, to ask Rhaenyra for your hand that very afternoon, right before the dinner

You couldn’t even eat, not with his gaze on you, you kept looking up at him, as he drank you in your black leather dress at the same time he drank from his cup. He didn’t not even for a second, let his gaze off of you.

You mother saw this, and grabbed your arm gently, and whispered to you what he wanted, that he asked for your hand

When your face twisted in fear and anguish, your mother’s changed to that of concern, then you both looked at Aemond across the table, and he could see in your faces, what the answer was going to be.

So fueled by anger and resentment, he stood from his chair and toasted to the health of his Strong nephews, and he looked directly at you when he said this.

“To the health of my nephews and sweet niece, my the gods keep them handsome, wise and Strong, she will need her strength, to bear my children after we are married”, he said with a smirk, and the entire table shared concerned looks

“WHAT?”, growled Daemon, looking at Rhaenyra

Whole hell broke loose

You tried to stop Jace, but he wouldn’t hear of it, he went for Aemond to defend your honor and he pushed him away like he was a doll

“Stop it!”, You begged him, after helping Jace on his feet you put yourself in between them Aemond walked towards you and grabbed you by the neck, he didn’t squeeze, he didn’t choke you, but you could see the anger in his eye

“You think you have a choice?”, he whispered to you, “I think you should see the scar in your leg to remind yourself of who you belong to”, But a leather hand grabbed Aemond’s arm roughly, you looked to the side and there was Daemon

“Get your hands off my daughter”, he whispered dangerously, and in the background, you could hear everyone screaming in desperation, specially Alicent

You were already crying, but he released you, smiling wickedly.

He had a face to face with Daemon, who put you behind him to protect you

“Over my dead body you will marry her”, he promised, Aemond only looked at you, and then he exited the room

Your mother send you home with your siblings that very night, scared of her own brother

And then as you took to the skies in the night you were suddenly transported to the last time you saw him

Aemond standing in front of you,

You were still in Storm’s End Hall, but there was no one else besides the both of you, you were alone. You wanted to speak, but couldn’t

“My beautiful, bastard, niece”, his words made you wince

You didn't know why you were here, is this what it was like to die? it felt like you were dreaming

“Why?”, you whispered, he tilted his head, amused, “Why do you hate me so much?”, you manage to ask, “I never did anything to you”

“I don’t hate you”, he said simply, “I’m just treating you like you deserve to be treated”, you frowned, “you are just a bastard, mine to toy with, mine to torment”

“Nobody deserves to be treated like that”, you fought, “is not my fault”, you whined, he only smirked, with a smooth movement he retrieved from inside his leather vest the dagge

“You are nothing, only the bastard daughter of a pretender who will never be Queen, strutting around the keep, with your bastard siblings”, a tear fell down your eye

“Is not my fault”, you cried, you believed him, a sadness taking a grip on you, you gasped for air as an inexplicable sorrow took a hold on you, “is not my fault!”, you cried, soon you couldn’t breath, you felt someone had a tight grip on your throat, you couldn’t breathe

You gasped for air, but something was preventing you from taking the oxygen you needed, you dried heaved, until you managed to throw up

Your body convulsed trying to expel the water from within your lungs, you tossed and turned until you finally manage to turn in the sand and threw up the salt water from within you

That is how you came to your senses again, disoriented, feeling sick, and clouded, and cold

So so cold

“So cold”, your voice sounded like a broken bagpipe, you tried to grab onto something, but your hand grabbed rocks and sand, you could barely see around you, it was all dark, it was late, and it was cold

You were soon aware that you were back in the land of the living, if you were dead, you wouldn't be in pain, you wouldn’t be so aware of your numb extremities, from the cold, the adrenaline, and the fact that you felt like you had been ran over by a herd of horses

You took your time to gather your bearings, to take deep breaths and expel the salty taste from your mouth, so sharp it clouded your mind even more

For some reason, even the stranger had forgotten you

once you managed to regain the mobility of your arms and legs, you turned around

“Karnax?”, you called, as you whimpered, feeling your loss in your chest, making it tight and hurt, as memories of the last moments coming back to you

“KARNAX?”, you called desperately, but you knew it was of no use, your dragon had been ripped apart by Vhagar, and it was a miracle that you were still alive

Then you stopped, maybe shouting and drawing attention back to you, wasn’t the brightest of ideas. But as you looked into the stormy sea, bitter tears fell down your eyes

Your baby dragon was gone, the one who had been with you since you were born.

You couldn’t stand on your own legs, you tried to, but failed.

You shivered, and tried to hug yourself

it was some miracle that the waves and current had dragged you to a small piece of beach with dark sands, rather than the rockery all around you

But you soon realize it wasn’t a miracle

You saw something, someone moved in your peripheral view, and you got a feeling…

Aemond walked towards you slowly

It had stopped raining but he was still wet as you were, his wet silvery locks stuck to the edges of his face and his clothes, all leather, protected him from the rain, he had taken off his eyepatch, and the sapphire gleamed even in the dark

You haven't yet recovered the feeling to your legs, but scared out of your mind you tried to crawl back, away from him. he smiled, wickedly, as he walked towards you

“Get away from me!”, you whined, but he stopped on your leg meanly, preventing you from advancing away from him. He only hummed, entertained

He looked like a creature that had come from the bottom of the ocean, front he pits of hell, he had resurfaced just to drag you back with him. He had come from your deepest nightmares

He leaned down towards you, you tried to fight him off, but he wouldn’t budge, he grabbed you tightly, roughly, tears fell down your eyes when he dragged you to him in a wicked embrace

“NO!”, you screamed squirming, trying to get away from him, “Why would you do that?”, you cried, bitter tears that burned your cheeks fell down your eyes, “My Karmax, my dragon, he was gentle, fair tempered, he never hurt anyone! He was good! Why did you do this? HE LOVED YOU AS HE DID ME! YOU KILLED HIM!”, you screamed, desperately fighting against him, to release yourself from his grasp

“He was weak and small, so are you”, he mocked in your ear

“WHO CARES ABOUT THAT?”, you felt physical pain in your chest, “he was my soulmate”, he manhandled you until he was face to face with you, he grabbed your jaw forcefully

“You have other things to worry about”, he growled, and you whimpered in his hold, trying to get away from him, but still you couldn’t, he was stronger than you, and you were completely destroyed

“please”, you whimpered, “you killed my dragon…”, his eye darkened even more, his expression was now the one of a man enraged

“Don’t you dare to even think we are even”, he growled, he then smirked darkly, “but after this we might”

The night was awfully calm, strangely so, and it was ridiculous you would think about something like that in a moment like this, but here you were

Because you knew what was about to happen

You only cried when Aemond threw you on the sandy floor, the hit numbing you partially, more than you were already. Aemond looked down at you for the very first time, in all this years, you saw him smile, he didn't smirk, he smiled widely, openly, you could see his teeth

“Please”, you begged him, to just leave you alone

“I love it when you beg”, he ceremoniously removed his long leather jacket, and left it gently on the floor

“I never did anything to you”, you whined, tears kept falling from your eyes and he finally jumped you, like a lion to his prey.

You tried to fight him off but you were so tired, so drained of all your energy, you couldn’t

You whined against him, but he didn't care, he never did, why would he do now?

He took the dagger off his belt, and for a fraction of a second you felt relieved, he was going to slice your neck and be done with it, but no, he sliced your riding pants instead, you tried to kick him, but barely moved him.

He got tired of your antics and grabbed you by the neck roughly

You whined and trashed, but he wouldn’t let go, soon the inability to breathe make you dizzy, losing the little strength you had left

“Please Uncle”, you managed to let out, cheeks wetted with your tears, the salty air making your skin burn

But he wouldn’t let go, he looked down a you with a sick satisfaction that make you whimper once more, as you were bare from the waist down

You never had high expectations regarding your first time with a man, you had heard from the Septas that it was your duty as a wife to please your husband in that matter, they had also said that it won’t be pleasant, that pleasure is not something you must seek

That the act of bedding was only to produce heirs

But with your sibling, Jace in particular, you had seen and read things, fueled by your curiosity, and you found out that it was quite pleasurable, for people that worked in the skin trade anyways…

You knew you had no expectations, but still

You never expected this

He undid his pants, releasing his manhood, it was big, thick, long, the tip red and angry, and even looking at it make you cry even more

“No please”, you managed to say, Aemond could see you were running out of air, so he released you just a little

He needed you conscious

“Please don’t do this, please”, you begged and begged, and he rebelled in it, he placed himself between your thighs, making you hurt

But the worst part was yet to come

“Why wouldn’t I?”, he mocked

While he still had you by the neck, the other went between your legs, yout thighs shook when you felt him, trying to introduce one of his fingers, it was uncomfortable, and it burned

You were dry

And he seemed to enjoy it

“Noooo”, you babbled, as you started hiccuping because of your distress, he only hummed. Pleased, with the situation, with you, or whatever

He fisted his cock only a couple of times, and gave you no reprieve.

He give you no space to move, no space to escape,

You shrieked in pain, the burn felt like nothing you had experienced before, you cried out as he ripped you open for him

“No! it burns, please”, you begged, “it hurts!”, you cried, you scream bloody murder

“Fuck”, he cursed, a sick smile on his lips

“Why?”, you cried, tears falling, whimpers being drawn, “Why?”, he paid no mind to you, only retrieved yourself and you almost thought that he was going to free you from this torment

Only for him to thrust into you even more roughly than before

You shrieked, as Aemond looked down for when your bodies were united and smiled when he saw the blood pouring from you. But he almost caught a glimpse of the mark he had drawn in your skin all those years ago.

“Now you are just a whore”, he said, satisfied with himself, again thrusting into you, “do you think Cregan Stark will want you now?”, he mocked

He kept fucking you, raping you, and the only thing in your mind to distract you from the pain was… why? Why did he hate you so much? if your dreams were to give you any clarity… which you doubted

“I’m sorry uncle”, you whispered, as he retrieved himself from you and then pushed again inside you, making you cry out

“I don’t care”

“I’m sorry”, you repeated again, and then again, like a mantra while he defiled you, while he took you against your will in that beach

“Come on, come for me, like the little wanting whore I know you are”, but you were far from it, you were still in pain, and your body reacted accordingly, trying to soothe you, lubricating itself to help you cope. He found your clit, pinching it and rubbing it roughly, too rough to be pleasurable, but it still helped.

Your head fell to the side, looking at the waves, so far yet so close, you wanted to get lost in them, as the rough sway of Aemond against you, you saw the waves coming and going with almost the same speed.

Until he grabbed your jaw and make you look back at him

The unhinged look in his eye, his growls and gasps

You grabbed the wrist of the hand that had you by the neck and you looked into his eyes, almost defiantly, and what you found in them scared you even more

You felt him deep in your belly, your insides were on fire you wanted to throw up, but the salty taste of all the sea water you drank was still present, giving you no reprieved

“Please stop”, you begged one more time, “please uncle, it hurts”

“Shh”, he only shushed you, he leaned in and kissed you, for the very first time, ever

His wet lips were a welcoming distraction, but not even in the kiss you felt relief, feeling only dread, desperation and anger

He bit on your lower lip, apparently the blood of your maidenhead wasn’t enough, he needed to taste it in his mouth too

You thought it was never going to end

Until finally his movements became sloppy, his eye rolled and he grabbed your neck even tighter

You felt him, deep inside you, ropes of his seed filling your womb

You cried even harder, moving more than before

He stood planted deep inside you for endless minutes, looking down at you, analyzing your face, and every expression on it, you only cried softly, your body tight with pain and trauma.

“i have to make sure it takes”, he mocked, and your shrieked shortly, “I told you I was going to give you my bastard”

You looked away from him, barely imagining how it was going to be like to bring shame to the family in that way.

