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pink-sparkly-witch · 6 months

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Forever Hold Your Peace

Summary: Dean and Y/N dated for years, but his hunting lifestyle means he’s unwilling to move past dating. A few years later, Y/N invites Dean to her wedding to another man. A man who isn’t right for her, one she doesn’t love, one she hopes Dean stops her from marrying.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (past)

Rating: 18+ Only

Bingo Square: The quote: “You’re never going to have a happy ending—just remember that.” for @j3bingo. This quote will be in bold.

Warnings: implied smut, double date, insecurities, wedding jitters, religious wedding ceremony (not overly descriptive), heart-to-heart, cheating, smut, fingering, oral sex (m rec), unprotected p in v, creampie, break up.

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: I’d like to start by saying that this is fiction, and I do not condone cheating in any capacity. I personally think it’s vile and unforgivable. With that being said, a little brainstorming session for this fic resulted in a cheating plot bunny that my muse would not leave alone and this is what happened. Please consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a little comment. It really does fuel our muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

“Dean!” you giggle as your boyfriend nuzzles at your neck, pulling the hem of your dress up. “We’re going to be late!”

“Don’t care,” Dean skims his fingers over your panties, groaning when he feels the damp spot already there. “Haven’t seen you in weeks, baby, and I need you. Now.”

You don’t argue with him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him towards your lips.

Walking into the restaurant twenty minutes late, your hand rests on Dean’s forearm as he guides you slowly and carefully to your table, being mindful of your high-heeled feet.

You grin, remembering what your boyfriend had done to you not half an hour ago and how he’s still taking his sweet time and is sure to be pissing Sam off with every second you’re late.

“Finally!” Sam groans as you reach the table. Dean, always the gentleman, pulls your chair out and tucks it back in, checking that you’re comfortable before he takes his seat.

“I know that look,” Eileen grins, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” you say bashfully.

“Don’t be. I know you haven’t seen each other in six weeks,” Eileen smirks.

“Eight,” you blurt out. “Not that I’m counting.” Chuckles ripple through around the table, and Dean places his hand on your thigh and squeezes.

“So, what did you guys want to tell us?” Dean asks the couple sitting across from you.

“We’re engaged!” Eileen says, throwing her hand out to flash her ring.

“Oh my God, congratulations, guys!” you gush, standing to hug the couple. You’re genuinely happy for them. Sam and Eileen are made for each other, but it’s tinged with some sadness because you wish you were the one sporting a gorgeous, sparkling diamond ring and planning your wedding and future with Dean.

“Now Dean just needs to get his shit together and finally propose. It’s been five years, dude. Put a ring on it already!” Sam teases him, and you laugh good-naturedly but can’t help but notice your boyfriend isn’t even trying to pretend to be humoured as he scowls at his best friend.

Dean is quiet and withdrawn for the rest of the evening. The thick tension that fills the car ride home makes the insecurities you have about your relationship resurface.

While he’s never given you reason to doubt that he loves you or finds you attractive, his reluctance to take your relationship further and get engaged is starting to wear on you.

“Are you okay, De?” you ask cautiously. It’s not the first time someone has asked him about proposing - Sam and his friends never stop asking, but every time, Dean would push you away and pull into himself.

“Fine,” he nods, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. You know he’s not fine, but you don’t want to push. He clams up whenever someone mentions getting engaged, making you think you’re not worthy of him or good enough to be his wife.

You know it’s not healthy to ignore the issue, and you know if you want to know what’s going on here, you need to be the one to bring it up, but you’re scared. You love him deeply. Dean is your everything. And if you have this conversation with him, it could end your relationship. But you can’t keep going like this. You want to get married, and if it’s not what he wants, then you don’t think you can stay with him.

Caught up in your thoughts, you don’t notice you’re in Dean’s apartment until he throws his keys on the sideboard.

“We’re okay, right?” It comes out of your mouth before you’ve thought about it, and you know there’s no backing down now. You and Dean are having this conversation tonight. “Because every time someone gets engaged or mentions us getting engaged, you clam up and shut me out. What is it? Do you not want to get married? Or do you just not want to marry me?”

“Can we not do this right now? Please, Y/N?” Dean asks, defeat clear in his tone.

“I think we need to, Dean.”

TWO YEARS LATER

“Y/N, honey, you look beautiful!” Your mother gushes when she sees you in your champagne wedding gown.

“Thanks, Mom,” you smile, straightening the front of the dress.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, taking your hands to stop you from fidgeting.

“Nervous,” you chuckle, and your mom smiles.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t!” she giggles. “Let’s get a few photos before you walk down the aisle.”

The past two years have been a blur, and you don’t really know how you got here. After you and Dean broke up, you weren’t looking for anyone to take his place yet. But when you saw him and another woman leaving a bar not even a month after you ended your five-year relationship, your best friend declared you needed to get back out there and get laid.

That’s when you met Matt. Sensible, quiet, safe, non-hunting Matt. He was everything Dean wasn’t, but at the time, that’s precisely what you needed. Within a year, you were living together, and three months after that, you were engaged. Next thing you know, your wedding day is here, and you’re questioning if you’ve even been present in your own life for the past two years.

It’s just the last-minute jitters you keep telling yourself, but you know deep down this isn’t what you want. You want to get married and have a family. You want a nice man who works hard and treats you right. Someone who has good values and ethics that match yours. Matt has all of those qualities, and yet something is missing.

“Smile, honey,” your mom says, and you do, completely on autopilot as you have been since Matt proposed.

“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the priest says, and your heart pounds in your chest.

You don’t know what you were expecting, but when the priest’s words are met with silence, your heart sinks, and you resign yourself to your fate.

Dutifully, you repeat the vows the priest tells you to, say I do and let Matt place the ring on your finger. And smile prettily as Matt does the same, and you put a ring on his finger. You kiss your newly pronounced husband, take his arm, and walk down the aisle.

At the back of the church, in the last pew, your gaze lands on familiar green eyes, and you feel pure anger. He came… he came, and he didn’t stop the wedding. Absence didn’t make his heart grow fonder, and he still doesn’t want to marry you. He doesn’t want you.

The rage dulls quickly, and bile rises in your throat as you realise what you were waiting for before you said your vows. You were hoping and praying Dean would stop the wedding, that he’d tell you what a mistake he made and that he still loves you and wants you back.

But he didn’t. And now it’s over for good.

Somehow, you manage to pull yourself together enough to greet each guest as they leave the church. Dean politely kisses your cheek and smiles sadly as he tells you you make a beautiful bride. He congratulates Matt and tells him he’s a lucky man, and then he’s gone.

Someone ushers you both away to take the official photographs with your family and close friends, and you once again force a smile on your lips, trying to mask your broken heart.

“Hey, sweetie,” Matt kisses your cheek and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” you lie, getting your marriage off to a good start. “I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. I’m going to the room for a bit. Refresh my makeup and take my hair out before these hairpins give me a headache!”

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks, and you shake your head with a giggle.

“No. I’ll be fine. Besides, we can’t have the bride and the groom disappear. People will talk!”

“I guess you’re right,” Matt chuckles. “Hurry back so I don’t miss you.”

“I promise, I won’t be long,” you reassure as you kiss his cheek and sneak away to the bridal suite for some breathing space.

Walking along the hallway, you smile politely and thank the hotel’s non-wedding guests who congratulate you as you pass on the way to your room and hope the tears don’t fall yet.

You sigh in relief as you swipe the card and open the door. Hurrying inside, you turn around to push the door closed, only for a foot to push in and stop it.

“Y/N? Can I come in and talk,” Dean says. In your shock, you let go of the door and step back, unintentionally inviting him into what you’d hoped could serve as a sanctuary for you to get your shit together.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dean.” He’s already closing the door behind him, and you know no matter what you say or do, he’s not leaving until he says what he came here to say.

“Sweetheart,” he says, and your body responds to the term of endearment with goosebumps. “Why are you crying?” he asks as he steps towards you, but you step back.

“Why are you here, Dean?” you ask, throwing your hands up in exasperated defeat.

“You invited me,” he responds, confused by your question. “And I gotta say, Y/N, I’m glad I came because you’re making a huge mistake here. You don’t love him.”

“Of course I do. I just married him, for god’s sake. He’s kind and funny, and he takes care of me. He’s a good man,” you defend.

“That doesn’t mean you should marry him, Y/N!”

“At least he wanted to marry me. You didn’t think I was good enough for that!”

“What?”

“I know you, Dean. When we were friends before we started dating, you always used to talk about settling down and getting married one day. Having a couple of kids and a dog and a white picket fence. We were together for over five years, and whenever I brought it up, you shut me down or changed the subject. You strung me along instead of telling me you didn’t love me and letting me go.”

“I didn’t mean—I did love you. I still do. I didn’t ask you to marry me because I was scared I wasn’t enough for you. I was always gone, always hunting some creature from hell, always putting you in danger. I couldn’t drag you into all that. I love you too much—”

“That’s bullshit, Dean, and you know it! Sam and Eileen got out of the life just fine. If you wanted to make it work, you’d have made it work. Fuck, I thought we were working!”

“We did work because we loved each other, but sweetheart, every time we saw each other, you knew the exact number of days or weeks it’d been since we’d last seen each other, and it killed me. Because you deserve better than that.”

“Shouldn’t I have been the one to make that decision? Been the one to tell you if I couldn’t handle the time apart or you hunting monsters every other week for months on end? No,” you hold your finger up at him. “Don’t answer that because you know what? I don’t care. It was a mistake to invite you today.”

“Then why did you?” Dean asks, and you frown, taken aback by his question.

“Because as stupid as it sounds, I thought you might still love me. That we still had a chance. That just maybe, you’d…” you sigh. The worst thing you can do right now is tell him you wanted him to stop the wedding; wanted him to be the reason you called this shit-show off.

“I do love you. I made a mistake when I let you leave me, and you’re making one right now. You don’t love him like you should. Like you loved me. And if you go through with this, you’ll regret it.”

“Did you miss the part where I said I do in church? In front of God and a whole bunch of witnesses - you included?”

“You can get it annulled. He’s not right for you, sweetheart.”

“And you are?” you scoff, exhausted with the whole situation.

“Yes!”

“You’re unbelievable, Dean! I’m married. Happily.”

“You said you know me. Well, I know you, too, Y/N. You’re not happy. I know what you look like when you’re happy and in love. And this isn’t it. You don’t love him. He loves you, sure. That’s clear from a million fucking miles away, and maybe that’s why you’re marrying him. But you don’t love him. And if you’re set on staying with him, you’re never going to have a happy ending—just remember that.”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?” you finally let it out. The thing you’d secretly been hoping and praying that he’d do.

“Because you look absolutely stunning, Y/N. You’ve always wanted to be a bride and get married, and he’s a decent, safe, and stable guy. And I can’t…” he trails off and looks away from you for the first time.

“You can’t what, Dean? Love me? Because you did. Really, really, well. Take care of me? Because you did that, too. Marry me? If being with you means I can’t be a wife, it doesn’t matter because I don’t need to be your wife to be loved and cared for by you.”

Dean’s lips find yours, and you gasp in surprise. He slides his tongue in your mouth, and you moan. You’ve missed his kiss, his taste… fuck, you’ve missed him.

“Say the word, sweetheart, and I’m gone forever, but I need you to know that I never stopped loving you, and I never will. I’ll get out of the life for good. I’ll get a house and a job, and if you want me, want us… we’ll leave here together right now.”

You kiss him this time, knowing it’s wrong, but it feels so right. You haven’t felt like this since before that fateful dinner where Sam and Eileen told you about their engagement.

“Dean, please,” you gasp against his lips, and he quickly pulls your dress up around your waist and slides his hand into your wet panties.

Dean groans as your slick coats his fingers, and without warning, he pushes two fingers inside you and curls them while thumbing your clit. It’s been so long since you’ve felt pleasure like this, and you quickly fall apart on his fingers.