Weak

You had let him do this to you

If only you were stronger

He finally released you, you whispered one more time when he took himself off of you

You felt a thick substance leaking off of you, and you could only imagine what it was

Aemond stood up, as he fixed his pants, you barely could roll to the side, hugging yourself, to look at the waves

You felt dizzy, nauseous, in pain and cold

And if you had something in your stomach you would have throw it out

But you didn’t

You felt his gaze on you again, you tried to ignore him, thinking faintly on how you are going to survive this, how you were going to go back home

To your family

They were going to love you no matter what, you knew this, and if Aemond tried to say the opposite, you were not going to believe him

Aemond didn't move, he only looked at you, the soft, musty wind hit your face, making you whimper in cold, but still, you laid there, unmovable, you could feel him moving, placing his jacket back on him, taking his time, and yet, you didn't move. Then he leaned in, and you tried to squirm away, but he grabbed you easily

“You either come with me, or I leave you here”, he whispered in your ear, you didn't move, you just stayed there, laying in the sand, he came into your frame, as you stared down at the beach. You were not an idiot, if he left you here, it is probable you were not going to make it, you were far away from everything, you had no dragon, another storm was coming

But going with him is unthinkable

Yet you didn't move

You saw his boots walking away from you, and then, they stopped

He looked back at you

You were stubborn

“Your Grace”, greeted the woman shakily, bowing to the Queen. Rhaenyra had unshed tears in her eyes

Daemon barely managed to get her out of her chambers. They had no news of you, and that is what scared them, they assumed the worse

“You are Lady Alyne Felwood, are you not?”, she asked, she did not mind to present herself like this, she hasn't brushed her hair, she hadn't even bathed, she wasn’t wearing her crown, still crying in front of that woman, a woman whose family was of the Stormlands, sworn to House Baratheon

“I am, indeed”

“Are you not sworn to House Baratheon?”, spitted Daemon by her side, looking as imposing now that his sweet wife couldn’t

“I was”, you whispered, “I was a part of the court of House Baratheon, and I was there that day when…”, Rhanyra’s gaze that had been on the table looked up at her, alarmed

“You were there?”, she asked, tears falling freely, the lady barely nodded

“I was”, she whispered, she looked within herself, to tell the tale as softest as she could, she did not want to bring her more pain, “I was there when the princess entered the Hall, unfortunately, Prince Aemond…”, she stopped to see their reaction, Daemon grabbed the pommel of his sword tightly, and Rhanyra whimpered, “had been there for hours when she arrived”

“It was him?”, she asked, Alyne barely nodded

“She made her case to Lord Borros, but one-eye had already made his own, offering his own, or his brother’s Daeron’s hand in marriage”, she said, “Lord Borros mocked the princess when she had nothing of the sort to offer him, and that is when…”, she paused, she might lose her head for this, in a “kill the messenger” situation, but she came her for a reason, “Aemond interrupted”

“What was said?”, asked Daemon impatiently, tired of the pauses

“He said that her brother had a debt to pay, that he wanted her to pay instead”

“What debt?”, she asked

“He said that he wanted a payment of blood”

“He slayed her…?”, cried Rhaenyra, but the lady shook her head

“He said he was going to take her maidenhead, and send you their sheets with her blood in it”, Rhaenyra whimpered, grabbing onto the painted table, “he tried to go to her but lord Borros intervened, he commanded her to be taken back to her dragon, she exited hastily, but so did he…”

“He demanded her maidenhead? And they let him go after her?”, she cried

“The guards on the battlements told Lord Borros that they have heard shouting, laughs and screams, and… a shriek of a Dragon”, Rhaenyra covered her mouth in an attempt to swallow her cries

“my little girl”, she cried, and Daemon hugged her tightly, hiding her face on his chest

“Why?”, asked Daemon, angry at this woman, who brought Rhaenyra sordid details about that day

“I’m a mother to a girl too”, she whispered

Then she was dismissed

“My girl!”, Rhaenyra cried, when they were alone, “my little girl”

“Shhh, my love, we will get her back, whatever it takes”

Taglist!

@lightdragonrayne @immyowndefender @aemondswifeisme @twobluejeans @toodlesxcuddles @sassysaxsolo @thearchitectoflove @maidmerrymint @floralsightings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @glendarollitkatharinesanders @ruhjkie @starkjedi @baconturtle

#misguidedhotd #misguidedhouse #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #targaryen!reader #house targaryen #hbo house of the dragon #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction

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coentinim · 16 days

Text

Crime scene

ADULT + DARK CONTENT - MDNI !

JPM is beautiful in the act of killing, how can his wife not appreciate that?

Contains: descriptions of murder (not of reader), gore, blood, sexual content (at a fresh crime scene), you are (almost) as deranged as him, you are married to him, dead dove - please feast <3

I am not responsible for what you see on the internet!

Edit: forgot to tag people T_T

@fear-is-truth @taintandviolent @feefymo @slutforgarlogan @silverzoomies @yandereunsolved @maeriavizsendingjpmdose @evanpetersbf @carniv0reev

You heard it again. Those screams, those ear piercing, mind shattering screams of some poor soul being gutted alive. Supposedly, the walls were soundproof, but you could hear well and clear the wails of another one of James' victims in the next room. Perhaps the wall connecting your rooms was the only one he didn't line with asbestos... and on purpose for sure. He wants you to hear.

A young woman - no older than 25, judging by the noise - was currently being sliced open slowly and deliberately by your husband's hand. After only being married to him for a few weeks, you could already tell apart the screams of terror before a quick death and pained, tortured wails of a slow one. And during this time, you've grown accustomed to this peculiar hobby of his, even fond of it at times. His bloodlust and cruelty were undeniably fascinating, and having the honour of being the only person he never wished to harm was something to cherish. His debauchery was just contagious, really!

Curiosity had overcome you, and you decided to check what exactly was your beloved doing as he worked. And oh, were you amazed at the sight when you entered his room.

The screaming was so much louder and clearer here, begs for mercy - even for a quicker, painless death - made for a terrifying noise, but you paid them no mind. Oh no, you focus was on your husband only. He was a true artist, the way he worked the woman's body like it was an instrument, a work of art for art's sake, a horrible perversion of what a piece should look like. A bloody image it was - James was cutting all over her skin, ignoring the wails, and carving flesh with quick, steady strokes of the knife. You couldn't help but come closer, almost beside him, and you made your presence known by walking into his line of sight. He raised his eyes from the half-dead girl to you and you noticed his expression. He did not look human, not even one bit. His eyes were widened, pupils engorged and cheeks flushed bright red. He wore the mask, the strange mask you didn't know the purpose of that made him look like a horrible monster mothers warn their children about. He did not wear the apron he usually did, though. His white shirt (one of the informal, "not as good ones", you recalled) was half unbuttoned and stained crimson with the explosions of the woman's blood. In the act, he looked like a beast. He was panting when he stopped skinning the woman to gaze at you.

"My darling, I didn't- hah, disturb you, did I?"

His voice from behind the metal and leather sounded different, too. Savage. Inhuman.

"No, Jimmy, I was just curious..."

You gazed at the wailing woman on the table. Dear god, she was a mess... her arms and thighs were a mosaic of cuts, some more refined and artistic, some deep and rough, careless. She was almost bare, her under dress riding up enough to only cover her breasts, and only a small pair of knickers on her bottom. You hummed in approval; James listened to your rules against seeing his victims naked unless necessary. But you quickly turned your attention to her stomach, because that was certainly a sight to behold! Around the navel, there were a few deep lacerations, one of them definitely deep enough to penetrate muscle and cut into the intestine. The blood flowing out in rhythm with the erratic pulses of her heart covered her pristine underwear, making her look downright pornographic. It wasn't hard to understand his savage interests in such moments - the bloody, shining gash on her stomach was a curious sight, to say the least. It truly looked nasty; that must be why she was writhing in pain so much. She seemed to beg for your help, but it was unintelligible - besides, there was no saving her now, she had lost too much blood. Not that you would have saved her otherwise - she would just run to the nearest police officer and get you and your husband arrested. Accepting James might be hard at times, but seeing him executed while people leered at his undeniably painful demise would have been much harder. He was hard to love, and hard to let go of.

You trailed your hand over her split stomach, ignoring the thrashing and protests.

"May I?", you asked.

James' eyes lightened up even more, humanity mixing with the animal in him.

"Would I ever deny my darling wife to share my pleasures?", he replied in his syrupy voice distorted by the metal mask, the terrifying sound making your head spin. He was the only one who could scare you yet make you feel so safe.

You kept looking him in the eyes, barely visible under the eye protection, while slowly putting two fingers into the woman's wound. You were terrified, but you just wanted to tease your James just a bit, just a tad... It was wonderful. The quiet, pained screech, the blood exploding under your fingertips and the pulse of her insides. It felt like touching something slimy, is that what James felt upon fingering your cunt? He absolutely adores doing it, and now you see why; the texture is nothing short of divine. Your ministrations had a great effect on your husband, as he started panting and gripped the edge of the table the woman was sprawled on. Oh, he was hungry like a wolf at that moment. You let go of the victim's body after just two seconds, slightly disgusted with yourself, observing your bloodied hand and James' face. It was hard to see anything but his nose and eyebrows through the mask, but you knew he was more aroused than ever. In fact, you feared him. He was terrifying in his murderous attire, even more so now that his body language radiated pure hunger. You held his killer gaze for a few long seconds until something made him glance away. Right. The woman.

To your surprise, she was still making noises despite the blood loss. James walked right past you, close to her face, and held her cheek almost tenderly. Her gaze was unfocused, but she tried to squirm away from his touches. In response he just gripped her chin tight and tutted at her hazy thrashes. He raised his blade and sliced her neck open, so deep the blood exploded in his face. She went quiet rather quickly after that.

You saw him kill a dozen times, yet it always stunned you just how predatory it looked. His muscles taut, the vulgar display of vitality, as if he absorbed the life force of his newest victim.

Slowly, James turned to face you. He was dead silent, and at that angle you couldn't see his eyes. Your instinct told you to back away, so, naturally, you stepped forward, your thighs slick with arousal from the fear and guilt.

The growl that came from his throat was definitely unexpected. But more surprising was his direct action - he gripped your shoulders tightly and led you into the chaise-lounge next to the table. He pushed you hard onto it, making you gasp, and he pressed your shoulders to the soft pillows as if you were to be another victim. That particular thought went straight to your pussy.

"James... maybe after you clean up after yourself?", you suggested in the most sultry voice you could. Ah, did you have to tease him so much? He was impatient, after all! The tension from the kill had to be resolved somehow.

"Nonsense, dove-" he was already pulling up your gown, "I need to take my fellow murderess... now "

You bit your lip, nervous. Were you really a murderess?... that girl was already half dead when you touched her wound! You were merely an accomplice, and...

Oh, you forgot you didn't wear any panties until you felt the cold air hit your pussy. He gripped your thighs and left blood handprints all over, making you forget your guilt. Your dress was all red now, too, as he used it as some sort of napkin to clean himself after his meal. He was savage today, but even now he remembered to at least taste you before taking you. He attempted to take off his mask and you whined.

"James... no, keep it"

He chuckled darkly. Then, he spoke with his metallic, leathery voice:

"Oh? If that is to your tastes, dearest wife..."

He wasted no more time after that. He almost ripped the silky dress off in his hurry, and slipped out of his pants with an impatient growl. Oh, you looked like a prey ready to be ravaged. He groped you all over before sinking his painfully hard cock inside you, leaving bloody handprints on your waist and breasts and neck. You looked like a masterpiece of pain. You whined, the stretch was pretty painful despite your wetness. He looked like a feral beast above you; his terrifying mask making him look like a strange monster taking you all for himself. The thought felt so erotic you could barely stand it, and you whined. Oh, his girth felt so invigorating...

He fucked the same way he killed. Impatiently, roughly, and yet meticulously, both in control and completely out of it. His moans were distorted by the mask, and it felt as if he was all around you, he was in your brain as much as in your cunt. It felt divine, to be violated by that beastly killer, by your beloved husband. Sweet, honeymoon lovemaking with him was terrific, but the desecrating pace he treated you with right now was a feeling no other man could recreate. You gripped his shoulders, staining the back of his shirt with your bloodied fingers, bringing his body closer. Each thrust was punctuated by your obscene moans; he slid himself in at a slightly upward angle, hitting your sweet spot hard each time.

You whined and whined, and he slid his bloody fingers past your parted lips, making you taste his victim’s blood. Your guilt was all-encompassing, yet it felt so good to give in, even just once. Morality was for the stupid, uneducated folk, James used to say. Regulations, rules, faith; all of it is supposed to limit freedom of thought and action. You believed every word of his, no matter how ridiculous it all sounded in the context of his serial murders.

He always knew when you were close, always knew just how and when to toy with your pussy with his red hands and when to edge himself so you two finish at the same time. He had a thing for it, it felt like unity, like your bodies were truly one.

You thought he would never kill you, but he did it quite frequently. You died a little death many times with him, unravelling beautifully under his strong body, core exploding with spasms and locking his seed deep in you. You two came as one, him filling you up, making your mixed releases drip down and combine with all the blood. In this moment, you were his victim and he was your killer, taking you from life and lifting your soul up, or maybe dragging it down to hell, for a few seconds of blissful pleasure.

You always envied his victims. Oh to see his face as the last thing before you fade away, oh to feel him inside you as you pass! The blood all over your body, his mask and the body nearby made you feel such eroticism and guilt...

He pulled out with a whine and tucked himself into his pants, pulling your dress over your dirty body soon after. The casual nature of the situation made your head spin in confusion. That was it?... he can just get up like that, like nothing happened? You were panting, staring at his body, beautiful and shiny with sweat. He took his mask off, revealing a devilish grin.

“Miss Evers! Bring me fresh linens and draw a bath for my wife, would you?”

#james patrick march #ahs #american horror story #ahs hotel #james march #james march x reader #jpm #jpm x reader #evan peters #kai anderson #kit walker #ahs fanfiction #ahs x reader

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barbieaemond · 4 months

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Thorns in your mouth

PART 1

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

WARNINGS: angst, smut, oral sex, a bit of religious kink, a bit of choking

WORD COUNT: 787

Author's note: Widow's blood is poison. This will likely have a third part.

taglist: @zae5 @arcielee @bunbunbl0gs @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

“Until all the roses turn to black.” you said, but they didn’t have the time to either wither or blacken. A fresh new bouquet of white roses is found on your nightstand any other day following the events above Storm’s End.

His lack of regret is also lack of concern. He doesn’t care about the Gods as much as he doesn’t care about the maid knocking while you are sprawled on the chaise as if lying in your tomb, still but feverish, waiting for another death.

“Answer.” he mumbles, with his mouth full of your cunt.

“My lady?” The young woman calls, but the call of his tongue drains you of every will, except the arching of your back, the drops of sweat on your temples. The swirls of his tongue are soft as a rose on your throbbing flesh, sharp as a thorn as he buries it deep inside. One last time and you're melting in a trickle of blood—of bones.

Your hand knots his hair and pulls at the roots, clawing at your need, raw, a wound split open that leaks and pours into his mouth. His name is a curse and a blessing clashing on your tongue, your fingers keep pulling, grasping silver and leather.

A flash of glinting blue before your eyes and you greet it with a smile, as one upon seeing a star. There’s a sneer twisting his mouth, one that you felt curling your own lips countless of times. That sneer is a glimpse into a mirror, a glimpse at your own desire. Ugly, exactly as desire is.

He thrusts inside you with ease, an act that goes almost unnoticed as breathing, but necessary. You're an extension of his body as he grips your waist and starts rutting with a cruel purpose.

“Do you like taunting the gods, don’t you?” he grins watching the seven pointed star stuck with sweat around your neck.

“I like taunting you.”

He wraps his fingers around the thin silver chain and twists, so hard he’s able to lift your head from the cushion.

“Will you get on your knees after this? Will you ask the Gods forgiveness for your sin?”

“I will ask them to give me more of it. I will beg them to make me sin before it vanishes.”

“What?”

“The smell of you on me.”

It does fade away for a few days. Everything fades away except the wailings of the Queen echoing through the walls.

“It’s not your fault.” you whisper in his mouth “It’s not your fault.”

“You’re lying.” he croaks in your neck, guiding your hips to move slower and slower.

“I know, but you believe me.”

Fingers dig in your skin, willing to break you, to tear his grief to pieces. But in the end, he only says “Yes.”

Everything was slipping from his grasp like water. Helaena, Aegon, his mother. You were the only immutable condition. Stable, firm, stone that does not scratch despite the winds, rains and storms that come against it. And he wanted to carve himself into the woven you were made of.

He asked you to stay one night, and the next, and the one after that.

“My husband will grow suspicious.” You said once, lying next to him, your flesh still entangled in one another.

“You could slip some widow’s blood in his cup.”

“To make myself a widow?”

“To make myself your husband.”

“You are.”

“No. I will be when I will fuck you in the royal gardens and no one will spare us a look. I will be when I can come inside you and see you round with my child.”

That was the last night you spent together.

Despite all the careful measures and lies and deceptions, this thing was just as plain as those white roses, plain as Aemond intended it to be. It only took a careful look. A glimpse at how your eyes would find his and his yours. It only took asking the maid to whom she was bringing those bouquets of white roses. And she did ask, Queen Alicent. She did look.

“This thing must end, Aemond. Immediately. We need her husband’s support, his army. Why are you challenging the Gods? Have they not cursed you enough?”

“I thought the Gods had forsaken me by now.”

“You forsook them the moment you succumbed to sin with a married woman.”

“I can assure you, Mother, she’s more my wife than his.”

“Enough! The Gods may have forsaken you but I did not. And I will not let you forsake your family even further.”

And enough it was.

Roses were left to bloom on their branches. While you, and him, withered and blackened.

#liv's drabbles #liv(in la vida loca)#aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x fem!reader

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macfrog · 5 months

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all three dogs

Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love. andrew kane, how to be a dog

inspired by this gorgeous post (good idea to read it before you read this), and this gorgeous ask (thank you @iknowisoundcrazy). also shoutout to @mrsmando for being the queen of character study. i am not sure what this is, exactly? is it about joel miller, or is it about some dogs? i do not know. but it was fucking cathartic, so here, i guess. here's how i see joel at his worst.

summary: "dog metaphors are all about devotion, devotion to a person, a concept, a place etc, to be a dog is to be devoted."

warnings: little graphic i guess? blood and guts. violent joel. sarah dies and joel shoots up a hospital to save ellie. angst. i think that's it

word count: 1.3k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets with notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤

he loves you, sarah says, fork digging into egg.

he’s dependent on me, joel quips, not the same.

i think it’s the same.

when the first dog is born, he gives his heavy head a shake, and his ears flick to life. his fur is still damp from the blood and fluid of his mother’s body. he still smells like her – looks like her, too. he is still connected in some way to where he has been; the umbilical cord coiled and dripping.

she licks and licks and licks until he is clean. watches contently as he pads off into some distant future, where he will lose that boisterous gleam in his eye, the gentle wag of his tail. but for now –

for now, he is brown-haired. brown-eyed to match. he has a daughter. he is bright, and alive, and he makes jokes when they bubble up to his tongue. he is good. he knows love like a first language, as if each swipe of his mother’s tongue on his coat melded it into his makeup.

he does not know the warmth of another man’s blood on his hands. he has not drawn the screams and howls of pain from another’s throat.

she is the sun – his daughter – the most radiant part of his life. his life, which spins on its axis around her. always looking for her, to her, at her. vitamin c, she tells him, and he accepts the glass of orange juice. she tells him to swear and he says, on my life. she tells him he’s lame and he says, i know.

he trots faithful and pliant at her heels. circles her legs and passes over her shadow, waiting to be told different. waiting to be shooed away.

only – when he is told, he doesn’t listen. he can’t. what is a planet with no sun to orbit? what becomes of day, when its light begins to drain?

she digs her nails into his skin. pushes and scratches and begs him with shallow gasps to take his hands off her stomach. to let her go. to go away.

i know, baby, i know i know i know i know –

he tells her she’s going to be okay. because what the fuck else does he know? he’s just a dog. he’s just her dog. all he knows is her.

the sun is being eclipsed. the world begins to darken.

i’m just gonna get her killed, joel weeps, i know it. i have to leave her.

when the second dog is pulled from his mother, he wails in a collapsed heap on the cold tile floor. the world is dim, colorless. the sun is gone. he does not know how he ended up here.

love is akin to violence. it speaks the same language, inflection and cadence blurring between words. he is only as strong as his fists are able to break bone. he has run out of road – a panting, ragged, old dog, tongue hanging lopsided and jumping. ears dented with the pieces of him lost to fighting.

something quakes within his chest, a deep, unstable movement. a shifting of the tectonic plates that make up his bones. he shakes violently, feeling for the thrash of his heart against his chest wall. something in the darkness commands him to act – to move, though it never reveals where to or what from. just fucking move.

and then – the eruption of his temper. like waves on rocks, breaching in violent and unpredictable bursts. spray of black ocean on the jagged cliff edge. i made this decision for your own good, he reasons, stood in the pink-papered bedroom. the snow flutters silently outside. his hackles slowly furl. she scoffs. she knows as well as he does: he’s as good a liar as he was a pet.

but for all his anger, for all the fear he misdiagnoses as weakness – there is a glimmer somewhere on his back. a pale light catching in the broken face of his watch; lighting the kinks of his dark coat. it begins to push him; to stir him like the tide.

something is controlling him again. pulling on his collar. someone is lighting the way.

where is she?

fuck you.

it takes as little time for the dog’s ears to prick as it did for his lungs to suck in a breath. his upper lip twists, canine glinting in the trembling fluorescent light. shining with saliva and the rusted tinge of blood. joel thinks it over less than once. his eyes flood black.

i don’t have time for this.

when the third dog rips his way into the world, he tears everything around him to shreds, too. his teeth are already bared; his claws are already swiping. his eyes are black as ink; he cannot remember that soft-footed pup he once was.

there is nothing left to hide. not anymore. he has existed in the darkness too long to try. his shirt and skin are stained with dirt and sweat and blood. his fur is matted; his fangs are brown and rotten. if she saw him, if her light cast its golden spill onto his bloodshot eyes and mottled coat – she would never know who he is. she would not recognize her own father.

but he was always this way, it seems: he has always loved catastrophically.

everything is red. saturated in threat; a screaming, nauseating red. it turns his stomach just to look, to peer down the chamber of his gun. the blinking of the alarm light. the maroon stains on his hands. the metallic smell seeping from the slumped vests. the thick pools he steps through, the footprints following him around every corner. they will catch up to him eventually. they always do.

his paws hurt. pads skinned raw from all the running. his lungs ache, now, too. his throat lurches for breath, closes in on itself and then sticks, choking him. he cannot remember the heat of the sun on his arms. he does not know when he last said her name.

he doesn’t remember when he last said anything. he speaks in growls and barks and bites. when his mouth opens, his lips curl by instinct. he swallows his drawl and replaces it with something sharper. something poisonous. there’s foam lining his gums.

all he has – of this he is sure – is his brute force and the quick snap of his bite. the shattering of bone, the mauling of flesh. the brawn and breadth of his body; the squeeze of a trigger with one thoughtless pull. all he knows how to do is swing.

and so, one heavy boot steps in front of the other. crunching over broken glass and scuffing over bullet shells. whereisshewhereisshewhereisshe. it loops through his head like it used to when he could see color and feel the wind in his ears. like chasing his tail. catchitcatchitcatchit.

where did she go – the moon? which cloud is she hiding behind? how many men do his maws have to tear apart to find her?

and what will she think when she sees him again? his collar missing and his claws dripping crimson. when she feels the rips in his ears, sees the scar on the side of his head. what will she do, when she runs her hand down his dirty coat, and in place of a loving lick or nuzzle of the nose, he sinks his teeth straight into her wrist?

swear to me. swear to me that everything you said about the fireflies is true.

the dog lowers his head obediently. his ears fall flat. tail curls between his back legs. the wind pushes hard against joel’s chest, threatening to take him with it. i swear, he says.

ellie’s gaze falls. she nods once. tightens her fist around the dog’s leash.

okay.

lots of inspo drawn from:

how to be a dog by andrew kane

grit by silas denver melvin

monster theory: reading culture by jeffrey jerome cohen [seven theses]

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #the last of us #tlou #i’m not sure what this is #i just wanted to write it #this one goes out to all the dog motif posts i see on the daily about roman roy #ouch

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aemondsquill · 1 year

Text

Love in The Dark

Evil!King! Aemond Targaryen × Fem!Reader

Synopsis: what if aemond becomes king? And what if he's completely evil?