“Good girl. You must’ve needed that, sweetheart. Even our first time together, you didn’t come that fast,” Dean growls in your ear, and you shiver at his warm breath brushing against your neck and hair. “Mattie boy’s not much in the bedroom, huh?”

The mention of your husband’s name should snap you back to reality, but it only does the opposite, and you drop to your knees and undo his belt. You moan when you uncover his hard, leaking cock and wrap your lips around it.

“Fuck, baby girl, I forgot how good that mouth is,” Dean growls, sliding his hands into your hair and pulling on it. “So pretty with my cock in your mouth, sweetheart.”

He still knows what to say to get you going, and his words make you moan around his cock, smirking when it makes him push in further. “Fuck, Y/N, need your pussy, sweetheart.” He pulls himself from you and helps you stand.

Dean pushes you onto the bed and reaches under the skirt of your dress to pull off your panties. Once he’s thrown them across the room, he grabs your ankles and pulls you towards the end of the bed, wrapping your legs around his waist.

You grab the skirt and pull it over your waist, giving him a good view of your dripping pussy.

“Fuck, so perfect, baby girl,” Dean rasps, teasing you by sliding his stiff cock between your soaking folds, coating himself in your slick.

“Dean, please!” you beg, wanting him to stop teasing you.

“You need something, sweetheart?” he smirks, pushing the tip of his cock into you and pulling out again to tap it against your clit.

“I need your cock inside me, Dean. Please!” you beg.

“Alright, baby girl. You ready for me?” he asks, his gaze trained on yours. The second you nod, he pushes in and stretches you perfectly, ripping a low moan from your throat.

“Fuck!” you gasp, your walls fluttering wildly to comfortably accept him.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” His concern for you is sweet, making you smile and reach your hand out to grasp one of his.

“Yeah. Forgot how big you are,” you grin, and Dean smirks at your response as he pulls out and pushes back in, a moan now ripping from his throat.

“It shouldn’t be this hot to fuck you in a wedding dress, especially when I’m not the groom,” he growls as he sets a slow and hard pace, slamming into you as hard as he can and pulling out agonisingly slowly.

“Dean!” you whimper, and Dean presses your thighs further into the mattress. You push up, resting on your elbows and watch him pound into you with abandon, moaning as he pushes in and out of your core.

“Fuck, sweetheart, not gonna last. Your pussy feels too fucking good,” Dean growls, his hips speeding up, his eyes fixed - like yours - on him disappearing and reappearing from inside you.

His fingers tease your clit, making you fall over the edge in the most powerful orgasm you’ve had in years. It’s no exaggeration - the last time you felt like this was by Dean’s hands before you broke up.

He slams into you one last time, pushing against your cervix and stills. With a roar, he empties himself inside you, and the feeling is euphoric, sending you into a smaller climax that makes him hiss as your walls squeeze his sensitive cock.

Once he’s caught his breath, Dean pulls himself from your core, and you wince at the loss. You feel his come pour out and watch as he looks down at your abused hole and smirks at the mess he’s left there.

“Y/N?” you hear from the door, and both of your heads snap towards the unexpected voice.

“Matt!” you gasp. “Look, I can explain.” It’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth, and it’s a lie because how the hell do you even start trying to explain this?

“Don’t,” Matt scoffs. “We haven’t even been married for two hours. You’re still in your wedding dress!”

“I know. I didn’t intend for this to happen, but Dean—”

“Dean?” Matt asks in disbelief. “The Dean that broke your heart? That Dean?”

You gulp and glance at the man in question before looking back at your husband and nodding.

“Why is he even here, Y/N?”

“I invited him,” you mumble weakly.

“You…? Invited… why?” Matt is fuming, and you can feel the rage coming off him in waves, and honestly, you don’t blame him for a second.

“I wanted… no, needed to see him one last time—” Matt’s scoffs cuts you off.

“We’ll, you’ve certainly seen him, haven’t you? And for god’s sake, cover yourself up! I don’t need to be reminded that my wife was unfaithful on our wedding day!”

You quickly pull your skirt down to cover yourself, and the shame you feel is overwhelming.

“Do you still love him?” Matt asks, his tone softening. You gaze towards Dean, wanting to get a read on what he’s feeling. “Don’t look at him; look at me.” You take a deep breath and look at your husband. “Do you still love him?”

“Yes. I never stopped,” you say, telling Matt the truth. After all, he deserves that.

Matt nods sadly, accepting what you’re telling him. “Did you ever love me?” he asks, and your heart breaks to know what you say next will hurt him.

“Yes. I do love you, Matt. I’m just not in love with you. I’m sorry.” Tears slip from your eyes, but you quickly wipe them away.

“That’s what I’ve always been afraid of,” Matt says, a soft smile on his face. “I suppose I should be glad it happened now and not years from now when we’ve made each other miserable. I’ll get annulment papers drawn up. Let you know when they’re ready to be signed.”

Frowning, you glance at Dean, who looks just as confused by the turn of events as you are. Looking back at Matt, you see that despite the tears in his eyes, he’s still smiling softly at you.

“Y/N, when you told me about Dean, I knew you’d never love me the same way. I just hoped I’d be enough to make you happy. But I see now it was naive of me to think I could do that.”

“Matt, I—”

“Take care of her, Dean,” Matt says as he turns and leaves the room, leaving you and Dean dazed and stunned.

“Well, that went surprisingly well,” Dean announces. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, unable to think straight with your wedding ring weighing heavy on your finger and Dean’s seed still dripping down your thighs.

“You wanna get out of here?” Dean asks, crouching before you and placing his hands on your cheeks. “Go out to the cabin and try to figure this out?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you smile when Dean presses his lips to your forehead.

“Alright, let me grab your things, and we’ll get you out of here.”

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

#j3bingo #18+#tw: cheating #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester

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t-tomuras · 1 month

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Ooooh thinking about him stroking his cock while he lays back in plush pillows and soft sheets all with a too sweet scent that’s more intoxicating than all the liquor he could drink.

Fantasizing about him pulling at his sac because there’s nothing that should be riling him up this easily. It should be infuriating, you weren’t even in his presence physically but there’s traces of you all around him.

The smell of your body wash still clinging to his skin from how long you’d been draped against him. The whisper of your shampoo still lingering on the pillow you’d claimed as your own and the side of his mattress that you’d staked your claim on.

It shouldn’t be making his cock twitch, shouldn’t be making it swell but it does and he isn’t sure where it starts. Was it the thought of how you’d invaded his life in the best of ways?

Is it the way he can still feel fhe fading warmth of your lips against his throat or the throb of your bite against the slope of his shoulder. How the outline of your teeth marrs his skin so vividly it feels like it pulses in time with the beat he can only register so clearly in the palm of his hand, grasping firmly at the heated flesh of his cock.

Shimmying his joggers lower as his head lolls and his olfactory sensors damn him further. Burying his face further into the casing of your pillow and inhaling deeply only to exhale in a long sigh as he pumps his rigid length.

You’re a vile thing only because you did this to him and you weren’t even here to personally blame. Or maybe it’s because you weren’t here to soothe the ache or coo with plush lips to wrap around his flushed head.

No coy smile for him to drool over when the leaky tip bid a silvery string of pre connecting him to your plump bottom lip when you pull away to tuck hair behind your ear.

Absent from him so he can’t get lost in your list addled gaze, fisting his cock at the base while you tease him with shallow bobs of your head that he emulates in vain with this lewd daydream.

Cursing under his breath as he throws his head back, in frustration that he can only imagine how good he knows it could feel if only you were here. Hips rutting upward but no tinkling, muffled giggle follows the action, no convulsion of your tight throat when he triggers the gag reflex. Only his furious grip that’ll only ever pale in comparison to you now.

You’ve spoiled him and you now you aren’t here. Maybe he’ll punish you right back by not muffling his groans, not biting his lip to swallow them whole how you hate.

Maybe that’s good, maybe he’ll do that. Maybe you’ll turn around on your trip home and stay with him a little longer.

He considers it’s worth a short, fumbling in the rumpled covers for the discarded device without slowing the twist of his wrist or the pace he’s going to relieve himself. Panting already even as he hits the vibrant viridian call button on his screen, automagically dialing your number. It only rings twice and you’re lucky enough to be gratified with a semi-whined groan. Deep and low in his chest before he heaves in a steadying breath. Tapping the camera icon and flipping the view to show you all of his shame, or lack thereof.

“Come back so this doesn’t go to waste,” ending the short recording with a low growl as his hips twitch into his fist. Tossing his phone to the side and a twisted smirk finds his lips when he hears it vibrate in long drones, indicative of your call.

You’ll turn around even if he doesn’t answer. You always do, that’s why he’s so selfish with you now.

#vixen drabbles #this is about gyuutaro #but imagine who you will I am just feral #gyutaro smut #gyutaro x reader

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eli-being-silly · 5 months

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everything i wrote watching saltburn (2023)

watching saltburn is so weird when you're an lgbt poor kid with an alcoholic mother who goes to a private school and you're the only person in your academic circles who's there because you spent way too many hours doing tests and things rather than just paying.

oh em gee was that implying that he's hung???

EW EW EW EW EW YUCK. WHY ARE YOU EATING HIS CUM OUT THAT MOLDY FUCKIN BATH ANIME GIRL BATHWATER FR FR???

oh. yuck. she's on her period.

EW YUCK FARLEIGH IS WATCHING

what who was that with the blood and the water

no way they're doing a dress up party

HE DOESN'T KNOW HIS FOOTMEN'S NAMES

oh come on of course felix is an "i'm not racist" rich white boy

why is every single one of them so manipulative shut up felix shut up family shut up venetia

SHE DOESN'T KNOW HOW MANY KIDS SHE HAS

flirting with richard iii is so real

i hate farleigh but i am not annoyed about this development because i hate him significantly less that the rest of his family

oh nevermind! rent by the psb was cold.

yeah yeah yeah punching mirrors

disobedience, threats, violence, and anger (sexual style)

pamela DIED?

no no no he will never understand no one like him will ever understand you do not fucking take a kid like that to his parents house

what is going on is he not poor? is his dad not fucking dead? are his parents not addicts?

this movie is hurting my brain why did he lie? why? that's? what? maybe oliver is not just like me fr fr

farleigh and oliver are so. what. also, sidenote, people on coke are so weird.

WHAT HUH WBWT WHWT WBAT WAHT WBAT WBAT WHAT WBAT WHAT WBAT WHAT WHAT HE'S DEAD NO WHAT

the cinematography and the acting holy shit

farleigh and oliver really going for the throat huh

AHHHHHHHH THE IMAGERY OF LYING ABOVE SOMEONE'S GRAVE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SOBBING AHHHHHHHHHHH

oh my goodness at the party oliver was a deer because he was going to be hunted and felix was an angel because he was going to become one

oh oh ew keep your trousers on dude EW EW EW EW WHY ARE YOU FUCKING HIS GRAVE EW EW EW EW EW EW EW THIS IS NOT HOW WE MOURN NU UH

this is just so many levels of mindfuck what is wrong with every single person

NO WHY ARE YOU KISSING

OH MY FUCKING CHRIST SHE KILLED HERSELF

ew it's like he replaced felix yuck i hate this i hate this so much

i am not liking this

OH JAMES IS DEAD TOO THEY'RE DROPPING LIKE FLIES

oh fucking hell they've all been cleared out and now he gets it

OH NO NO NO WHAT HAPPENED TO HER

oh he's fucking insane

OH MT GOODNESS ACTUALLY OH MT GOODNESS THIS WAS ALL PLANNED OH OH OH I'M GOING TO THROW UP I GENUINELY FEEL SICK THIS IS VILE THIS IS AWFUL THIS IS SO HORRIBLE

ew ew stop back away ew ew ew no no no no no no no stop oh christ he's killed them all oh christ oh i hate this this is just so many levels of horrible

STOP HANGING OUT IN THE ROOM WITH HER BODY

oh shit he spared farleigh by telling sir james about the coke!!!

no stop dancing put ur dick away

okay. i finished. worst movie i've ever seen, it was absolutely brilliant and i will never ever watch it again in my life. i have cried once, gagged eight times, audibly gasped 21 times.