Warnings: Aemond is straight up a villain, murder + mass murder, imprisonment, heavy angst, major character deaths, lmk if I missed any

Things were quiet in the Red Keep after Aemond was crowned King. Servants and guards kept their eyes to the ground whenever they were graced with the King's unfortunate presence, terrified they too would be burned for glancing at him wrong.

One year into his rule, Aemond proved to be a fearsome King, not only to his enemies but to the very citizens of his kingdom. Mass graves were dug and subsequently filled with anyone deemed traitors to the Crown. Men, women, children. King Aemond's lust for blood was insatiable. It is often whispered that he murdered his own nieces and nephews after his brother, Aegon, disappeared from the Realm. Rumors say he fled across the Narrow Sea to escape his responsibilities. Perhaps he was the only Targaryen with sense.

The anxiety and paranoia are no strangers to the royalty of the Keep either. If one was to watch Aemond's Queen closely they could see her fingers tremble in fear constantly. His beautiful bride is often confined to her chambers with illness thought to be brought on by the stress of having a tyrant for a husband.

The Queen had become a former shell of herself. While she still dressed in finery and had not a hair out of place, her eyes were dull and lifeless. They were constantly rimmed red from the weeping. Behind her back, the nobility dubbed her "The Weeping Lady", as she was frequently seen wandering the vast, cold halls with cheeks wet with tears. The chill in the halls was a more welcome and tender presence compared to Aemond's.

Another day in Court meant another day witnessing Aemond's depravity. It was difficult to admit just how dashing he looked upon the throne. The Conqueror's Crown sat upon his long white tresses. His eye held no emotion except a dash of madness deep within the violet iris. His body was adorned in a rich velvet tunic of black and green. The Weeping Lady stood a few steps below him, spirit broken and heart aching at the injustice.

"Take his hands." The King ordered his guards coldly. The nobility watched on as this poor commoner begged and pleaded against the arms of the guards. His wails echoed in the throne room.

Bones crunched painfully under the dull blade of the axe. His skin split more and more under each wack. Blood poured out onto the red-stained floor of the throne room. It took the axeman four sloppy strikes to remove the peasant's hands from his body. It is rumored that the axeman is nearly always inebriated. Doling out vile punishments cost him his sanity so he fell victim to the drink. The deafening sobs and screams pierced the stifling atmosphere. Lords and Ladies averted their gaze to the ground, some attempting to cover their ears and hide their tears.

The man is dragged out and his cries follow him.

Several hours of Aemond's depravity occurred before court was adjourned. The Queen fled to her chambers immediately, trembling and nauseated. She knew she had to pull herself together before secretly visiting her mother, rotting in a cell deep below the Red Keep.

----

Two heavy coin purses weighed down her pockets as she descended down into the Black Cells. The coin purses would grant her entrance passed two guards who kept a watch out for nefarious activities. With the coin, they looked the other way once per week and allowed the Queen to visit her mother.

----

"Hello, sweetling. It's been too long since you have graced me with your presence" muttered Rhaenyra. She stood up from the darkest corner of her cell and made her way to the little opening in the door.

"I apologize, mother. It's been difficult to leave without my husband noticing as of late" the Queen replied. Her gaze was sorrowful as she took in the dilapidated appearance of her mother; once dressed in the finest satins and silks money could buy, now reduced to rags. Once pristine white Targaryen locks were now grayed and filthy from the grime of the cell. Her eyes of lavender were lackluster and tired, tired of being reduced to a common criminal rotting in a cell while a usurper warms her throne. Her cheeks were gaunt and it was evident that malnourishment was ravaging her body. No amount of sweets snuck in by her daughter would aid her ailing physique.

"Are you tending to the sores, mother? I will have to bring you more medicine during my next visit" pondered the Queen. Her mother shook her head, "tis nearly impossible to do so in this fucking cell" she growled.

"I know. I'm sorry. You know that this was not my decision. He will not hear my pleas, not even for his own mother" I whispered.

"Your cunt of a husband is blinded by his rage and greed. He has already caused the downfall of our great House. The guards speak of his depravity. Has he been cruel to you as well, my love?"

"He has not been cruel to me. More indifferent most of the time. Rarely he is as he was when we were first betrothed; sweet and attentive. I cannot bear his touches, not after witnessing such monstrosities" the Queen whimpered. Tears leaked down her cheeks and her chin quivered. Memories from their time as new lovers flooded her mind. He was so sweet. Bringing her flowers and sweets, hiring harpists to serenade her while he was away. His tender touches and warm eyes full of adoration slowly burned away with the weight of the Conqueror's Crown.

"Not even the Mother will have mercy upon his soul. His crimes are heinous. Sweet girl, it pains me to even ask this of you, but it is for the good of the Realm and for you. His actions reflect on you, should there be an uprising by the smallfolk, you'll burn with him" the Queen shook her head, knowing what her mother was about to ask of her. "Mother, I cannot. Please do not ask this of me. I do not have the strength! I still see flickers of his old self in his eyes! He has time to change!" The Queen begged, now sobbing.

"Flickers will not save him or you! Do not let the love you used to feel for him blind you so! He is cruel! He murdered his own nieces and nephews! And Luke..." Rhaenyra choked back a sob of her own at the mention of her sweet son.

"Aemond will be your reckoning. Do not be so stupid to stand by this man. He is no longer the Aemond you love, you lost him a long time ago. Do the Realm and your family justice! The gods will forgive you" Rhaenyra spoke. The Queen wept, frustrated. How could he put her in this position? He promised to be the Protector of the Realm and instead he is destroying it.

"I know you will do what is right. It is your duty as queen, my love."

------

The conversation played in the girl's mind over and over. Devastation and exhaustion plagued her. The fireplace in her chambers did nothing to warm her bones as she stood gazing into the flames. Maybe her husband held enough tenderness in his heart to leave with her. Escape this hell like Aegon had.

Tired, she sat upon the settee and poured a chalice full of dornish wine, as was her nightly custom. The wine dulled her senses and often lulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep. This was the only time she could escape the horrors of her reality. Just for a moment, she could be free of the grief.

Aemond's heavy footfalls startled her out of her trance. She immediately sat upright, tensing in his presence.

"Drinking again, wife?" He regarded her coldly. Her insides felt like they had chilled at his words.

She sighed dejectedly, "yes, it appears so. It seems to be my only comfort as of late." This was the most she had spoken to him in weeks. He approached her and took the chalice from her fingers and knelt in front of her.

"You worry me sometimes, my dear wife. I fear you're falling victim to the drink, as my drunken brother had." Weeks of little words spoken between the two and he chooses the lecture her on her drinking? She felt her insides boil at the thought. Rage was cracking the surface of her grief, rearing it's ugly head for him to finally see.

"I hate you." She muttered. Aemond lightly flinched back, surprised.

"You do not mean that, wife."

"I. Hate. You." She spoke louder. The anger quivered her voice before she continued, "you are not the man I married! You are not the good, benevolent king you promised you would be!" The couple stood together abruptly. He took a few steps back at her outburst and she followed, shoving him as hard as she could. He grabbed her wrists and held them to his chest to quiet her assault.

"You are cruel! You have murdered innocents, your own family! You have betrayed me in the cruelest way and I cannot stand by and watch you destroy us!" Her chest heaved with the weight of her words. "I can no longer bare to even look at you! I'm repulsed by the man you've become! I drink myself into a stupor every night just to cope with your actions! What you have done is unforgivable. The gods will see that you burn in the deepest pits of the seven hells." The words tasted like venom on her tongue. They had festered inside of her for too long.

Aemond's eye widened in horror and shame. What had he done? How could he have lost himself to madness like this?

In his eye, a flicker of the man she adored came to the surface. Large tears threatened to spill out of him.

"I do not know what has happened to me, my love" he muttered with disdain. "The crown has poisoned my mind beyond repair, I fear. I cannot quench my blood lust." A sliver of hope shot through her chest. Was she finally able to get through to him? Perhaps she could convince him to run away with her...but she knew running away with him would be impossible after his atrocities.

Any hope was quickly dashed and his face hardened. Any semblance of her Aemond was gone forever.

"You have the soft heart of a woman. You do not understand the responsibilities that come with the crown. This fire within you was sparked by your mother, no doubt. I know of your little visits and I turned a blind eye to them, a mistake clearly. I will have you bound to this chamber." King Aemond spoke with finality.

"No! No, please, husband! Do not do this to me!" She begged as panic bloomed heavily in her chest, "I do not wish to be a prisoner to my own husband!"

She grasped her hands in his own. "Please, I will do anything. Do not take my freedom. I'm sorry for the words I have said. Please."

"I will have your mother executed in a fortnight. I cannot have her poisoning your mind against me." The Queen fell to the floor and shrieked. Aemond walked out of the room, leaving her to her grief. The sound of her sorrow threatened to shake the very foundation of the Keep.

----

A week had past since her outburst and Aemond was true to his word. She had not left the confines of their apartments, surely her mother thought her dead.

Aemond would still enter the chambers every night, the couple moved mechanically around each other in complete silence. They did not look at each other and even when they slept they huddled to the farthest edge of the bed away from the other.

It had been another day when the chamber maid whispered to the Queen, "The princess Heleana has perished in her cell, my Lady."

The Queen collapsed without a sound. The anguish rendered her mute. The tremors in her hands increased tenfold.

-----

The Weeping Lady held a correspondence with this chamber maid, Lyra. Each day Lyra would bring her meals, run her baths, and scheme with the Lady.

"King Aemond counts the silverware, my Lady. He fears that you will attempt to harm yourself." The Queen sighed in disbelief. How ironic it is of him to worry about her safety whilst he wreaks havoc on King's Landing.

A thought beamed into her head.

"Lyra, strap a kitchen knife to your thigh. He will never look there!"

And so Lyra, the ever-faithful chambermaid, found herself waddling through the kitchens holding the Queen's dinner on a silver tray. King Aemond's eye surveyed the platter before deeming it acceptable. Lyra let out a small sigh of relief once out of his sight.

-----

"You have done good work, Lyra. This is for the good of the Realm, I promise you." The Queen handed Lyra a large sack of gold. "Take this and leave tonight. The Keep will descend into madness on the morrow."

"What will happen to you, my Lady?"

"Do not worry about me, my dear. I will be fine."

Lyra felt the weight of the bag in her hands. Decorum forgotten, she sprung forward and embraced the Queen tightly. Both women sighed at the warm contact. "Thank you, my Queen. I pray the gods will watch over you during your quest."

The Queen lead Lyra through a small portrait that held a passage behind it. Through which, Lyra would taste her freedom.

---

It was late by the time Aemond entered his wife's makeshift prison cell. She was soundly asleep huddled on her edge of the bed. He stripped himself of his tunic and leather pants and slipped into his sleeping clothes.

The Queen awakened at the intrusion, but stayed silent. Nerves rattled in her chest as she knew what was coming. Still, she waited for what felt like hours until he had fallen asleep.

Guilt wracked her mind at the thought of her husband. Her good, kind husband who loved her dearly at one point now replaced with an unfeeling specter.

Her thoughts raced with images of their wedding ceremony. In true Valyrian tradition, they bound themselves to each other forever with their blood. After tonight, a piece of her would be gone forever. Her strength diminished with each passing memory.

She thought of their shared kisses, so sweet and tender. His plush lips were so warm upon hers and his tongue would move so delicately around her own.

Tears welled in her eyes and the knot in her throat threatened to choke the life out of her. She was grieving for a husband she lost long ago.

Her fingers shivered as they caressed the handle of the blade secured under her pillow.

With the handle firmly in her grasp she sat up and looked over at her husband, resting so peacefully. His brows were unfurrowed, erasing the scowl that seemed to be permanently fixed to his face. He looked so innocent, so much like the man he used to be.

-----

The first thing Aemond noticed upon his awakening was the shivering figure straddling his hips. It took him a second to realize it was his beautiful wife.