#saltburn #saltburn 2023 #oliver quick #felix catton #ew

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smok3r7 · 4 months

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Is Leaving Even An Option?

Joel x F!reader

Explicit, 18+

Six: Running Away // Joel’s Perspective

Main Masterlist & Series Masterlist - My Ao3

Summary: Your days have become one in the same, even with the terrifying reality of death right outside the walls of Jackson. You never thought you’d be in the situation you’ve been stuck in for seven years now, the daily abuse you endure has become an expectation. You take whatever your husband throws at you, literally and figuratively, because you’ve been trained to believe this is normal. But a new man, Joel, moves next door and happens to be friendly towards you, this causes your husband’s anger to worsen. Your mind starts a gruesome war with itself - can you leave him or do you stay until the inevitable happens?

Chapter Summary: After Joel met you, his whole life changed. Seeing all these events unfold from his perspective definitely makes the whole thing seem more real, and it somehow makes it harder for you to understand.

Word count: 6.3k

⚠️Warnings: mention of abuse from past chapters, fear of losing another loved one, quick mention of rape from past chapter (no description)

—

“Please, do not call her Mrs. Rossi,” Maria pleads.

“Why not? Isn’t that her name?” Ellie chimes from the living room behind Joel’s relaxed body.

All he does is slightly turn his head to the left and squint his eyes at Ellie to tell her to shut up, and she’s quick to shrug her shoulders as he turns back to face Maria, sorry!

“Well, yes, but… Nate, her husband, is an abusive piece of shit. She’s been with him for seven years now and for some reason,” Maria sighs as she shakes her head, “the poor girl won’t leave him. So just, please, don’t call her Mrs. Rossi.”

He nods as he takes a sip of hot coffee as he turns to Ellie once again to make sure she understands, “I’m not stupid, Joel.” He just shakes his head as he still stands in the kitchen that belongs to Tommy and Maria. Why won’t she leave if it’s that bad, floats around his head so much that he can’t help but ask Maria how bad this marriage actually was, before Maria goes down the rabbit hole of it all with him and Ellie.

—

How could someone stay married to such a vile person? It just makes no sense. After only knowing him for less than a year, she married him. I mean, what was she expecting to happen? She didn’t even know who he truly was.

What’s so special about this Nate? How did it become so bad without anyone noticing? Does Nate really hold that much power over her? Shit, clearly he does if this girl won’t leave him, even after beating her so badly she had a goddamn miscarriage.

Joel’s mind can't stop thinking about you and why on earth you would still be married to Nate, it’s simply unbelievable. And with knowing your history before Jackson, it boggles his mind even more because how can this woman who was once the most badass person, now become this weak, pushover of a woman - it just doesn’t make sense.

“She should be getting out of work soon,” Maria announces to Joel and Tommy, the three of them on the porch, watching the snow continue to fall.

“So I’m gonna have her bring you guys to the empty house next to hers, and look, I’m not saying you have to date her, but she needs a change in her life. So just maybe feel it out?”

“Maria, really?” Tommy starts with a laugh but it’s quickly turned into a cough when she looks at him.

“Yes, dear, she needs something more and I really think your brother and Ellie could give that to her!”

“Okay, look,” Joel interrupts, “I’ll give her a chance but if I get any vibe that she’s not digging for more, I’m leaving it at that. I’m not looking for a project.”

Maria nods, fair enough, thank you, and Joel gives a small nod back as he turns back to the snow again, the way the lanterns light up the snow covered street gives Joel a sense of security and hope. Maybe I can have a real life again, just maybe.

—

Wow.

That’s all that Joel’s brain can even begin to fathom about as he watches you walk up to the front porch with Maria where he and Tommy are.

Your beautiful facial features are what initially pull him into you, the way your eyes and nose move with emotion as you listen to Maria and how your nose scrunches and sniffs from the cold winter air is all just icing on the cake.

You haven’t even looked at him the whole time you’ve been chatting with Maria, but he guesses that's what happens after so many years of being abused when you do look at another man - even if it's just to meet someone new or become friends.

He quickly pushes those thoughts away for another time when he hears Maria introduce him to you and then you finally look at him. Joel watches how your breath catches in your chest, and he does the same but he’s a lot better at hiding it than you are.

Joel then reaches his worn hand out to meet your soft one, making sure to not scare you, to be gentle with you. “Nice to meet you darlin’” Falls from his lips with such ease, and he doesn’t even think about it, the whole world coming to a sudden stop as Joel stares at your beauty.

Your eyes shimmer from the the orange porch light that also illuminates your well-aged face, your subtle smile on the corner of your lips, the way your hair is covered in many snowflakes as they slowly melt into it, and all of this combined has Joel wanting to know more about you and how you ended up with Nate. If this is what you looked like after almost a decade of abuse, how gorgeous could you look out of it?

“Yeah, I can definitely do that,” You say smoothly as you continue to stare at Joel. He can’t help but smirk as he says, “Thank you darlin’,” with a natural wink to hint that he is somewhat interested, “gonna go grab the kid, then we can head out.”

—

Joel watches how your body goes rigid walking past your own house and the quick glance you give the mossy colored home. He notices the light through the sheer curtains of what he can only imagine is the living room, maybe even Nate.

Passing your home the three of you reach the navy blue house with a stunning wrap around porch and a huge oak front door. Holy shit - Joel never thought this day would come again, a time where he could be free of worry about death for him and Ellie. It’s such a relief to finally feel safe for once.

His heavy feet on the cream steps causes a slight creek as he slowly walks behind you and he takes a quick glance at your ass. God damn, you fill those jeans out nicely. You take a couple more steps before you reach the huge door and put the key in, pushing the door open and sliding to the side so he and Ellie can go in.

As you turn to him and hold out your finger with the key ring on it, your soft voice rings through his ears, “Welcome home.”

“I call dibs on the shower,” Ellie then shouts as she flies past the two bodies on the porch. This girl, I swear, Joel chuckles. Now it’s just him and you out in the freezing cold weather, and he wants to get a better look at you so he takes a couple steps, ending up across from you and he leans back on the railings for support.

“Thank you, sugar,” your head picks up at the sound of his voice.

Joel notices how your body sways back and forth between both feet, your feet most likely sore, your hands behind your back causing your army green jacket to tighten, and your face showing so much interest and curiosity.

“Will I- we be seeing more of you?” He quickly changes his words, not wanting to seem too desperate. His body language becomes sheltered, one hand behind his neck and the other in his jacket pocket, and he really doesn’t want to scare you away because for the first time in decades, Joel feels like something might come out of this.

The way your body and eyes are contradicting each other with innocence and lust has Joel feeling dazed, she is gonna be the death of me. You then innocently speak, “I sure hope so.”

You’re now only inches away from him, and oh, she’s just as hooked as I am. He takes a couple slow breaths that mesh with yours oh so perfectly. How I just want to grab your face and kiss you and give you everything you deserve, his mind is flowing with all the ideas of things to do for you, how he would make you breakfast every morning, let you do what you please, and treat you with the utmost respect.

Joel’s heart and mind are fighting with each other, his heart wanting to kiss you and his mind telling him it’s way too early for anything like that, even though you have shown you’re interested.

“Goodnight, Miller.”

“Goodnight, Sugar.”

No one moves. Not you, not Joel, both him and you are stuck on the porch, only inches apart from one another. He can tell you don’t want to go home, and why would you? If the light on in the living room is any indication of Nate waiting for you to walk in, Joel knows it won’t be any good for you.

Why do you have to go there? You know you don’t want to, you know you just want to stay here. But I know you’ll never ask, and there’s no way I can ask you - it’s just, too early.

He doesn’t want to send you back over to that so-called home of yours, but if neither he or you are going to ask, he simply must let you go for the night. The exhaustion of the past couple weeks of travel and violence is finally catching up to him, all he wants is to shower and lay down - preferably with you, but he’ll take what he can get.

“Goodnight, Sugar.” He smirks.

“Goodnight, Miller.” You bite your bottom lip which grazes him gently, you tease.

—

“I’m going to bed, G’night Ellie,” Joel yells down the stairs. Night, old man, he gets back, before he shakes his head and chuckles. This teenage girl is ridiculous, but she holds a very special spot in Joel’s heart - Ellie is his other daughter, his saving grace, his purpose.

As he shuts his bedroom door for the night, he can’t stop thinking about you and what is happening next door. Why didn’t I just ask her to stay over, repeats in his mind as he stumbles over to the king size bed that’s covered with gray sheets and a comforter. He sits down with a groan, his elbows rest on his knees and his hands come up to cover his face.

The image of you standing in front of him on the porch, only a mere inch away from him is ingrained into his eyes, it simply won’t leave him alone. He pulls his hands away from his face and stands back up, and his knees pop as he does, walking towards the window that faces your home and the only sign of life is from the one light on - please be okay.

How could he just let you walk right back into the lion's den? The feeling of guilt starts to creep into his mind and heart. If anything happens to you tonight, he’s gonna feel responsible.

—

“Joel, Joel!” Ellie shouts at him and shakes him awake.

“Better be important,” he groans as he slowly sits up under the covers, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

The sound of your name falling from Ellie’s mouth shakes him, he’s immediately up from the mattress and sprints down the stairs, Ellie right on his heels blabbering about how you showed up practically naked and with bruises all over.

He’s in pure terror at the sight of you curled up and shivering on the couch, your hair drenched from the snow, your face covered in blood and your left eye bruised, god damnit. He runs over to you and sits on the coffee table that faces your trembling body, the look on your face is disheartening, he watches as you tighten your arms around your bent legs.

As his eyes make their way to yours he sees the way your expression is a scream for help. Joel can’t stand to see you like this, all he wants to do right now is storm over next door and kick the shit out of this Nate kid. Who the fuck does this to a woman you’re supposed to love and cherish?

“You’re staying here for a little bit, sugar,” He bites through his teeth, wanting to control his rage in front of you.

He watches as you finally let it all go, as you start to blabber some sort of, thank you, caught between your sobs. Joel is quick to jump up and sit next to your shaking body, instinctively pulling you into his lap and starting to rock you as you continue to cry.

I knew not to send her over there, why didn’t I just invite her in? Poor girl, she doesn’t deserve this at all, not in the slightest. God, I could just go over there and kill that son of a bitch. How has no one done anything to help her? She’s so scared and weak, how is she still alive?

About twenty minutes have gone by, and your weeping has stopped but Joel watches your face as singular tears still roll down your cheek down to your neck. Joel can’t stop wanting to know what really happened tonight, and he needs you to say something, anything. Still staring at your figure in his arms, your head laying on his chest as it rises and falls in the rhythm of his, he asks what has been on his mind.

A moment goes by of silence, which Joel was expecting and completely understood - you clearly went through something incredibly traumatic tonight, enough for you to come over to Joel’s, to this man who is practically a stranger, and that alone says something.

He observes as you lift your face to look at him and you both stare into each other's eyes. His are soft and yours are sharp - should be the other way around. Joel feels this tear in his chest at the sight of you broken down to complete helplessness. I could’ve prevented this.

You hesitantly sit yourself up, still in Joel’s lap as he softly wraps his arms around your now sturdy body, just wanting to make you feel safe and comfortable. Okay, um, you start slowly telling him what happened and Joel just listens with intent - he needs to know how you ended up looking like this.

He can’t believe what he is hearing right now, she hid in her bathroom for three fucking hours? He ripped her hair, enough for pieces to be missing, gave her a black eye and bruised her whole body, old and new ones.