The second thing he noticed was the anguish on her face. Eyebrows contorted to show the pain she was in as tears fell from her eyes. She attempted to stifle her sobs under his gaze.

Aemond eyed the blade pointed between his fourth and fifth rib. His wife's hand was tembling.

"I know what you must do, little wife."

The pet name twisted her stomach painfully. Her Aemond had surfaced for the final time.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my Aemond." She whimpered, "I do not wish to hurt you."

"You could never hurt me, sweet girl."

His wife leaned down and pressed her lips against his, earnestly. His lips were soft and warm against hers.

Aemond held her hand that grasped the blade and pushed it into his heart.

"I love you, I'm so sorry."

"I love you."

--------

King's Landing erupted in celebration when word traveled that the King had been murdered in his own bed. Soldiers could not contain the sheer excitement the smallfolk displayed at the news. Riots broke out, fires burned within the Keep. Calls for the Queen's head were heard. None would find her.

-----

Across the Narrow Sea, weeks later, a small ship would arrive at the port. A young pregnant woman would step off with the aid of her mother and their auburn-haired companion.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x fem!reader #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd imagine

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tulipsandperfume · 1 year

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Soulmates || Neteyam X f!Reader

Summary: They were made, by Eywa, to be one. But, death is always lingering.

Genre: Angst, death

Neteyam and Y/N were close, finding eachother dear. Ever since the Sullys' arrival, Neteyam and Y/N had been, in ways, inseperable, much to their parents confusion. Almost instantly, they clicked. Like two lost souls finally united, as if they'd known each other for centuries gone by and maybe, they did. Eywa works in peculiar ways and she knows all.

If anyone asked Neteyam whom he trusted most, with his life and heart, he would say "Y/N" with not an ounce of doubt. And for Y/N, it was the same. Their hearts were one.

Yet, even as they gazed longingly from opposite sides of the room or whispered every secret, leaving their souls bare, willing to be their purest form with one another, their relationship lingered between the threshold of friendship and romance. They stood, at the very tip of that cliff, waiting for that last push, the smallest hint of something more. And they would wait, for as long as Eywa willed.

---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---

"Go, warn the Tulkun!" Tonowari's order rang in Y/N's ears, the world shaking around her. The sky people had begun their claim on the reef, starting with the Tulkun - with brothers and sisters.

"Neteyam...Neteyam, I'm scared." Y/N choked out, fear engulfing her and sadness weeping throughout her body.

"Y/N, it is okay. Come, Lo'ak is leaving." Neteyam urged, pulling her arm as worry seeped through his being. Worry for his brother and for the love that he was yet to utter.

"No, you must go. I have to warn my spirit sister. You go. Go!" She exclaimed, pushing off Neteyam's arm. Y/N noticed the concern painted on his face and all she could do to provide any comfort was place a chaste kiss on his cheek and a reassuring smile, promising him her safety. With a final glance, he turned and chased after his brother.

"Great Mother, protect him!"

---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---

No. No, no, no! Please be okay! Great Mother, please.

The same words repeated in Y/N's mind as she spotted the Sullys stood on a piece of stone and a familiar figure laid on the land. Eyes widened and breath rapid, she swam as fast as her ilu would take her and jumped onto land.

When she saw Neteyam, a hole through his chest and blood seeping out, she screamed. Grief wrecked her and an ache so painful soared through her body. Her eyes stung with tears, following a burning path down her face. Heart racing and a deafening pounding in her ears, she reached for him.

"Y/N?" Neteyam muttered, questioning what he could not see.

"I'm here, Neteyam. I'm with you." Y/N answered. Now, all she could hear and see was him, her attention completely stolen by the boy who held her heart in his hands.

"I...You need...to know..." Neteyam's breathing became erratic and even as Y/N begged him to be quiet, to save his energy, he continued. "I see...you. Y/N, I see you."

"Oh Neteyam, please!" Her heart clenched, her breathing halted and all that she could feel was agony, a suffering clawing its way up her throat as she let out another shout. This confession wasn't meant to happen like this, not when death was knocking.

"Neteyam! Yes, I see you too but please, you can't...not now. Don't die!"

"By Eywa...it was always you. Y/N." He breathed out as his eyes dulled. Death had reached in and taken him. He was gone. And he left behind a broken lover, her soul wailing for his.

Y/N placed a final kiss on Neteyam's lips, feather light and soft as she took holded of his face. She closed his eyes and placed short kisses on them. Then, she grieved for stolen chances and broken promises, but most of all, for the love that she would never forget.

"I see you, Neteyam. I always have."

---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---

Heyy, i hope you enjoyed. Neteyam didn't deserve to die :((( Any and all feedback is welcome :)

#neteyam sully #writing #neteyam x reader #neteyam #avatar 2 #avatar twow #avatar the way of water #avatar #neteyam x y/n #omatikaya

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lostsoulsandmutineers · 2 days

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Fuck I can’t keep getting emotional about the Bible it’s making me sad every theology class. something something these characters are HUMAN and ALIVE and most of them were real and they went through hell and for what??? Someone, someTHING that could take all their pain away in an instant but doesn’t because of a plan he created at the beginning of time. Like,

Do you think Adam forgave Eve? Did he hold her in the cold cave they fled to? Did he hold back his complaints of the hot sun and labor and dirt because he knew it wasn’t her fault? Did Eve stifle her screams during childbirth, afraid to annoy her husband, her perfect match that gave up everything for her? Did Adam hold her hand anyway?

Do you think Cain grieved Abel? Did he look at his hand, still holding the rock, sticky with red, and regret? Did he know someone could die? Did he know he killed his brother? Did he realize, for the first time since his parents doomed them all, that he was unforgivable? Did he cry when he buried his brother? Did he leave a gravestone? When he wandered, exiled, did he mourn the light laughter of a sibling that would never smile again?

What about Isaac? Did he ever look at his father again? Did he cry? Plead for his father to stop, please, I’m scared, dad, put down the knife I don’t wanna die I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry? Did Abraham apologize? Would it have mattered if he did?

Did Moses close his eyes when the spirit passed over? Did he clasp his hands over his ears when the first mother discovered her first born son? Did the wailing of every mother, father and sister reach him? When the first scream ran out, then another, and another, as house after house discovered the body of a child dead because of their pharoah, did he cry? Did he look at his hands and look at the lamb’s blood stained there and wonder who was a worse sacrifice?

And, a thousand years later, did a fourteen year old kid look at the screaming child in her arms and scream too? Has Mary ever seen so much blood? Theres a tearing, ripping pain between her legs, and her husband wipes her face with a cloth, and she knows. She looks at the child -her child- and knows he’s gonna die. By agreeing to a deal she couldn’t understand she cursed this child to die. Her womb was a grave all along, wasn’t it? Did Mary scream the same way, thirty years later, looking at her son (Jesus my son that’s my son that’s my baby what are you doing to him that’s my son Jesus sweetheart I’m sorry I love you I love you I love you) on the cross?

Did he youngest of the disciples, only a teenager himself, know what Jesus was? Did Judas see the almighty or his best friend? When they slept in the desert or a garden, or an inn, did he look at his sleeping friend and know? When Jesus looked at him and gave him permission, did he beg? Beg to choose someone else, beg to be let go, beg to not kill him? Did he go to the Sanhedrin, sobbing? Did he hold the pieces of silver in his hands and think they were as heavy as a body? Do you think when he kissed Jesus, Jesus kissed back? Did he hear the screaming that night, coming from the courthouse? Did he wish to take the whip strokes himself? Did Judas feel the rope in his hands and laugh, knowing that as soon as he kicked the stool he’d be free? Did Judas hang himself knowing he’d see Jesus again and finally, finally apologize?

And did Jesus, the son of a carpenter, the son of a perfect woman, the son of God, understand? When he was twelve and lost, did he tell the priests of the temple what was gonna happen to him? Did he know that he was to be tortured? Did he look at Judas and forgive him because it had to happen? In Gethsemane, did he curse God? Did he ever try to stray from the plan? Did he ever look at the devil in the desert and wonder, just for a second, if he should say yes? What did he answer when someone asked him who he was the son of? Joseph, the man who raised him, the man who wiped his tears, the man who taught him all he could about the world? Or did he answer God, the one who abandoned him and let him die? Who did Jesus call “Father”? Do you think he hugged the disciples good-bye at the last supper? Did he try to memorize the feel of their clothes, the smell of their hair? Did he ever get his last words to them? Did the think of his mom and dad and friends on the cross, or just the God who put him there? Yes, Jesus wept, but who for?

#Bible #the bible #bible fandom #christianity #catholicism #jesus #virgin mary #joseph bible #The disciples #disiples #Judas #jesus X judas #cain and able #adam and eve #bible angst

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min3tta · 1 year

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penelope gives birth

- a small group is gathered around penelope (eurycliea and other midwives)

- penelope lays on a wooden daybed, propped up with pillows

- a warm, damp cloth is laid over her abdomen, scented with olive and rosehip oil

- beads of sweat appear on her upper lip, neck, and forehead, so eurycliea ties penelope’s long, dark hair into a braid

- “breathe, my queen” a midwife instructs her, “like this” and gives her a pattern to follow to hopefully regulate her body movements

- another midwife massages her hand on penelope’s belly, (in theory) helping to push the infant out

- “lady penelope, it is time to push!”

- penelope feels a wave of pressure over her, then a sharp pain

- she lets out an uncontrolled wail

- “oh! my gods! hear me! give me the strength to bring this child into the world! oh lady demeter! lady hera! give me your blessings!”

- eurycliea tightly holds her hand and acts as her physical comfort, as ancient greek custom forbids the husband to be in the room while the wife gives birth

- the two midwives kneel at the foot of the daybed, constantly checking on penelope’s progress, ready and waiting with a swaddling cloth and shears

- meanwhile, in the palace courtyard, odysseus kneels to the ground, praying begging to the gods for security over his wife and unborn child

- “o demeter, goddess of new births, hear my prayer. give my wife strength and comfort to produce an heir and loving child. lady athena, i pray that you give our child courage and wisdom throughout their days. lord zeus, god of gods, bless our growing family that the kingdom of ithaca would grow with it. mighty eros, ensure penelope and i’s love and trust would only deepen as our family grows deep roots into this blessed island and kingdom—“

- eurycliea finally interrupts him after hours of him nervously waiting

- “my king, there is someone you should meet”

- odysseus makes his way to penelope’s chambers, and sees penelope out of breath, lying in a pool of blood and assumes the worst

- “my love?” he manages to choke out

- penelope gives him a weak smile and glances at the other end of the room, where their newborn son is swaddled in white linen, quietly sleeping in the arms of his wet nurse

- odysseus silently cries, overjoyed that he is now a father

- he kneels before penelope, who still lies in her day bed, exhausted

- “i am so proud of you, my sweet penelope. what a beautiful mother you will be, and what a beautiful wife you are”

- he brushes her hair stuck to her face from sweat, and gives her a tender kiss on the lips

- she leans in closer, deepening their passion

- “what an amazing father you will be, my odysseus. i love you so much”

- “i have waited for this day for so long, my dear. i prayed that this moment would come to fruition”

- “the gods are on our side, odysseus”

- odysseus nods and gives her another kiss and squeeze of the hand

- “rest, my queen. i will see you in the morning. i love you and our son more than anything”

- “telemachus” penelope says

- “hm?”

- “that is our son. telemachus. there is no battle here”

- odysseus grins. “then it shall be so. as long as you and i are together, as long and telemachus is with us, there shall be peace”

#the iliad #the odyssey #odysseus #penelope #telemachus #odysseus x penelope #odypen #headcanon #greek mythology

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not-so-mundane-after-all · 3 months

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Dick & Rachel and the Invisible String theory (part 3)

Let's continue with season 2! (You'll find part 1 and part 2 here) Good news is, I fixed the problem of the image limit (silly me didn't know I can put up to 30 images in a post on my laptop). Also good news — season 2 has so many clues that I had to give ONE ENTIRE EPISODE a separate post!