What a pig, a sad pathetic waste of a human life.

You’re hysterical by this point, hands flying as your voice continues to rise as you finish your dreadful story, but there’s one more thing you tell him that causes Joel to freeze.

“And I wouldn’t have been raped either.”

It causes this static sound to ring in his ears, the tears that have been begging to flow from his eyes finally roll down his cheek and disappear into his facial hair. Neither Joel or you have broken eye contact, and his eyes can speak more than his own voice can, he’s stunned into silence. I’m gonna kill him.

The sudden feeling of your soft hand on his cheek, as your thumb wipes away the trail of wetness from his tears, brings him back to the beautiful woman sitting in his lap. This woman that he feels he can help bring back to the old her, and that’s exactly what he’s gonna do.

—

Another round of the four seasons come and go. Joel and Ellie have insisted that you move in with them, both of them pleased when you accepted their offer. Joel especially, who never wanted you to step foot back into the hell you came from, even if Nate wasn’t there much - he knew that it held too many memories.

Over the last couple months, Joel and you decided to have a designated game night every Friday with Ellie, Tommy, and Maria. They would bring the food and Joel would supply the game for the evening, which usually ended up being some sort of card game.

“John Travolta’s right hand… Okayyyy,” Ellie drags out as she turns her head to look at Joel with a questionable look. Of course she doesn’t know who John Travolta is, he thinks as he takes a sip of his whiskey. When he sets it down and listens to Ellie continue, he looks over to you and sees you trying to hide your smile. That beautiful smile that makes Joel feel warm and bubbly inside, like a teenager on a first date.

Well it’s gotta be hers, he laughs to himself, you definitely do not have the best poker face, especially with some wine in you. Joel finds it cute when you get all ditzy after a couple drinks, it makes him feel warm because he knows how you weren’t allowed to drink with Nate, so the fact that you do here shows just how comfortable you really are.

“Having no legs, just toes,” Ellie reads, which is followed by you and Ellie bursting into laughter, both of you hitting the table and crying from reading the silly little white card, and Joel starts to laugh at you. She’s perfect.

“That’s the winner!”

“I win!” You shout as you raise your hands in the air and wave them around, and Joel watches as you finally act how you want to, not being scared to do so, there’s that girl Maria was talking about. He’s in complete awe of you and the confidence that has grown so much in the last year - shit, even the last couple months. It’s like you’re a new person, but still the same as before, you've just adapted your older personality with your newer one.

But just imagine a T-Rex with its baby arms and instead of legs, it just has toes, comes from Ellie as she does the baby arms impersonation and the whole table starts loudly laughing. Joel can’t help but smile, Ellie can finally have her teenage years back a little bit, more normal than out beyond the walls.

The conversation has changed, and Joel ends up blocking it out because he can’t stop thinking about the sight of you feeling free. The couple glasses of whiskey have made him feel like tonight could be the night, the night that the months of small flirting can come to an end and can turn into something else, just maybe.

It’s now or never, he thinks and he carefully sets his hand on your bare thigh and gives a soft squeeze. God, I just want to devour her. His eyes glance over to you and he pays close attention to how your body reacts to his new touch, and it pleases him to see the effect he has on you.

The way your chest rises and lowers, your eyes darting to his hand and back to him, the slow smile that grows on your face, then your hand laying on top of his with a gentle squeeze back. Yes, ma’am. A minute goes by of Joel not paying any attention to Maria’s complaining, all his focus on you and only you. He observes, discreetly of course, how you are slowly unwinding, moving close to your breaking point of just going upstairs. I gotta get rid of em’.

—

“Gotta say, darlin’,” Joel says as he slides his jeans off and moves to the head of the bed, “I like you in charge.” And he honestly does, it’s such a difference from your natural attitude that this has Joel attracted to you in a whole new way.

Joel is starstruck at your appearance, the way the green flannel hangs open showing off your sexy black lace bra that fits you perfectly, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. Your movements have Joel in a trance. When you straddle him, his hands almost have a mind of their own, the way they find their spot on your ass and they start to knead your soft skin.

All he wants to do is take care of you, by any means necessary, even if that means only you get the attention and love tonight - that’s perfectly okay with him. You honestly need this more than he does, and he knows that, so all his energy goes to pleasing you and only you. Joel has no problem with not getting anything in return, all he wants is for you to feel good, and honestly, he loves that you feel comfortable enough to be the dominant one. He’s gonna let you do what you want.

He loves watching how your face contorts from the pleasure his fingers give you, the way your hips roll with the rhythm of him. The little noises that escape your mouth have him in shambles, the way your hands snag his hair and it forces him to look at you while you kiss him - he loves it all.

“Let it all go, pretty girl,” Joel coos as you ride out your orgasm that has left you speechless, breathless, he watches how your body freezes and the broken moans roll out of your mouth into his. This is exactly what Joel wanted you to experience tonight - pure ecstasy.

—

The next morning, Joel gets up early and decides he’s gonna make you breakfast, that this is gonna become the new normal for you. He wanted you to have the best treatment here that you could possibly have. He finds some pancake mix and decides, why not, alongside some fresh fruit from your garden next door that you still attend.

“Ellie, can you grab the strawberries please? I’m gonna go grab her,” Joel asks as he exits the kitchen and heads towards the stairs. I really hope she enjoys this, he thinks to himself, and he really wants you to give this a chance because he knows that he’s not the only one who feels the connection the two of you have.

He softly knocks on the door so he doesn’t startle you, but when he doesn’t receive a response, he turns the silver handle. “Darlin’?” He asks to the empty bedroom, must be in the bathroom.

“Bathroom!” You respond quickly, but there’s a hint of something in your voice, something different.

He asks if everything is okay and the way you respond has him thinking you’re scared, or that there’s something you need or want to discuss, but he decides not to push it. He knows that you have your limits, and just by your voice alone, he can tell this is one of those times, so he dismisses himself and tells you that breakfast is ready.

“Hey,” Joel says to Ellie who’s at the dining room table eating her pancakes already, “have you talked to her at all today?”

“No, she’s been upstairs all morning,” she takes a sip of her orange juice, “why?”

“Okay, um- she just seems,” he waits a beat as he sits next to her, “something seems off.”

“Well, we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Joel nods as he picks up his fork and tabs a piece of cut up pancake, and takes a bite just thinking of what possibly could be wrong. What happened?

After about five minutes, you finally come down the steps, and he can tell you’re trying to be quiet, almost mouse-like, but why? You don’t have to be scared here, you’re safe, Joel made sure you knew that and never thought any different. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case right now.

“Hi darlin’,” he chirps as you sit down across from him, “I’ll make you plate real quick.” And all you do is give a weak smile and thank you, and he’s sure that something is definitely wrong. You’re usually quick to say you can do it yourself or you just do it, and as Joel makes your plate and walks back, he looks at Ellie and she mouths, “I see what you’re talking about.”

The whole ten minutes you sit there, Joel and Ellie are trying anything to get you engaged in some sort of conversation, even if it’s stupid. But, nothing works, you just pick and pick at your plate, eating only a handful of bites. What the hell is going on?

Suddenly, you stand up and walk over to the sink but instead of setting your dishes in the sink, you just drop them next to it on the counter. “I’m heading next door to grab a couple things, and then I’m heading to the stables,” you coldly announce and continue to walk to the front door, grabbing your bow and arrow as you swing open the door and shut it behind you.

Joel’s at a loss for words - he can’t believe what he just saw. He thought the two of you had a really good time last night. Like, really good. Joel cannot recall anything negative from last night, game night went great, you two finally got past the flirting game that’s been going on - and oh, that’s it. It finally clicks, you’re not used to getting the attention during sex, sweet thing.

“What did you do, dummy?” Ellie breaks his train of thought from last night. He’s quick to turn his head back to her and just tells her, “Nothing, it all went great last night.” Ellie doesn’t need to know everything that went down between you and him, just not her business, he’ll just play it off as something else.

“Well,” she continues as she takes a bite of pancakes, “If I were you, I would head over there and try to talk to her. But y’know, that’s just me.”

Yeah yeah, Joel responds, like I wasn’t gonna do that anyways, he is almost frozen to his chair, he just can’t believe what events have unfolded right in front of his damn eyes. Why doesn’t she just talk to me?

“So, like, are you gonna go or what?” Ellie reminds him as she pushes his shoulder talking him out of the trance he was in. “Oh, shit,” he stands up, “Yeah, stay here. I’ll be back.” Joel is out the front door in a matter of seconds, heading to your old home you haven’t stepped foot in for months.

As he climbs your steps and reaches the door, he looks in the small window of the front door and he can see the lights on as well as the edge of the hallway closet door. There you are, he then brings his right hand to the door and starts to knock furiously because he has no idea what you’re doing over here, you haven’t been here in forever.

No answer.

God damnit, baby, he starts knocking again because he wants, he needs, to talk to you or at least, listen to what you have to say. Because he really cares and wants to know what is going on in that brain of yours, he wants to help you. With no answer coming from the other side of the door, Joel calls your name, followed by a weak, “I just wanna talk.”

His forehead falls to the window pane with utter defeat, why does she have to do this, she can just talk to me, she should know that by now.

After about three more rounds of knocking and calling out for you, Joel gives up, and he’s not sure what to do anymore. When you want to come back out, he will be right there to listen and hold you, he will be here for you whenever - Joel does not care how long either.

When Joel reaches the sidewalk covered in golden brown leaves, he thinks back to the last thing you said to him, I’m heading next door, then I’m going to the stables. That’s right, the stables, and Joel takes off running down Spruce St. towards them.

Joel passes Tipsy Bison and a couple guys yell out, “If you’re looking for the old lady,” that was your new nickname since people of Jackson knew you weren’t with Nate anymore, “She was talking to Vince about heading out!”

Joel stops his running and takes a couple seconds to catch his breath, “Are you serious?”

They group of men all nod their heads and Joel cannot believe what he just heard, no fucking way, she did not do that, he mumbles to himself. He says a quick thank you to the group and springs towards the stables because he really doesn't think that you left the safety of Jackson.

He notices how the padlock is still on the front doors of the barn, he quickly remembers the fenced area isn’t locked, so he runs back there and jumps over the little fence. When he goes into the stables and scans the barn for Dougie, he sees all the horses, except Dougie. No, no, no, no, he says to himself as he starts to panic.

She did not leave Jackson, no way. That’s just not possible, why would she do that? How could Vince just let her leave all by herself?

The same questions loop around in Joel’s head like a rollercoaster, and he just can’t seem to understand it all, everything seemed to be moving along smoothly last night, until this morning.

The next person to talk to was Vince. How could he let her leave alone? Bounces in his head as he leaves the stables and then hurries towards the front gate, this way he can actually see if you left or not. He scales the small fence and heads towards the big gate that lets people leave and enter Jackson.

As Joel takes a chance to catch his breath, he spots Vince as he takes the last step off the ladder to the top of the gate, there he is. Joel then yells out Vince’s name to grab his attention, as Vince notices Joel and the amount of distress he’s under, his face drops.

“What’s up, Joel?”

“Did she leave?”

As soon as the question leaves Joel’s mouth, Vince knows that something is up.

“Um, like, almost fifteen, twenty minutes ago,” Vince starts but Joel is quick to grab him by his collar and pins him up against the metal gate, causing his feet to dangle off the ground.

“And you just let her leave by herself?” Joel basically spits into this man's face.

“Sh- she told me that Tommy okay-ed it and that you were gonna be right behind her!” Vince rambles as he tries to plant his feet onto stable ground. However, Joel is so enraged that he isn’t thinking clearly, and although his conscience knows that Vince is innocent, his subconscious is not so generous.

Joel’s mind and emotions end up on autopilot. He wants to hurt anyone who he feels is responsible for you leaving Jackson. If Tommy didn’t yell out to him, Joel would surely have killed Vince right then.

Joel lets go of Vince’s collar instantly, and Tommy is quick to step between the two of them to stop whatever violence was about to unfold.

“Woah, woah,” Tommy questions as he stares at Joel, “what is going on?”

Joel can barely think, so many thoughts and questions are crowding his head, and he can’t think straight at all, not with you out there with no one. He knows you can take care of yourself, but it doesn’t hurt to have backup out there. That’s just the truth, and even Joel knows it and admits that.

—

It’s been just under a month of Joel searching for you, or any sign of you. He left Jackson that same day to find you. Joel was not going to give up on you, he knows way too much and cares too much about you, for you to just slip away without any explanation.

He has searched almost everywhere, traveling as much as a couple miles outside the radius of Jackson, but he’s had no luck. Until one day, when he finds the Motel 6 you and Tommy had talked about. Joel had a hunch that you would’ve gone somewhere familiar to you. As he searches the motel rooms, he finds about a dozen dead infected. This has got to be her.

It’s almost pitch black when he reaches the Motel, so he decides to stay in one of the rooms for the night and then pick right back up tomorrow. He doesn’t need to run into raiders or be infected this late in the night - that would just be stupid, he knows better than to do that.

Please, please, please be safe. I know you can hold your own, but please don’t be absolutely fearless. I just want to find you and help you, I just want to help you baby. He repeats to himself over and over until falls into a restless sleep.

The next morning, Joel is right back on his horse and continues East. He’s gotta run into you sometime, right? He ends up running into a group of raiders a couple miles past the Motel 6, a group of five middle-aged men who see Joel as a threat and not a friend.

However, Joel is not bitch. He takes care of the whole group without getting a single scratch or bullet wound, feeling oddly proud of himself for still being able to hold his own. But the feeling of victory is quickly washed away when Joel thinks of you, did you end up getting caught by this group, or even another one.

Joel’s mind is constantly on alert - he hasn’t had this much adrenaline running through his blood since before Jackson. It’s how he felt with Ellie; I have to protect her, she’s under my watch, I can’t just let her slip away from my grasp, she’s my reason to live.

The sun has started to set, the sky is a beautiful mixture of pink and orange, it meshes so beautifully it’s almost unbelievable. The different colors of oranges and reds sway on the trees with the wind as it softly blows, and it causes a chill to run down Joel’s spine.

“Just a little bit further, Rose,” he whispers and pats the side of his beautiful horse, knowing that he’ll have to stop some time soon since the sun is setting. Darkness is not the time to wander around in the nothings of the woods - it’s just not a smart move - but he knows that he has about an hour before the sky turns to pitch black.

She can’t be that far, right? It hasn’t been that long that she's been gone, there’s no way she would just leave Jackson like that. It’s the safest place to be in times like this, there’s no dictatorship and it’s peaceful, really peaceful. Why would she just pick up and leave like that?

About twenty minutes go by before he spots a small cabin about a couple blocks away. Please be there, he mumbles to himself. He softly kicks the side of Rose and she hurries her stride more than before, this has got to be it. Joel’s mind is racing, he’s pleading that you’re at this abandoned cabin. It would make sense, and he has a gut feeling that you wouldn’t up and leave Jackson completely.

When he gets about thirty feet away from the cabin, he sees a female with a bow and arrow pointing directly at him. The way the woman is standing he immediately knows who this is. I finally found her.

Joel jumps off Rose and starts to sprint towards you. He can’t help it, he finally found the love of his life, and he was never going to let you go ever again. He watches as you realize who you’re looking at and your bow drops to the ground, along with your arrow. She knows it’s me.

As he steps foot onto the porch and scoops you up into his arms and spins you around, a mixture of loving words spill out of his mouth.

“My pretty, sweet girl, I thought I lost you forever. What are you doing all the way out here?”

“I’m so sorry,” falls from your mouth over and over, and Joel can’t help but feel sorry for you. The fact that you felt the need to run all the way out here, all so you could simply just get away, was terrifying for Joel to think about. Because why, for the love of god, did you feel better running away than running to Joel for help?

What Joel takes away from this is that, although he knows that some things are more difficult and sensitive for you to work through, he also feels that you need to tell him about these things, instead of just running away.

Tags: @evyiione @oscarissac2099 @southernbe @pedrosfanny @orcasoul

#joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #Is Leaving Even An Option #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller series #joel miller imagine #joel miller au #joel miller fic #joel and reader

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raayllum · 10 months

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one of my favourite aspect of foil dynamics is when you have a pair of (although not always) foils who switch narrative positions. for examples i’ll use frankenstein and the creature and burr and hamilton from hamiltion bc hamilton is good from a literary standpoint good god.

frankenstein starts off in creating/playing god in order to gain recognition and glory, but also as he increasingly isolates himself for his cause. the creature awakes in a world where he’s rejected by his creator & by all other humans and endures then painstaking isolation. after killing/threatening to kill some of frankenstein’s loved ones, the creature demands victor make him a wife - an eve to his adam - despite knowing it’d condemn her to a similarly lonely life, save one person, and frankenstein refuses. the two then become mutually hellbent on killing one another, even as they’re cognizant that whoever completes the murder will truly then be alone in the world and without purpose

for hamilton and burr this is even more clear. both orphans, though in increasingly different upbringings, and both ever cognizant of mortality and the notion of history. burr never takes a stand, hamilton arguably takes too many. but over the course of the play, burr becomes more like hamilton and hamilton becomes more like burr. this means that while they switch perspectives, they still fundamentally never understand each other, and it’s this misunderstanding that makes hamilton assume burr would never act like him and shoot him, and burr assume that hamilton would never act like him and throw away his shot, yet this is precisely what happens.

we even see this in star wars. luke chooses to save leia & han, just as anakin tries to protect padme and obi-wan. anakin cuts off luke’s hand, luke cuts off anakin’s hand. farmboys on tattooine, ace shot pilots, etc etc. and luke is nearly successfully turned to the dark side, yet reaffirms his father’s place by refusing to bend... in the last movie. that point couldn’t have come any earlier because 1) it’s the triumphant victory and 2) the narrative tension of the foil dynamic means it has to go on as long as possible.

arc 1 is kind of a perfect example, where viren starts out powerful and close to the king and magically strong, and ends the season falling to his death thanks to his elven guide, and callum starts out powerful and close to the new king and magically strong, and ends the season literally soaring to new heights thanks to his elven guide. but like - that’s arc 1. that’s the arc where the heroes win. of course it ends that way.

but now we’re in arc 2.

we’re in the arc - s4 to s6 - where the heroes Lose.

and we know that TDP is aware of these principles when it comes to callum and viren precisely because they are in many ways already in the process of being switched. in arc 1, callum is the one going through a season without magic and being pursued before a powerful creature can be reunited with its place in xadia’s hierarchy; in arc 2, that’s viren, even if he’s far more passive about it and callum is more active. they’re brother-mage-advisors to the king, placed in proximity to power but never allowed to fully wield it, they both chase magical agency in s2 beat for beat (2x04 -> 2x07 -> 2x09) only really diverging in the finale of the season. viren is now going to be having dark magic dreams while callum is presented with the coined elves viren imprisoned.

like yes it’s true that they’re not the same person and won’t make all the same choices, but in a show that’s all about the younger generation struggling to not repeat the same choices as their predecessors, and still getting caught in the cycles of their own journeys... it’s like “i have always been ready to do anything to protect my family however dangerous however vile” and “i value those close to me more than anyone and anything” when callum means it even more than viren does (because viren is and has been willing to sacrifice his family - hi soren - pretty blatantly) is like... yeah they’ll Diverge. just not till s7 lmao

#the english major strikes again #it was just red #like if s6 was our last season. they'd Diverge then #bc for callum to take viren's place is a Tragedy #so it can't be the end of the story #but we have 2 Tragedy Seasons coming up so #mini meta #analysis series #analysis #and then u have the blatant terry-callum claudia-callum parallels running underneath it all #all pointing to the same thing #even callum & rayla's foils dynamic where they perpetually hit the same points / walls like. a season apart #ALL POINT TO THE SAME THING #going to dark places and making hard choices in the name of love

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biblioklept-writes · 1 year

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Curious Toddlers

Alternatively, in which Ser Criston Cole reminisces the menaces the two youngest children of King Viserys had been.

Word Count: 1.7k (this was supposed to be a ficlet but here we are)

A/N: This is dialogue heavy

Ser Criston Cole had always been close to Queen Alicent Hightower, since the day she’d taken in as her shield. He didn’t think that he’d be looking after her little kids too. After King Viserys had taken an affection towards his son, Aegon, he had thought the rest of the kids would have a similar fate.

But Gods had other plans and now he was looking after the little Prince Aemond. The baby prince had just learned how to crawl and was a handful for the nannies, only ever listening to his mother, the Queen. He didn’t understand that his mother was the most important woman in Westeros.

The only other person the chubby little baby listened to was Ser Cole, which caused a host of other problems with it. Criston thought baby Aemond was adorable, and enjoyed spending time with him, though he didn’t like the infant following him around. All the potential dangers scared him.

Once the fat infant had followed him down a hallway once before the nannies had finally caught up to him. And then he started crying out loud with his tiny, mighty lungs, alerting everyone. It wasn’t until Ser Criston finally gave up and entertained the little prince did he stop throwing his tantrum.

One of his first words had been Da-da, though the term was directed at Criston rather than King Viserys, everyone had been ecstatic to hear baby Aemond start to speak. From Da-da, Aemond was corrected to Ser, but he had picked up Cole faster. It had warmed his heart the first week. Then he became a total trouble.

If he thought little fat baby Aemond was a couple of handfuls, once he discovered the pleasure of running, he became an absolute menace. Always running behind his mother, the Queen or Ser Cole. He had to be picked up and deposited back to his nannies with lots of promises to return soon.

As he grew older and learned more words, he also realised that Cole couldn’t be with him at all times, and he had pouted his little mouth at the discovery and stayed grumpy for the rest of the morning and afternoon. But everything was fine by nightfall, and the little prince’s giggles were heard again.

Even as a toddler, Aemond had a sharp mind. He had started pestering him with questions now. One word was always asked after an answer: Why?

“Ser Cole, why do you wear a white cloak?” He asked one afternoon as they sat in the sun. “Why not a gold cloak like those men?”

“I wear a white cloak because I am a kingsguard and your mother’s shield, little prince.” Cole explained with a smile.

“What is a kingsguard?” Little Aemond asked, always the curious child.

“A kingsguard is someone sworn in to protect the king and his family.” Cole answered, feeling giddy for some reason.

“But everyone is sworn to protect the king,” Aemond said. “Why do you wear white?”

“Because a kingsguard is personally appointed by the king or the hand of the king,” Pride filled Cole’s chest as he answered. “There are other… requirements too.”

“Like what?” Little Aemond asked, looking up at him. “Did father appoint you? Why?”

“He chose me because he thought I was a good swordsman.” He answered. “A kingsguard has no duty other than protecting the royal family.”

“Why do you stay around my mother?” He asked.

“Because I am her shield,” Cole said.

“What is a shield?” He asked once again.

Cole sighed. Haelena had been so quiet and Aegon didn’t speak to him much, he was the only child who had gotten king Viserys’ attention, so he didn’t spend much time with Cole. “I am your mother’s sworn protector.” He explained. “It is my duty to keep her safe, out of harm’s way.”

“Why do you do it?” Aemond asked, his lilac eyes filled with curiosity. He was so innocent, and Cole wanted to keep him away from the vile world.

“Because she saved my life once,” He answered, chest weighed by pain. He exhaled.

Another time, a different horde of questions had followed - Aemond wanted to learn how to use a sword. Specifically from Criston’s sword.

“You said that father made you Kingsguard because he thought you were good at it.” Aemond whined. “I wanna learn to use your sword!”