Season 2 is interesting when it comes to the Invisible String because it all seems to be very chaotic and all over the place, which is kind of reflecting the state of both of Dick and Rachel's minds this season. Dick, quite literally haunted by his past, is fighting hallucinations of Bruce Wayne, while Rachel is trying and failing to rein in her newly upgraded powers and struggling with her sense of identity. Their problems are pulling them in different directions, making them deal with stuff separately rather than together. The String becomes frayed and loses some of its integrity. Until, finally having enough of the bullshit, it takes the matters into its own hands (ropes?), so to speak.

And in episode 2x11 "E.L._.O.", sends Rachel a dream.

It's a blaring alarm. A wailing siren. Code Red, it screams, he's doing something really really stupid and it's going to get him killed. It urges her to go, now, before it's too late.

But first a little reminder how we got there.

Dick revealed the truth about what really happened to Jericho. Mad that he kept it a secret and blaming him, everyone (including Rachel) leaves him and goes their separate ways — except for Kory, who leaves to deal with her own stuff but promises to be back, and Gar who ends up the only one staying at the Tower. Dick leaves as well, packs a bag and goes to visit Jericho's mother. After a confrontation with her and Slade, he heads for the airport, a plan to go somewhere remote and away from everyone on his mind. But once he's there, he experiences something like a psychotic breakdown, gets himself detained and sent to prison, being convinced that this is what he deserves for all his fuck ups and mistakes.

Rachel originally goes with Donna but ends up ditching her as well and finds her way to a homeless shelter, where she meets a girl named Dani. Dani invites Rachel to an abandoned house where she and her friends have their place, and tells her she can stay with them. This is where Rachel has the nightmare.

It's all very symbolic this time. A cemetery, a funeral, a gravestone with Dick's name on it. Rachel's reaction to it is heartbreaking to watch. Then Dick appears behind her, dressed in a suit and tie as if attending his own funeral, and begs her not to give up. On him? On Titans? Rachel grabs his hand to look into his mind and find out what's going on but all she sees is some place called Elko diner in the middle of nowhere, which at the time doesn't make much sense. She wants to ask, but a sword is driven right through Dick's chest, Slade standing behind him, and she watches in horror as Dick chokes on his own blood and dies. She wakes up screaming, tires to call him, but his voicemail box is full.

When she doesn't leave immediately, the String tugs at her again. Dani gives her a reading from Tarot cards and the reading is terrifyingly accurate:

"Your past. The Tower. Upheaval. It leads to a period of darkness." — fighting amongst the team, Titans breaking apart.

"Your present. The Moon. The realm of dreams. Your unconscious knows the way back to the light. You have to trust your intuition. It will guide you to your purpose." — THE REALM OF DREAMS!!! GUIDE YOU!!!! TO YOUR PURPOSE!!!! Do I even have to explain?!

"Your future. The hanged man. Brutality is coming your way. You must prepare to make a great sacrifice or... suffer a great loss." — explains the meaning of the vision and predicts the future. The hanged man is Dick, his life is in danger. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Rachel gets another scary vision:

Something insane hit me while I was rewatching this scene and making these gifs. Something that made my jaw drop to the floor.

Dani could be the personification of the Invisible String.

She's only in this one episode, we never see her again. Rachel doesn't get the vision of Dick's death until she's at her place. Her only purpose seems to be to have this scene with Rachel, read her from the cards and help her understand this dream. She's literally guiding Rachel on the right path, a path that will take her back to Dick.

Rachel leaves right after that and heads for the bus station. This is another example of the String working in mysterious ways, because it's a direct callback to the moment from the pilot where Rachel decides to go to Detroit. This time it's a little more intentional — Rachel picks Elko because she recognized the name of the diner from her dream — but the two scenes are done nearly shot for shot to remind us that neither of the instances is coincidental. Just like the previous season, the String is leading her to Dick.

On the bus she has another dream. She's in the same cemetery, sees Dick standing over his own grave. Deathstroke emerges from behind the trees with his sword in hand and Rachel tries to warn Dick but she's unable to move and he can't hear her. Deathstroke kills him again and Rachel jerks awake just when she's about to miss her stop.

Meanwhile, weird things start happening with some of the others. Donna gets a strange call from Rachel, but the static cuts off her voice. Kory, who ended up in Vegas, sees a commercial of the Elko diner on TV. Dawn hears Rachel's voice on the radio as she's driving. All three get the same message: get to the Elko diner.

When they get there, though, Rachel is actually shocked to see them all there and claims she didn't do anything. Then none other than Bruce Wayne walks in and has a nice little chat with them. (Btw Bruce is preaching in this scene. Amen to these words!)

He gives a speech about putting the gang back together despite all the hurt that broke them apart, then simply leaves. Kory, Donna and Dawn aren't too convinced, the latter two deciding to leave. But before they do, a small TV in the back of the empty diner turns itself on and shows news footage informing that Dick is in a nearby prison and apparently helped two men escape. Convenient, right?

All of this is so weird, isn't it? So random. You watch it and immediately claim it "shitty writing" because the way these events happen is so goddamn ridiculous. It feels like it doesn't make much sense.

Or does it?

Because it's not really Bruce. Because in the season finale, when Kory thanks Bruce for coming and his advice, Bruce tells her he doesn't know what she's talking about because he was never there.

But if it wasn't Bruce, who or what was it?

At this point, Dick is having hallucinations all the time. While locked in solitary confinement, he has no one but his mind's projection of his adoptive father for company. They talk, they argue, even fight. Bruce has been appearing to him throughout the entire season, most of the time uninvited (as hallucinations do) and Dick couldn't get rid of him. But the one time when Dick actually does want Bruce to appear, he doesn't.

Bruce doesn't show up, but a large bird appears in a window of the cell and catches Dick's attention.

The only way I can describe Dick's face when he sees it is relief. Man nearly looks like he could cry. He immediately jumps to his feet, eyes never leaving the bird, and softly calls to it, but the bird flies away and doesn't come back even when Dick is shouting after it. Left alone again, Dick hangs his head and drops back to the floor, where he curls, crushed and defeated, as if the last glimmer of hope he had just died.

Bruce comes back shortly after that, and at the question "Where did you go?" he ominously replies that Dick needed to rest, and then changes the topic.

Okay but why pay attention to some bird? It's just a random bird, right? Wrong.

It's Rachel. Her "soul self" as she calls it in season 4. Still linked to Dick's subconscious even after leaving the dream, she "borrowed" Bruce's projection to bring him to the diner and sent the Raven as a replacement. Even Kory and Dawn came to a similar conclusion in the finale:

What's more, Dick must have recognized her in the bird. Otherwise, why would the bird catch his attention? Why would it cause such a range of emotions on his face? The bird doesn't stay for long, it flies away almost immediately, but I'd say this way Rachel now knows where to look. The bird comes back, the tv turns on and now they have the location.

One extra clue that proves it is that the scene in the cell happens right after the scene at the diner, which implies that the two moments might be happening at the same time.

How did Rachel do all of that? Found her way to some random diner in Nevada, brought the girls and Bruce together, sent out a projection of herself to Dick and did it all unconsciously ? Is it her powers or is it the String pulling her forward? Or both? It could be her instinct, her fear, her helplessness and desperation because she's just a kid and she's alone, and she just had a premonition of Dick's death. There's not a lot of time and she needs help. Outside of the diner, she's begging Donna and Dawn to stay, tears shine in her eyes and her breath hitches while she explains to them how she saw Dick die, but ultimately only Kory stays by her side. She gets some of the help but not all, and Dick eventually finds them before they get to find him, but all these weird things didn't stop happening until the threat of Dick dying went away.

As for Dick's end of the String, it kind of only makes a cameo. In his last hallucination, after Dick and Bruce exchange a few kicks and blows, Dick finds himself standing in front of several screens showing some important, pivotal moments from his life, moments that shaped him into who he is. There's many different things here: Robin's violence, his parents' killer's death, cutting Bruce's tracker from his arm, Jason falling from a building — and two memories of Rachel. The first meeting in Detroit and the moment she appeared in Trigon's dreamscape to save him (which also proves something I'll be talking about in season 3, so remember that detail).

And honestly, I can't think of an explanation to this other than the String's mere presence. It doesn't do anything — the scene's purpose is for Dick to figure out a clue left by Jericho. But I find the choice of picking not one but two important memories of her for this scene a really interesting and thought-provoking detail. Especially that the way this entire section is constructed draws your attention to it. We hear Rachel saying "It's you, you're the boy from the circus" in the background and her voice doesn't drown in the cacophony of others from different memories, but it's distinct, standing out from the rest — we as the audience are meant to hear it and recognize it. All the memories on the screens change, some appear on different screens at different times, but everything, from the camera angle and blocking, to editing and effects, made sure these two memories were seen at the same time. They're not the focus of the scene of course but you can tell there's been a lot of thought put into making sure they end up where they ended up.

You know, it's funny how I used to not take this episode too seriously — like most of the fandom — because of all the stuff at the diner and how there's seemingly no explanation to it and it feels so random. Because of how stupid some of the characters decisions seem. We always blame it on the writing, shit on the writers for leaving plotholes and making retcons, and 99% of the time we are right to do it. But maybe we just have to look deeper. Maybe we're supposed to look deeper. Because after looking at these events through the perspective of The Invisible String, this episode will never not make sense to me again. It's not dumb anymore, it's not random. It's actually fucking brilliant. I think it speaks of something that I had to give it a whole separate post to explain it — and that was something I did not plan when I sat down to write this theory.

Now we move to seasons 3 & 4. And check out Part 4!

#dc titans #titans #dcu titans #tv: titans #titans season 1 #titans season 2 #titans season 3 #titans season 4 #dick grayson #rachel roth #dick and rachel #nightwing #raven #kory anders #garfield logan #graysonfam #titans meta #fathers and daughters y'all

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idiotwithanipad · 17 hours

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How Agatha met Rogh

(TW: Death, Injury detail, Panic, Trauma from past abuse, Blood)

Agatha couldn't feel anything. No pain, no weight about her chest and middle, no saturated burlap sack against her face. Her eyes adjusted and could see nothing, the candles must have burned out. The basement and it's lack of ventilation became a furnace flue in the dark, fresh air a blessing in this part of the manor.

Her hands still remained bound above her head, but she could no longer feel the rough ropes. Almost as if to test her luck, she tugged her arms forwards quickly and felt no resistance. They weren't tied anymore. Agatha sat bolt upright, reaching her hands up to the sack covering her head. She wrenched the foul bag from her head and dropped her legs from the side of the table.

A man stood before her. A different man from the last two. He looked strange, Agatha didn't get a chance to take a closer look at him, as the burlap sack somehow, in the blink of an eye, materialised itself back over her head, plunging her back into darkness.

Agatha released a shrill scream at the sudden realisation that another man was with her, and at the fact that the terrible bag was back over her head. Did he put it back there? Was she to be punished further? Yet, there was no time to worry about the bag. Agatha fell from the wooden table and splattered onto the floor on her side, quickly gathering herself and getting to her knees, her hands grasping and feeling around on the floor for the strange man's shoes.

"Oh please, sir, no more! I hath taken such beatings on this night, sir, I hath wailed so! I can take no more weight, sir!" Agatha pleaded and sobbed, tears pouring from her swollen eyes. Her little hands grasped onto an object, a soft object; it felt as though she had gripped onto an animal. The silence that followed only made her sob and quake even more, her shoulders and covered head wincing and shying away at every second.

The softness of whatever her hands grasped began to move, shifting slightly and brushing against her fingers and wrists, the heavy aura the man gave off seemed to hover over her like a giant. Unseen to Agatha, the man hand crouched down and began to inspect the heavily blood stained sack.

"I hath been falsely accused, sir. I committed no such crime nor sin, I hath only breathed for 11 years, sir. I hath never bedded another, nor hath I wished so". Agatha sobbed, her fingers still clutching onto what she assumed to be a large, fur lined coat.

A small sound caught her attention, even the snuffling of a mouse would've alerted her in this state; the slightest noise making her picture those two awful men charging back into the basement to tie her hands again and lash her with leather.

The sound rippled above her head, slight at first, but it's volume and intensity grew by the second. Fearing her pleading sobs had been taken as an offense, Agatha retracted her hands and held them together before her covered eyes, reciting the prayer that her mother had taught her in times of sorrow.