“My prince, you cannot, yet.” He said, a little stern.

“Why?” Aemond frowned, brows pulled together and his small mouth pouted.

“Because swords are dangerous,” Criston explained.

“But you will protect me,” Aemond said, so confident in Cole that he nearly teared up. How was the prince the most lovable little menace?

“My prince, the sword is taller than you are.” Cole said. “Once you are big enough, I will let you fight with my sword. They don’t make swords for kids.”

“Well, you should tell them to make some.” Aemond crossed his tiny arms over his tiny chest and stomped his little legs. Throwing his infamous tantrum. “I want a sword, and I want it now!”

“It takes a few days to make a sword, my prince.” He calmly explained. “You will have to wait before they make you a sword of your size.”

Aemond had become significantly less nosey once Criston had a tiny wooden sword made for him, becoming a happy child again.

Another bout of questioning followed once Alicent had fallen pregnant with her fourth child. She had started to show, and Criston couldn’t leave her alone. One evening, Aemond was in Alicent’s room, laying on the bed beside her as Cole sat on a chair at some distance. A maid was cleaning up the bath behind a set of thick curtains.

“Mother, how did the baby get in there?” Aemond asked. A horrified gasp left him and his eyes widened. “You didn’t eat my brother, did you?”

“You think you are having a brother?” Alicent asked.

“I know I am having a brother.” He said, smiling. “But did you eat my brother?”

“No,” Alicent softly said, looking at Cole with pleading eyes.

“Then how did baby brother get in there?” He asked, now looking between Alicent and Cole. “If you didn’t eat him, how did it get in your belly?”

“Think of the baby like a flower,” Cole explained, sighing as he spared his Queen the explaining bit. “You plant a seed in a pot and it grows into a flower.”

“So someone planted a baby seed in Mother’s belly?” Aemond said, and they could see the gears turning in his head. “How?”

“The belly button,” Alicent quickly said, and Criston had to suppress a laugh at that.

“Oh,” Aemond nodded, seemingly satisfied.

Now that Aemond’s baby brother Daeron was here, Criston had thought himself to be well prepared to handle curious toddlers considering his experience with baby Aemond. But Daeron made Aemond’s pestering seem like an easy affair - Criston would pay to get toddler Aemond back with his little brain questioning everything.

Daeron was far more sneaky than his older brother, having learnt from Aemond the moment he was able to step out of his crib. And he had a particular taste for danger - only ever being caught in a fraction of second before the item could do any damage. He was adorable with his chubby cheeks, silver hair and big purple eyes; but he would deliberately put himself in harm’s way. And it was hard to stay angry when he did the puppy eyes whilst being reprimanded.

Once, he had managed to steal a knife off the dining table, right under the servants and his mother’s noses.

He was found cutting his door’s handle, complaining that it felt uncomfortable to his hands. “I don’t like how this feels.” He whined. “It’s too hot!”

“We can have the door shifted to shade, my prince,” Cole had offered then. Daeron, the little menace had the wall broken down and rebuilt just so he could have a cold door. They even added a smaller door so the prince’s pet dogs could come in and out as they pleased.

Another time, he had managed to steal Criston’s sword and run away while the Queen’s Shield was busy teaching Aemond how to swim. He gave the Queen, Ser Criston Cole and his nannies, and all of the servants a run for their money, running around with a sword taller than himself. When Criston did finally manage to catch him, he wanted to reproach him terribly, but one look into his big, guilty eyes and he lost all of his anger. He could only sigh.

“You shouldn’t run about with things larger than yourself.” Criston calmly said. “You could injure yourself, my prince. Then your mother will be sad.”

“But the sword doesn’t harm you, Ser!” Daeron said. “Why would it harm me?”

“Because you are a little prince,” Cole said. “Once you are a big prince, it will not harm you. We will find a sword apt for you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Yet another adventure of his daring childhood was finding hot coals and keeping his dragon egg there to incubate it for hatching. He had burnt one of his fingers in an attempt to get his dragon egg back. Criston had to then carefully retrieve the dragon egg without harming the baby dragon inside.

Although, it had been a good thing, for the egg hatched, and Daeron got his own she-dragon and named her Tessarion. Aemond also followed that measure, by now desperate to have a dragon. Aegon and his nephews were treating him horribly, and it was taking a toll on him to the point that Aemond got obsessed with dragons.

Tessarion hatching from Daeron’s egg was damaging - not only was he only one without a dragon, but his baby brother had his own dragon. But Aemond was a smart boy, he didn’t express any resentment towards Daeron, and even helped him take care of the new hatchling - feeding her, teaching her commands.

Perhaps this was when the two youngest children of King Viserys had grown close, more bonded than the others. Daeron was small and didn’t tease Aemond, but sometimes even stood up against his nephews. He didn’t cross Aegon though, he was terrified of him, used to following his commands.

Now, as Cole sees Aemond lose an eye over the dragon Vhagar, he can only think back to the old days as Daeron desperately clings to him for support, crying on seeing his closest sibling’s mutilated face.

#aemond targaryen #daeron targaryen #ser criston cole #alicent hightower #alicole #team green #hotd #not x reader

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sommerregenjuniluft · 9 months

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@jegulus-microfic august 29 — walk — 1197 words —mention of sex but only because wolfstar are being desperate little shits aka summer holiday shenanigans

James hears Regulus quietly humming to himself where he’s walking a few paces in front of him, letting his fingertips slide against the sun warmed metal of the fence separating the property from the sidewalk.

They’re on their way to the little mart around the corner, more specifically the pizza place adjacent to it.

“Cheaper that way,” Sirius had mumbled into Remus’ mouth while they continued to suck at each other’s faces. Meaning, cheaper than with extra delivery fee, meaning leave us alone it’s about to get very not-PG13.

Regulus had started to look increasingly horrified and James had thought they deserved half an hour to themselves since Remus had only just gotten home from a week-long hike with his dad. They’d started to lean horizontally on their towels next to the pool when Sirius had blindly fumbled for his wallet and thrown sixty bucks in the general direction of his little brother and James and so they were on dinner duty while the other two made up for missed time.

James had quickly grabbed his smokes from the garden table and slipped into his old Adidas slides while Regulus had already fled for the front gate.

He lights himself one now before he slips the pack back into his swimming trunks. Regulus throws a glance over his naked shoulder at the sound of the lighter and lets himself fall back to sidle up next to James.

James grins as his cheeks hollow around the inhale and Regulus keeps looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

They both know Sirius would rather throttle him before he lets Regulus bum a cigarette but James had always had a weak spot for the younger boy.

Regulus shamelessly uses that for his advantage, of course.

Blinks dark lashes up at James with those icy blue eyes of his and the faintest layer of freckles dotting his regal, sunkissed nose and simply plucks the cigarette right out of James’ mouth before he can inhale properly a second time.

“Those aren’t good for you, y’know,” Regulus says matter-of-factly and then brings them to his own lips, humming obscenely around the first drag.

James’ lips twitch amused as he tries reaching for the smoke again, “Oh, and they are for you, right?”

Regulus leans away as he continues to suck in greedily, “Ah-huh,” voice husky around the lung full of smoke before blowing it out, “I’m younger than you, old man. My body can easily take it.”

James hums, grin widening, “Oh, yeah,” moves in closer and ducks his head, delighted in the hitch of Regulus’ breath, “What else can your body take?”

Regulus glares at him through the flush intensifying his sunburn, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Potter?”

James steals his cigarette back, “And what if I said I did?”

Regulus does a little growling noise that James finds startlingly sexy. Not his fault Regulus looks so edible when he’s flushed.

James snickers before he takes another long drag and then passes it back over to Regulus who takes it immediately. “How about a Thank you?”

“I literally hate you.”

“Sure you do, love,” James smiles and then pushes a palm against the warm dip of Regulus’ back to steer him around to the pizza place he nearly walked past, “Now, chop chop. Daddy is hungry and the pineapple doesn’t slice itself.”

What can James say, he craves Hawaii today.

“Most vile, revolting, disgusting, heinous—

“Oh, that one’s new.”

“—horrendous, appalling person on earth.”

They place their order, which they’re told takes 20 minutes so they decide to head over into the little grocery store because Regulus craves fruit suddenly and James could do with something cold to drink anyways.

Regulus bullies James into buying a whole pint of blueberries,

“You’re going to get a stomach ache.”

“No, I won’t. I know what I’m doing, Potter.”

“Yeah, ’cause you know so well what your body can and can’t take, don’t yo— Ouch! Fuck, Reg, that was hard. Heh, apropos hard, when you were bent down at that shelf earlier—”

“Don’t fucking test me, James.”

and James retaliates by digging his refridged beverage chilled fingers into Regulus’ slightly sunburnt shoulders just when they exit the store.

He makes a high-pitched yelping noise and dances out of James’ reach only to hiss and jump right back into the shade of the building, grappling at James’ arm, “Shit, fuck, the pavement’s hot.”

James, because he can, walks right past him to the little bench on the other side of the sidewalk with a shiteating grin. Plops down and throws a blueberry in the air before catching it in his mouth.

Regulus scowls at him and waits for an old lady to pass between them before he throws up a middle finger.

James throws his head back with a cackle and then stands back up and walks over to Regulus.

Before this one can even get a hint of what James is about to do he quickly closes the last step between them, bends down and throws Regulus over his shoulder without preamble.

“James,” he cries out, “Put me down— Are you insane? James—”

“Quiet back there,” James demands playfully with a quick slap on Regulus’ ass. He does, much to his credit, albeit the broken choking noise.

James dutifully sets him down on the bench, not quite able to help the warm feeling pooling in his chest at Regulus’ flushed and disheveled state. Cocks his head to the side with a grin and wonders if you can get that much blood into your cheeks from hanging upside down for barely five seconds.

Predictably, Regulus hits him again but James is so gleeful it doesn’t even hurt.

They wait a few more minutes for their pizza to get ready, sharing another smoke in peaceful silence before they’re called inside.

When they step back outside, Regulus regards the sidewalk warily.

James ends up giving him a piggy-pack ride on the walk back home.

It’s a bit much, honestly.

Regulus’ lean, naked chest pressed against James’ equally nude back. The way he can hear the other boy munch and suck and lick the blueberries from between his fingers. The way his limbs cling to James’ body tightly.

Regulus only extracts himself from James once they’re past the gate, demanding for him to go ahead and check if Sirius and Remus are done lest the images burn themselves into Regulus’ retinas forever and continue to haunt him in his nightmares for as long as he lives.

They are not done yet.

James involuntarily gets a good glimpse at Remus’ pale ass and Sirius’ hairy shins crossed around it.

He'd thought it was an All Clear since he didn’t hear any debauched noises. Turns out Remus was just busy mouthing at Sirius’ chest with his hand wrapped around this one’s throat.

Yup, James is definitely gonna have some weird, vivid dreams for the unforeseeable future.

Regulus tucks his lips in when James comes back shaking his head.

They spread themselves out on the curb, legs stretched out and pizza boxes in their laps.

Regulus snatches James’ drink halfway through their meal and James confiscates the blueberries when Regulus keeps snacking on them.

#i've seen to much daddy!james talk lately #can u tell??#they're flirting so hard it's disGUSTING #sigh.. i love them #my google search history: synonyms for horrible #jegulus #jegulus microfic #jegulus fic #james potter #regulus black #starchaser #sunseeker #regulus x james #james x regulus #lune’s tiny fic

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thedreadvampy · 4 months

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I think the thing that worries me about many approaches to mutual aid (and this isn't a criticism OF mutual aid, nor is it a new or unique concern) is yeah, that need for systematisation and, honestly, an amount of alienation that a lot of small communities are currently not super able to create.

like as somebody who grew up in a family shouldering the burden of failure of care. there's stuff you as a family member or friend or community member can and should do to support loved ones, and it's hard and unpleasant work at times but it needs doing.

but then on the other hand there's stuff that can only really effectively be done by someone whose relationship to that person is more distant and care-specific. because the burden of carrying on that close relationship can really get in the way, for both people, of the care work that needs to happen Right Now. and vice versa.

the need for more depersonalised/professionalised care can look like a lot of things. from being someone with a serious injury who doesn't want people they're close to to see them naked and vulnerable, to someone finding their resentment towards a parent make it hard for them to care for them in old age, to people who burn friendships out by being there through someone's violent manic episodes. it looks like adequate personal/professional boundaries with a therapist, so that you know that the session is just about you and not about them. it looks like being able to care for someone who's consistently vile and aggressive towards you because you know that at the end of the day you'll finish your shift and walk away into a space where you can take care of yourself.

like that's what a system where people don't fall through the cracks has to look like - a balance between what we owe each other through loving relationships, and what is best done by someone who isn't personally connected to the person needing care.

professionalised care isn't enough on its own. we all need community and personal relationships - and all of us will sometimes need to grit our teeth and weather some storms and go out of our way to keep that going.

but equally community care isn't enough on its own either. often we end up having to choose between being someone's friend/lover/family and being their carer, because they can be mutually exclusive. often we don't get a choice, because there's nowhere else they're getting that care. but your relationship doesn't come through unharmed and equal if you're regularly having to put your own wellbeing aside to provide in-depth care for someone. it can't. that affects both of you a lot. it affects power dynamics. it builds mutual resentments. it puts you in a position of either burning yourself out or abandoning them, and it puts them in a position of constantly mitigating their needs to keep you.

Like, when we talk about how in a fully functional community, shitty, unpleasant and miserable-to-be-around people can't be left without support, this is part of that. but also it's part of managing the tendency to burn ourselves and each other out and lose love by trying to be all things to all people.

there have to be some sort of distancing structures in place for some kinds of care - both physical and mental. idk what that looks like necessarily - shift rotas, committees, nominated carers without close existing ties, idk - but it can't just sit solely within existing friendships and relationships.

I do think a lot of communities understand this need, but communities working on mutual support and mutual aid often just straight up lack the resource and capacity to NOT be doing this in a close knit group. I don't know how to resolve this. but I've seen enough examples of people throwing themselves into the fire over and over again to the detriment of both the carer and the caree to know that it needs resolving.

#red said #this goes double for a lot of the work of community justice #some of that has to sit with friends of the perpetrator #but a lot is only effective if it comes from outside day-to-day social circles #boundaries are important! relative neutrality is important!#and RECIEVING care can be so vulnerable and humiliating that many people may only feel free to do it with strangers!

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aemondsbeloved · 11 months

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From The Tides [Part 6]

summary: a feast, a tourney, and Aemond's accusations about Daemon throw your wits off kilter. attendance at the tourney is unavoidable, as is the inevitability of running into Aemond again (8k).

pairings: aemond targaryen x reader, (platonic) lucerys velaryon x reader

warnings: violence (brief), show canon aegon, familial death (mentioned), less angsty than previous chapters imo though

notes: it's been a while. hoping to update this more often in the future. I recommend reading this on ao3! the formatting is better there

He wanted us all dead, did you know that?

Aemond’s words plagued you that eve of the feast. All throughout your company with Lord Cregan Stark whomade you feel like the person you were before you met Luke was difficult to enjoy. You might have enjoyed his company more, maybe even craved it for how lighthearted you felt as he told stories of Prince Jacaerys during his time at Winterfell. But Aemond’s poisonous words ruined everything.

You had never seen the snow in the Stormlands where you hailed. Cregan insisted that you should visit Winterfell to see it one day. Smiling at his words, you were mimicking true joy all because of Aemond Targaryen’s words. The Queen’s Consort was a rogue, you knew that. But it was difficult to believe he would want little children dead. And Aemond seemed assured of it. You could not trust him but you could not believe he would lie about such a thing.

“I told him it was impossible to hit the stag from as far away as we were, but he didn’t listen!” Cregan laughed. Jace was leaning over your shoulder and you heard his chuckle at Cregan’s words, already knowing where this story was leading. “But that’s a Targaryen for you. I suppose Dragonriders always have to learn the hard way!” Cregan slams his cup down and the dark wine splashes onto the table.

The scene is reminiscent of your uncle’s tales of taverns during his travels and the raucous men can cause, which makes you join in the laughter. You could almost imagine how rowdy Winterfell was compared to the Red Keep with his presence.

“I did get the stag eventually,” Jace says pointedly after taking a sip of his wine.

Cregan coughs a laugh and sensing another bout of japes was coming, you grinned at the Lord of Winterfell. “Did he now?'' Your words sound sweet and teasing. Cregan seems to enjoy this just as much as he stifles another laugh.

“Eventually,” he said with emphasis. The three of you laugh loudly after the fact. How long eventually had been you never did find out.

Jace returns to the imposing high table where the Queen and her family sit in front of the Iron Throne. The look his mother seems to give him is stern and with a clap on Cregan’s shoulder he departs quickly to take his place next to Luke and Daemon.

“The lot of them are imposing,” Cregan remarks, flitting a glance at you after gazing at the many Targaryens sitting above you all.

“They are not all so bad,” you say smiling at him before looking back at The Queen’s family. You did not only think of Jace and Luke along with their cousins, but also of Helaena.

“Lady Alicent does not wear green now?” he asks gruffly, curiously looking at Lady Alicent. There is a glint of judgment in his gray eyes, not one to forgive so easily. If he is truly Jace’s closest friend, then Jace might have told Cregan what Luke had told you. The knowledge of Alicent Hightower and her sons labeling Jace and Luke as bastards was too vile a cruelty to ignore, but you pitied her in a strange way. Cregan did not seem to share your sentiment.

He was right about her dresses, though. Her dresses had grown lighter shades of green in recent past weeks but now it was a shade of blue. “In certain lights I am certain that blue might look green,” you quip. The thought of saying horrible things about the former Queen did not tempt you, surprisingly.

There is a long, comfortable silence that seems to stretch between you both. “Jacaerys has told me you hail from the Stormlands.”

He does not mention that you were born a commoner, the daughter of a fisherman. How unlike a certain silver haired prince he is. “I do. A very different land than this.” There is a faint smile on your lips as you recall your village.

“You must miss it,” he comments, taking another sip from his cup. This time he does not slam it down. He is every part the kindly lord that many ladies form noble houses adore, if not rather gruff.

His kindness is not unusual to you, having long since become used to such kindness from the dark haired Velaryons. To receive it from another noble blooded man who had no reason to be courteous to you was another thing altogether, though.

“I can never be parted from Winterfell for too long,” he grinned and a look crossed his eyes as he remembered something unknown to you. Maybe the snowfall of the North.

“We all long for home,” you concede. “Yet I do not know if I could ever tear myself away from the Red Keep now.”

He tips his head in a nod, understanding your reasoning in a way.

Then, Rhaenyra rises from her chair and her crown glimmers on her head in the candlelight. Your eyes are drawn to her as are the rest of the people around you. Whatever conversation you had with Cregan fades away.

“Today we celebrate the beginning of my reign. House Targaryen is stronger than ever. The tourney on the morrow and feast will show the realm how united we are,” Rhaenyra looks down the table and smiles. Even in her action full of warmth, there is an air of a ruler and strength within her.

You want to absorb every moment of her speech and catch a glimpse of Luke’s family healing except you cannot. All you can see is Aemond’s lilac eye and the way even now, he is looking at you from his place at the high table. It unsettles you, pushing your mimicked figure of a composed lady off kilter, and seeing the satisfied look on Daemon’s face looking upon Rhaenyra is no better. He is looking at his wife, seeming as pleased as he could be.

Was it true? Would he have killed Helaena’s children? Impossible. No one kills another family member.

The voices in your mind battle as you barely hold a grimace off your face. The other voice tells you that this is not your village and greed makes monsters of men. The Targaryens are hardly a united family at all. With the way the usurper looks at Aemond, grins maliciously before glancing at you, there is certainty that there are both men and monsters in this family.

Rhaenyra’s speech is over before you can grapple with your own thoughts. After a moment, you clap hastily. The smile you wear on your smile is fake, but your worries are old. Cregan does not notice the falsity of your pleasure. It’s better that way.

The Lord of Winterfell disappears back into the crowd of dancers and you retreat, finding comfort in the edge of the room. You could not dance for long. You were no learned dancer like the ladies in court. The thought of peril on this night had slipped your mind as you stood by a wall past the many tables.

“You dance well for a commoner,” an irritating voice murmurs near your ear. You didn’t need to look at him to recognize Aegon by voice alone, or rather the smell of wine.

He stands behind you, leering over your figure and you tilt your head away from him, trying not to grimace. “Did you not hear me, hm?” he asks again, not bothering to conceal his laughter.

You search the room, hoping to see someone. You would take Daemon’s intervention that would undoubtedly lead to violence over being near Aegon. But no one can be found. There was no one keeping you near him, though. You could leave.

Aegon tuts, grabbing your wrist harshly and tugs you back when you start to leave. Only now you are much closer to him than you were before. For a drunken man he has surprising strength, but you do not say this aloud.

“My little brother would be so envious if he were here now,” he mused, faking a sense of intelligence as he mocked your stiff body with lecherous interest. “You never do stop talking according to dear Aemond. Asked him if he was deaf, I heard.”

Aegon shakes his head slowly, drinking in your uncomfortable body with leering eyes. “And you told me you wanted to gut me like a fish. How vile you are and yet my wife does seem to adore you. Aemond never fails to mention how irksome your presence is, but I am sure there are some good parts to you, at least.”

Once your father said that the best of sailors can sense when a storm awaits them. They either flee it or fight the waves themselves. The sailor could drown either way. Best to fight, he always told you, but flee all the same.

You roughly bring up your knee to his groin, kneeing him hard. He keels over from the force of him with a large groan of pain before mumbled curses at your person. Before he can say anything coherent you pinch his chin with your index finger and thumb, pulling his face to look at you.

“Threaten me again, usurper, and I will go to the King Consort and he will make you wish I had gutted you like a fish. Your screams would be most pleasing to my ears.”

Releasing his chin, you look up, panting a heavy breath. Behind Aegon now stands Aemond and though he looks at you with a scrutinizing gaze, he does not reprimand you nor does his hand ghost over his dagger. Aegon sneers at you but his brother makes no move to help him steady himself.

You huff a heaving breath of air and turn on your heel. As luck would have it no one saw the altercation between you and Aegon. Any that looked now would see the prince who is always drunk in his cups too deeply. Only Aemond knew the truth.

Your chest tightened at the thought of Aemond having something over you and being the lone person knowing what had happened. Quickly, you turned away from them both and stalked over to the other side of the hall, anywhere that was far from the Targaryen princes.

You didn’t even notice you had left the hall all together until you were in a quiet corridor far from the noise of the feast. It is there that you brush your thumb over the wrist Aegon had grabbed roughly. Bruises are not new to you but you hoped this one was different than the rest and come the morning there would be no evidence of his cruel behavior. The questions would bother you and there was enough to worry about as it is.

_______________

The bruise had blossomed around your wrist in the morning to your annoyance. Years of knocking into the wooden boat your father would fish on and being careless had led to a lifetime of bruises. You weren’t clumsy now and a bruise around your wrist would only cause questions. Questions that you did not want to answer.

You only allow yourself a moment to close your eyes and deeply breath in and out, because there is much to do today. Hastily you dress knowing that the Queen needs you, not to mention that you must see Luke.

“Who has harmed you, my lady?” Ser Erryk asks when he sees you, briskly walking after you as you hardly gave him a moment before stalking across the castle to the Queen. “Your wrist—”

“A bruise is a bruise,” you whisper harshly, hating that your sleeves could not cover your wrist. “And do not speak of this to anyone.”