The sound was of a man, the man she had just managed to catch a glimpse of before her vision became clouded by the blood soaked burlap. Breathing. Inhaling and exhaling. Sniffing.

"Look like it hurt..." Definitely a man's voice, the gravely drawl of it seemed to send shards of ice through her flesh. Agatha froze as she heard the scraping of fingers against the burlap above her head.

"I beg of thee, sir... No more, no more... I cannot take no more..."

Her cries were cut short when a warm, somewhat calloused hand came to gently hold onto hers, the thumb rubbing softly over her bloodied knuckles.

"No more" The voice agreed. The tone and depth of the voice changed to one of pity and understanding, the kind her father would take to her when she would cry.

"Why does thou seek me? I am but a scullery maid, sir. Hath I overlooked a chore? The dogs hath their meats? The candles hath been lit? The fires been stoked? I should cease my tongue, lest I wish to have it torn from my throat" Agatha winced. The unseen figure remained silent for a moment, for what reason, Agatha couldn't tell, nor see.

"Not maid no more. No pain no more. No more blood. Bad man not squeeze feet in rocks no more. Is done now. No more"

Come to mention it, Agatha didn't feel anything, she could barely even feel the Rocky basement floor grazing her knees beneath her skirts. All she could feel was the man's hands slowly and gently move to her underarms, lifting her off of the ground and onto the table again. Carefully, being gentle so as to not frighten her.

"Feet in bad shape. Pressed too hard. Snapped. Broken like stick" The voice seemed full of pity and concern, yet Agatha couldn't feel anything which the voice described. The description the voice gave made her mind conjour images of what her abused feet would look like if she could see them, the very mental image of it turning her faint.

Agatha rose her hand to pull the burlap sack away once again, before the man's gentle hand came up to clasp at her wrist to stop her.

"No. No look. Won't lie, it big bad, but me not want little girl to see it"

Agatha jolted at the sudden contact.

"How am I to go about my chores, sir? I hath work to tend to. Must be nearing my time to awaken, I must light the fires to warm the house before the family rises for morning prayers" Agatha panicked, fearing another lashing.

"No need to work no more. You ghost now, same as me" The voice spoke, reassuringly. The word rattled Agatha's pounding brain.

"You die on table with two men putting heavy rock on chest, you stop breathing and spit blood. Now you ghost, so no more work and pain"

The man couldn't see, but beneath the burlap sack, Agatha's eyes bulged in horror and confusion. Agatha had always been taught that St Peter would greet her after death. But there was no St Peter here.

"Bad men, bad death, painful. Even other ghosts didn't want watch" The voice commented, followed by a stirring from the floor above. A second voice called down into the basement from the wooden steps.

"Have they stopped yet? I couldn't bare to watch it, turned me stomach and that's sayin' a lot" A man called, his face peering between two balusters, his jagged and awkwardly set teeth chittered in his protruding jaw.

"Looks like they're gone now, Mick" A woman's voice soothed.

"They were 'oribble to 'er!" The strange looking man, presumably 'Mick' cried.

Agatha turned her covered face towards to source of the noise, but she still couldn't see past the burlap.

"Sir, this wretched bag will not keep itself from smothering me, sir. I cannot remove it" Agatha remarked, her fingers toying with the frayed fabric.

"You stay how you die. You die with bag on head, you stay with bag on head" The man said, almost too calmly, like he was well experienced. Agatha wasn't ready to accept that word, 'die'. Had she died? Is that why she felt nothing? How could she possibly survive a crushing that would kill even a grown man?

"Sir, I doth need air, sir. I must excuse myself" Agatha croaked, bowing her head slightly to the man and shuffling to drop herself down from the wooden table. Her twisted feet landed on the floor but soon after buckled when she took a few steps toward the stairs. She went hurtling forward, her arms flailing to find something to grab onto for leverage, only to collide with the stone floor.

"Oh. You okay?" The man called from behind her, shuffling closer and patting her back with his hand.

"I cannot seem to walk proper, sir. I'm to be given the boot, sir? Cast out to become a woman of the night?" Agatha whimpered, rubbing at the palms of her hands from her rough landing on the floor; she expected a few grazes, but felt no damage at all.

"No. You ghost, me told before. But can still go up there, come me show you" The man chimed. He carefully gathered the eleven year old maid into his arm and began up the stairs. The sickly looking, boil covered ghosts backed themselves against the walls as they watched the caveman pass. They looked at the state of the young girl, although they didn't see her face, they saw the state of her chest and feet, their eyes bulging in shock. One of them even started crying.

Agatha made sure to turn her face away from the man's; she was terrified that he too would scream and yell at her, her fists still clasped together as extra measure just in case she needed to say a quick prayer.

"There, this a big room, I call it 'Big Room'" The man finally spoke, Agatha could feel that he stopped walking and stood turning left and right in place.

"Sir, I cannot see much through this bag. Tis a task" Agatha mumbled.

"Oh... Well, is big room, red walls, picture of ugly man on wall with ugly woman and ugly boy, got swords on hip-"

"I should like to go back downstairs now, sir!" Agatha blurted, a harsh rattle in her voice.

"Ey? But only just got here. Said needed air-"

"Yes, sir, indeed I did, sir. And I hath gotten air now, sir... " Agatha's arms came up about her chest, forearms crossing over each other, the lace of her leather corset tickling down her cuffs.

The strange, still unseen man gave a small grumble of confusion and mild annoyance and turned on his heel, Agatha still in his arm. She flinched and practically buried herself under her own arms, snapping her face away from him and shielding her head with them.

"NO no, I beg thee, sir, don't!"

The man froze, his wide eyes stared at the state of panic the girl had gotten into from a mere few seconds; surely she didn't think that he'd hurt her, did she? Had he given that impression?

"Ey, me not hurt, have I?" He spoke, gently, being careful not to panic her further. It took a few seconds for Agatha's trembling to stop, her arms slowly lowered to rest neatly in her dirt covered lap.

"No, sir. Thou hath not risen thy hand to me in fury, sir..." Agatha agreed meekly.

The man began slolwy walking back towards the basement steps, carefully trying not to jostle her anymore, he didn't want her to think she was in danger.

"And my name not 'Sir'. It's 'Rogh'..."

#bbc ghosts #original character #robin the caveman #larry rickard

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grazianaa · 6 months

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How to Live on Like I Promised You I Would

When we finally allowed ourselves to be together after all those years I told you something almost immediately; “We can save each other’s lives or we can bring each other down until one of us or both of us are gone.”

I had lost before, you promised I would not lose again. Your trust had been broken before, and I promised I would love you completely.

Your mother pulled me aside one day and made me promise to leave you if things got too bad, but how could I ever keep that promise after the one I had made to you? Things were more complex than she understood.

I gasped for air at 7:03AM. I gasped like I had been breathed back to life by some mystical force we’d never believed in, you and I. I gasped for air at 7:03AM, almost like both of us had died and you had chosen to breath your life back into me to give me another chance.

And at first I looked around the room, impressed that we somehow, in our blackout, had managed to put away all the evidence of our use. All I’d remembered from the night before was putting my nose in the bag and waking up with you in my lap. I knew something was not right because your head was rolled off the side of the couch and when I picked you up black blood ran out of your ears and from your nose. I tried to drag you to the shower and put you under cold water like we’d done for each other so many times before. I knew you were gone but the heart doesn’t believe what the head tries to feed it in those moments. I tried for hours to bring you back to me, so hard that the EMT’s laughed when they arrived and stood back.

“Seems like you’ve got this,” the guy grinned, and I could have killed him.

When you left I was angry—I hated you for being the one who left me after you promised me you wouldn’t die. When you left I was afraid—how could I ever give myself again so completely to anyone? I had no faith.

When we buried you I had to be pulled away, I didn’t want to leave you and we weren’t done talking yet. I made promises I couldn’t keep and bargained for your life and begged for forgiveness. Mostly, I told you that I’d never love again, unless I knew that lover had been sent to me from the heavens by your hand, directly.

And as time went by, I realized I had lied to you about that, too. You must have seen me, and if not, you must have known that not to love for me was an impossible task because you must have known that all I had ever reached for in my whole entire life was love. I am a lover and I will do what lovers do, but trust me that promise never made it easy for me. Oh, I looked for you in everyone, in every step that they took, in the way they brushed the hair behind my ears, in the jokes they’d whisper to me. The love they made for me was never really mine because it was always tainted by remnants of feelings of the love you’d given me first. I promised you that I would live on, and I promised you love would be different, but the truth is, there is no way I can love without seeing you in every other man I try to pursue. And the fact of the matter is I need love in order to live on. I need it like air, and you know that because you know me. So how can I separate the love I will always have for you away from the love I seek in my pursuit of living on?

My grandmother grew up the youngest of 9 in Italy, so small that she doesn’t remember world war II. Her father left her mother which was unspeakable back then and she had to raise all those babies on her own. When tragedy struck, like my oldest great uncle dying in the war, the kids were sent out into the street to beg. They were called wailers because they would wail and cry and seek the attention of any passerby they could get to throw them a penny or a nickel. When my grandfather died, my grandma cried so hard and made such a scene that she tried to jump into the coffin with him. I was so embarrassed and angry at her for robbing the rest of the family of their right to grieve on a day that should have been focused on my grandpa.

When you died, all at once I understood the overwhelming hopelessness of it all. The things we would never get to write, the art we would never finish, the garden that wouldn’t grow, the children that wouldn’t live. My future was taken in one moment from me and for the first time in my entire life, I felt sympathy for my grandmother, and all her attention seeking exaltation. I did not try to be buried with you but I must have walked up to your casket 20 times to kiss you once more.

In the weeks that followed your passing I found it very difficult to leave my room. Guilt took hold of me every time I thought of myself, being greedy enough to get a cup of coffee while you were being eaten by worms, or when I allowed myself to smile or laugh in conversation with new friends.

For a long time I have swallowed the guilt of new love, holding it close in my stomach and bringing it everywhere with me and my new relationships. I know you do not want me alone, I have pushed the thought away all this time but I realize that you want someone to keep me safe in your absence, until we meet again. I need to let go of the guilt. I honor your soul every day, and it is not a betrayal of our love to need comfort, intimacy, and companionship while I am still on this earth.

I need to let go of the comparisons. I need to face the fact that there will not be another like you. I need to be grateful that I was one of the lucky ones, lucky enough to find great love in my lifetime where the two of us just understood each other completely without ever needing any explanation. That doesn’t mean that I am incapable of loving someone who is not you. I think it really comes down to openness, honesty, and constant communication. I cannot be afraid to bring you into my new relationship because you are a big part of what made me, “me.” However, at the same time, I mustn’t place you on a pedestal that no other man can live up to. There is so much to see in this world, and every person has some new gift to bring to it. I need to separate those parts from before from what is happening now. I think therapy will help, and support from the people who know me best. Mostly, I need things to go slow. I need time to transition in my mind to this new place, this new love that I am trying to create.

#lostlove #widowersoftumblr #letters #letterstoyou #losing my mind #poem #reading #writing #self care #positive mental attitude #self help #creative writing

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chaotic-super · 1 year

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For Her Sake - sneak peek

Rapidly pulling at the handle, falling short of opening it every time, the door well and truly sealed, trapping her on the top floor of the building, her anxiety rises. She can’t be trapped here, she has a little girl to get home to, this is bad, very bad, very very bad.

Even over the wailing of the alarm she hears it, the click that her brain just knows is from the gun she dropped earlier. Her blood runs cold.

Kara turns, hands automatically raising in the air as she does so. Across the way, over where she was thrown to the ground, is the woman she came here for and yet someone she really doesn’t want to be seeing. Lena Luthor.

“Please don’t shoot.” Kara begs, hands still up and eyes pinned on the gun being aimed at her, a slightly dishevelled looking woman holding it, black hair lying long and limp against her head and shirt untucked from her dress pants.

“Stay where you are!” Lena demands, hands shaky but finger firm on the trigger, leaving no doubt in Kara’s mind that this woman means business.

Kara presses her back to the door, chest rising and falling with her sharp intakes of breath, unsure of what she can do other than hold her hands up, no way to prove that she doesn’t want to hurt anyone and looking as guilty as she actually is.

Lena stalks her way forward, just a few steps so she can take a better look at her assailant. “Take off your mask!”

Kara’s hands shake as she does so, the mask clinging to her face but coming away with a little bit f tunning, her blonde hair spilling out of its confines and showing off her rosy, red cheeks, warm from the woollen material of the ski mask. She drops it onto the floor and it lands with a soft thump.

Her appearance takes Lena back for a moment, surprise coating her features, clearly not expecting someone that looks like Kara to be the one beneath that mask.

It’s understandable though, Kara is a blue eyed, blonde haired woman nearing thirty with a kind face, not the epitome of evil and certainly no devil.

Lena steels her gaze quicker than Kara can react to the momentary confusion though. “Stay where you are and get on your knees.”

“Please, don’t shoot, I have a daughter.” Kara pleads, falling to her knees and holding her hands out in front of her, praying that this woman doesn’t hurt her. It’s one thing for her daughter to have a mother in jail, it’s another to have a mother in the ground. “Please, I’m begging, don’t hurt me, I’m not going to try anything, we can just wait for the cops.”

Lena’s frown deepens. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, but this is the first time someone hasn’t immediately tried to negotiate their freedom, hasn’t begged to be let go and for the police to be left out of it, this woman is just accepting her fate and begging not to be shot, something Lena wouldn’t do unless she tried to attack her, she’s no heartless killer.

She lowers the gun by a fraction, aiming it at the floor just in front of the woman. “Stay where you are and don’t move, I won’t shoot as long as you do as I say.”

Read the first 5 chapters of For Her Sake on Patreon early here

#cw supergirl #supercorp endgame #supercorp #supergirl #kara leaned in #kara x lena #kara danvers #kara zor el #lena luthor #supercorp fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #angst #wlw #wlw ship #writing #chaoticsuper #single parent au

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tvrningout-a · 6 months

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A LIGHT AMIDST DESPAIR | JJK AU | ft. sato kaiya

trigger warning for mentions/implications of abuse and child death; nothing is ever described in detail; i try to keep everything as vague as possible, but please be careful! be warned that there is some canon-typical violence as well. if you'd prefer to get right into verse specifics, you can skip the prologue <3

prologue:

another universe yet a similar story, again kaiya finds herself struggling to support her mother after an accident steals her father from them. again she finds herself in a loveless marriage, and again she finds herself at the end of her rope one night, but rather than a meeting a demon, the young woman encounters someone else entirely.

it's pouring rain when she spots what appears to be a child crouched beneath a tree in her backyard, and of course kaiya rushes over to check on him, ushering him into the safety of the engawa. he looks terribly pale to the point of looking blue; she would have left to fetch the boy blankets and hot tea, but he clutches at her hand so desperately, cries for her to stay. without another thought, kaiya gathers him in her arms and holds him.

then her husband steps outside, sees her hugging nothing but air, and accuses her of finally losing it. kaiya pushes back, insists that the boy is there -- how can her husband not see him? and as matters escalate, kaiya realizes they are engulfed in rain again, the cold digging into her skin like a million little daggers that hurt worse than the stinging of her cheek. she turns to look at the boy. isamu.

where once a frail boy sat, now stands a mass of blue muscle and bared teeth in his place. kaiya's blood runs cold. it's happening again.

Y҉O҉U҉ ҉W҉I҉L҉L҉ ҉N҉O҉T҉ ҉T҉O҉U҉C҉H҉ ҉M҉O҉T҉H҉E҉R҉.҉

isamu seems to move in the blink of an eye, a massive fist decimating the man in one blow. blood splatters against her face. someone screams -- she screams, she thinks. and as isamu turns his glowing eyes to her, kaiya screams again, stumbling and falling backwards and crawling to get away, far as she can. she curls herself into a ball, weeping and knowing that despite all the suffering, despite all of her effort to keep going and make something good, she is going to die here.

" mother? what's wrong? the bad man is gone, mother-- " he sounds like the little boy again, small and fragile, but still kaiya flinches as his cold hand touches her shoulder. his voice grows thick with upset. " are you mad at me? did i do something wrong? why won't you look at me? "

" you killed him! " she wails. isamu cries with her.

" he hurt mother! he always hurts mother, but i wouldn't let him this time! " isamu sobs and curls tiny fists into the sleeve of her yukata, tugging at her arm until kaiya finally looks up. she stares at the boy's tear-streaked face as his words sink in. i wouldn't let him this time. "i'm sorry, please--- please, don't leave me again! i only wanted to help mother! "

he's different from the thing that killed her father, kaiya realizes, having only wanted to keep her safe from someone who hurt her. despite his oni-like form earlier, isamu seems human as he cries, begs her to not be mad, begs her to not leave him ( it tears into her heart, creating an ache that almost feels familiar ). kaiya knows it's probably stupid of her -- she hasn't made very many wise decisions lately -- but she reaches out a shaky hand to cradle isamu's cheek, wiping away his tears. slowly, he calms and meets her gaze with blue eyes that oddly match her own.

she can't manage a smile, can't control the tremble in her voice. she's terrified that she's making a mistake, that maybe this thing isn't a child at all, but hope steadies kaiya's hand as she grips one of isamu's tiny fists.

" i won't leave you. i promise. "

verse specifics:

soon after kaiya's chance meeting with isamu and her husband's death, sorcerers come to her small town and apprehend them. kaiya goes willingly to ensure isamu doesn't try to kill anyone and because she ultimately feels responsible for her husband and her father's deaths.

it is obviously debated that she should be killed because of the risk isamu poses, but she is thankfully allowed to live so long as the boy remains obedient and loyal to her -- or in other words, so long as he doesn't kill anyone.

it's discovered that kaiya has an innate technique that draws in curses by bleeding a great amount of cursed energy; she may also cut off her energy entirely, becoming impossible to sense. this is how isamu found her, and it is why a curse attacked her father yet left her alone.

kaiya herself would be considered a lower grade sorcerer if not for isamu. because of him, she is considered somewhere between 1st-special grade. i haven't decided uvu

isamu believes kaiya is his mother who died hundreds of years ago. she, too, was in a bad relationship which she tried to escape, but running away led to both her and isamu's deaths. until he found kaiya, he wandered the countryside as a vengeful cursed spirit, bringing rain with him and attacking anyone who dared to raise a hand against a woman.

kaiya is, in fact, a reincarnation of isamu's mother, and this is discovered after some time at jujutsu high.

isamu most often appears as a child with a ghostly pallor, but he is capable of taking on a much larger form that resembles a blue oni. along with heightened strength and speed, the rain he conjures is imbued with his cursed energy, harming anyone who is caught in the storm.

pre-shibuya, kaiya and isamu live within the walls of jujutsu high; it has been five years since they met, making kaiya 26 in this verse. post-shibuya, kaiya enters the culling games in hopes of helping innocent non-sorcerers caught in the crossfire ( unless otherwise plotted ).

possibly more to be added/edited!!

#a light amidst despair | jujutsu kaisen | kaiya #haha may i just say I HAVE MANY FEELINGS!!#i've had isamu for all of a day but lemme tell you i'd die for him :' )) and so would kaiya :' ))))#and pls know i'm holding my hands out so eagerly for dynamics in this verse #kaiya is such a sunshine lady and so openminded that i feel like you could toss just about anyone at her and she'd go 'friend? friend <3'#anyway i love her and i love isamu and i gotta decide if i have a headcanon in me after writing all this #btw the abilities are a slight wip just bc i dunno how strong i want them to be #part of me is like 'don't make them very strong' but then again isamu is hundreds of years old so he's probably gonna be strong #i'm pretty set on kaiya not being all that strong on her own though -- decent in a fight but definitely no match for stronger opponents #if she's alone #but she's never alone bc isamu is stuck to her like glue :' )#okay i'll stop rambling for real this time ASDFG #headcanons | kaiya

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sanctamater · 9 months

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the cigarette she holds with trembling hands does little to calm her nerves - little to sooth the ache in her stomach, the pain pounding against her skull. some might call it dread - our lady of mercy knows the feeling for what it truly is: rage. fury. anger. things she had meant to leave and bury at the riverside - things that had a funny way of following her closely; nipping at her heels. for a moment, and just a moment, our lady is thankful that she stands in the reception room of lutece laboratories unknown, unannounced - cigarette slowly burning away in her hands as surely as her own temper flares; as the ache in her skull sharpens - and she takes another inhale.

at least she’d had the grace to smoke away from prying eyes. it wouldn’t look right, she thinks; seeing the holy mother with a cigarette. but it felt right. felt good, even - felt better than holding that - that thing. no, not a thing - that child. that child who was always wailing, weeping - screaming to the high heavens; and the maids always brought her to the good lady. and why wouldn’t they? she was her mother. should have been her mother. was supposed to be her mother - the prophet and his devoted could sing it until god himself came down from heaven; it would not change a thing - not of my womb. not of my womb. not of my womb.

god help our lady - god forgive her for these trespasses. she could not muster the care the prophet demanded of her. begged of her. could not ( would not ) hold the girl; would not soothe her tears, would not coddle and cradle and nurture - most days, our lady can barely look at her. elizabeth. what a name. too much for any child of hers - and she remembers. remembers recent things - the prophet and his frustration, his anger. sweet sinner; i have done as any man can do and planted my seed - yet there is no yield. no heir. the way she had placated and soothed and fretted; sweet and quiet and all too eager to please him - desperate to please him; to show her worth. what good that had done her. now, here, she remembers distant things - abstract things. the way the boys she’d kissed had tasted; and more, of course - skin against skin, the shattering of glass, the yelling; the burn of their anger when they realised she had played them all for fools. god is punishing me for this, she thinks, taking another drag. her hands cannot stop shaking - her jaw grinds. god would never let me be a mother. and she’d wanted to be one so badly - or, at least, our lady thinks she does. the prophet had wanted her to be a mother, after all; and what the prophet wanted, his wife did too. the insult only adds to the injury - and in an attempt to stop the slow grind of her teeth, the good lady bites down on to her lip; ignoring the pain until blood; thick and coppery, floods her mouth. she’d screamed at the prophet earlier today. last night, too - started a terrible row - how unlike how she was supposed to be; and how deep that had cut him; he! who had raised her from perdition - and how ungrateful she was, and yet -- yet. that picture perfect life she’d been promised now falling apart at the seams and our lady knows the child is not cut from some holy cloth. is not stupid enough to believe that - the girl is flesh and blood, same as she - then who had mothered the girl? the answer, of course, had been in front of her this whole time - of course it was. it had to be. she would not entertain anything else. lutece. it had to be @timeloooop. there was no other woman the prophet would entertain - and he certainly seemed to entertain madam lutece far more than he ever did for his wife. she can feel the weight of his hand at the back of her neck even now - unwanted. her skin crawls. sweet sinner, is it not your duty to tend the home and hearth? this is as much beyond you as it is above you. it had to be lutece. it had to be, had to be. and god, she hated them both.

the walk had done little to calm the sainted mother - white knuckling her cigarette case within her jacket pocket, her free hand balled into a fist to stop them from shaking - a smile plastered there that did not reach her eyes; that did not quite suit a woman as fair and good as was hailed to be. her words had been terse, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. counted the minutes and steps it had taken - one hundred steps. two minutes, forty five seconds. “shit - ” her fingers are burnt; singed from the now stubby cigarette that she drops upon the lutece’s floor. she will not pick it up - god knows she will not be cleaning up rosalind’s mess; and there are a thousand things she wants to say - passionate speeches, appeals - but our lady finds her vision has blurred; her breathing quick, shallow - close to weeping, but she’d not give them the satisfaction. instead, she surges forwards - crossing the threshold loudly, boldly - and for a moment, her voice fails her. instead, there is a momentary quiet; the hum of electricity filling the air. “ rosalind? ” how unlike herself she sounds; voice raw - pitched. hoarse. and she stands there a moment - just a moment. another breath - and again, she moves forwards; her steps swift. sure. “ rosalind lutece! ”

#hi lol #this is long. <3 #timeloooop #🕊️❝ ( verse. ) and in his eyes; even you are loved

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