Ser Erryk is silent, but is perturbed enough to sigh temperamentally. “Prince Aemond—” he begins to accuse and all you can do is roll your eyes harshly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you bite back. “If Prince Aemond wished to harm me he would not have done so at a feast. He is not so careless or foolish.”

You are hardly aware when you felt the need to defend him nor do you recall even calling him Prince Aemond instead of Kinslayer.

“Who?” Ser Erryk insists as you both move up the stairs to the Queen’s rooms.

This will not be avoided, it seemed. “Who else but Prince Aegon?” you ask him lowly, making sure no one heard. Hearing him make a noise of anger in his throat, you turn around to face him at the top of the stairs. “Do not waste your breath on the usurper, Ser. He learned his lesson. I think that he should still feel his bruise in his groin.” You smirk at the reminder, feeling self satisfied, before turning around to reach the Queen’s rooms. Ser Erryk says nothing in return but you are certain he is smiling.

Rhaenyra breathes your name in relief when she takes note of your presence. With a wave of her hand the two maidens that were tending to her and readying her in your absence back away. She is nearly ready, half of her hair braided in twists while the rest falls past her shoulders and draped in black and deep red silks, her dress is a vision.

“I left you too long this morning, I am sorry, your grace,” you frowned as you regarded her. “It seems the feast tired me and I was late.”

She waves you off too before taking a seat in front of her vanity. “Nonsense,” she refuted your apology. “I woke early. Could not sleep well knowing my sons will be competing in their first tourney. These events get bloody so frequently and I worry for Lucerys.”

You smile softly in silent understanding before reaching for her jewels. Over the months you have discovered just what Queen Rhaenyra prefers. While there are more important jobs, knowing what she likes and preparing her for her days is a task you are well equipped with now. Gently, you put one dangled ruby earring in after the other. Only after the other maidens leave do you speak again. “There was enough violence in a war. Blood is not what today is about, but peace. Luke will be well, my Queen. Aemond would not be so foolish to harm him.”

In the mirror, Rhaenyra stares at you for a moment. There is an inner battle in her mind, one that you do not know. She thinks to mention something, perhaps trivial, but disregards it all together as she smiles at you with rare warmth. She is stressed these days, all but being pulled at the seams. “I believe you are right, but a mother still worries,” she dismisses.

Draped in jewels and lush fabrics, Rhaenyra departs for the tourney. In the Wheelhouse, she is with you, Princess Rhaenys and Lady Rhaena. With every bump in the cobblestone streets that takes you to the grand event, you can only think of how much you loathe wheelhouses. “Where is Baela?” Rhaenyra has the self awareness to ask Rhaenys.

The older women only smirks, bemused. “She insisted on flying to the tourney.” At this Rhaena shuts her eyes briefly as she mutters gods be good, but her grandmother pats her hand in her lap. “Not to worry, of course. She just has a flair for the dramatic like her father.”

Rhaenys never mentions Daemon directly and you are sure the smile on her lips is not for affection for him. But Baela was so like Daemon and her insistence to do things the least simple way had not only Rhaenyra, but Rhaena smiling as well. On cue, a roar of a dragon and the hue of Moondancer was flying over the wheelhouse, much higher above you all.

The wheelhouse comes to a creaking stop and you are sure you might have jumped out of it, if decorum was not an issue. Rhaenyra exits and the shouting and noise from the smallfolk is overwhelming. They do not sound angry but excited, yet you feel like you might just pass out. Rhaenys then Rhaena exit and at last you leave the wheelhouse.

The heat is still unbearable, despite your hair being braided in twists resting in a low bun. While you do not dress as traditional handmaidens had been, you do not look like a servant at first glance, being a companion to Rhaenyra and a handmaiden second. Still, you cannot look as grand and breathtaking as the royal family and for that you are grateful. At least the eyes of the masses do not linger on you.

You are sure that the stairs never end as you follow them up to the stand where the royals sit. Rhaenyra sits herself on a chair larger and more plush than the rest. To her right, her hand Lord Corlys, who stands and bows to her before taking his lady wife’s hand, assisting her to sit on his other side. Rhaena does not hesitate before walking down to the row below the Queen, taking her seat below Rhaenys where Baela already is sitting.

“Rhaenyra,” you hear Alicent say. Dressed in a blue much like the other night, Lady Alicent looks younger to you than the first time you saw her in the throne room. She curtsies as she stands by her seat on the opposite side of Queen Rhaenya at the very end. The empty seat besides her belongs to Daemon, though he will be competing in the tourney the consort’s seat remains in place.

The apologetic look in Alicent’s eyes catch Rhaenyra’s attention as she looks at the lady. Her eyes glance at the empty seat below. “Where is Aegon?” she asks, but seems to already know. Only Helaena sits down there, one seat to the left from the end.

At that, the princess turns around and when she sees you standing, she smiles and utters your name with fondness. “Sit with me,” Helaena insists, patting the empty seat at the end. “Come, Aemond will not be needing his seat. It would be a shame if you should not have such a magnificent view for your first tourney.”

You cannot resist her and Alicent offers you an albeit tight smile as you pass her.

“Have you brought it?” Helaena asks in hushed tones. You do not roll your eyes, but it is only because she is such a kind soul. She leans in, brilliant violet eyes wide as she regards you curiously.

“I did,” you admit in a whisper, pulling out the favor Helaena had insisted you make a few nights ago. Besides trying to knock competitors off their horses, knights, lords, and even princes that compete in tourneys ask favor from ladies and princesses. Helaena had insisted you should make one.

“Let me see it!” she nearly begged but she need not have as you laid it on your lap. It was made with yellow flowers and green leaves as it reminded you of the wildflowers at home. She gasps, reaching to delicately hold it in her nimble fingers. “This is most lovely, I should say,” she smiles in her rather dreamy way before setting it back in your hands. “Whoever asks for your favor will be most lucky indeed.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that you doubt anyone will ask the Queen’s lowborn handmaiden for favor. The double meaning in her last words goes over your back like water. You ignore the way she smiles like she knows someone will ask for your favor.

You know four men who are competing in the tourney: Lucerys, Jacaerys, Daemon and Cregan. Luke and Jace will ask for their betrothed’s favor, Daemon will ask his wife if not one of his daughter’s and you are sure Cregan will ask for someone’s favor, though it should not be you. Nonetheless, you cannot ignore Helaena’s kind words.

“Thank you, Helaena,” you say instead of anything else, but you cannot help but overhear Alicent behind you.

“He went to Flea Bottom again,” Alicent whispers, still speaking to Rhaenyra. “He has not left bed for hours. I worry for him. It has only gotten worse. This is a fine day and we should be glad he is not here, but I worry what he might be inclined to do when he leaves his chambers.”

You worry too and are glad you don’t let the grimace on your face show. The only distraction is when the tourney begins. Daemon has a flair for the dramatics as Rhaenys said when he lines up all the knights participating in the tourney. Besides his stepsons and nephew, there is no one he could not choose from the ranks. He takes his time as he looks at each of them, moving down the line on his black horse. You think he might be making a show of himself, enjoying the attention, but you would never voice that.

“Quite the peacock,” Princess Rhaenys comments, loud enough for everyone in the royal stands to hear. Baela laughs louder than the rest who are content to hide their chuckles. “Consistency was always Daemon’s strong suit.”

You make no noise of amusement at her quip, though an amused smirk lifts the corner of your lips. When he chooses Cregan Stark, your eyes widen. Perhaps it is because you had begun to know him last night that leads to a wave of nerves in your stomach. But the Lord of Winterfell only smiles, looking content with going against the Daemon Targaryen.

Dressed in the dark gray of his house colors with glinting silver armor, Cregan Stark moves on his dark brown horse to the other side of the arena. Even from a distance he appears self assured, almost nonchalant about facing a battle worn Prince.

When the horses kick off dirt and charge towards the opposite opponents, you consider that this is the excitement tourneys are about. The moment Daemon attempts to strike Cregan only to miss narrowly has you on the edge of your seat, but when they go for another bout a gasp passes your lips as Cregan nearly falls off his horse. Sliding alongside the railing while he horse runs he might have fallen if not for his determination as he sat upon his horse again.

The entire stand is full of excited whispers at this and Daemon is quick to ready his joust, charging towards Cregan Stark for the second time. Things are fiercer this time around and it is clear Daemon did not think the Wolf of the North would be such an equal contender. The movement of Daemon’s joust is swift, deceptive as he pretended to move it to the side only to strike under Cregan’s horse. As Cregan falls there is little blood, you note there was no animosity between the two. Daemon goes to the Lord of Winterfell and brings him to his feet. What words are said behind their lips you could not tell, but the resentment that Daemon had when looking at Alicent Hightower and her sons is nonexistent.

Helaena claps her delicate hands besides you, though the noise from her movement is quite loud despite the nimble touch. Turning your head, you catch a glance at her and you feel lighter at the sight of her toothy smile and enjoyment of the events below you both. Baela is standing a few seats down, clapping loudly in the most undignified way she could, though the smile on her and Rhaena’s faces are identical.

When Jace appeared and Cregan climbed atop his horse again you could not be surprised. Jace’s dark horse moves to the stands and the bright smile that always errs on boyishness, a contrast to Luke’s trepid smile that always appeared like he was figuring out if he was able to smile, is directed to his cousin. Already standing, Baela walks over to him and leans against the railing. Jace does not mind as he regards her.

“If I had your favor my lady I know there is nothing I could not accomplish,” he says. Baela smiles coyly, enjoying the attention and not hiding it as you hear Princess Rhaenys make a humph under her breath. Baela’s favor, bright blue and white flowers falls down his joust. “I wish you luck Jace,” she says with a pleased expression. Jace’s smile does not falter as he moves to the center of the arena.

You turn to Helaena about to say something about how lovely Baela’s favor was to distract yourself from the onslaught of competition to follow when you heard your name from a deeper voice strung with the address of Lady ever in front of it.

Cregan Stark sits atop his dark brown horse, tall and stately, although like many men in the Keep, he does not look arrogant or proud. He has an easy way about him, not smiling but not as stern when he looked your way. “I would be honored to have your favor, my lady. It would serve as the final stroke for my triumph in this tourney.”

Feeling several eyes on you at once, you rise from your seat beside Helaena and walk forward with the favor of white and yellow flowers in your hands. Not as naturally nimble as Helaena or Rhaena, you are making a herculean effort to not hold it too tightly. This gesture is a kind one from him, you think, and try to display some semblance of gratitude when you smile softly at him. “I wish you luck, Lord Stark,” you slide the wreath down his joust.

“I thank you, Lady,” he smiles and looks boyish as Jace had done but a moment ago. Striding off on his horse to face the competition, you turn and move to your seat.

Rhaenyra and Alicent wear expressions of surprise with Alicent’s raised brows and Rhaenyra’s parted lips while Baela and Rhaena only smile at you knowingly. What they think they know is unknown, but when you catch Helaena’s fallen expression, you sit by her side again with haste, worrying over her.

Her toothy grin has fallen and by the twitch of her eyes, you can only assume she is perplexed over something. “Is something wrong, Princess?” you ask quietly to be sure no one else would hear you.

You hardly pay mind to Jace and Cregan kicking their horses and charging at one another. Nor do you notice when Jace hits Cregan with surprising force before they go for another bout. You can only look at Helaena as she recovers.

“Nothing!” she says hastily, pulling her lips into a pleasing smile. “I did tell you to bring favor and it is a good thing that I did.” Helaena laughs lightly in a way most of the ladies of the court do, but it only worries you further. This is not the light laughter she lets out in the gardens but something false.

“I would have thought he would ask for your favor,” you wonder aloud. “You are a princess, he is a traveling lord. It makes sense.”

“I am married and it would be improper,” she says with no real determination, shrugging at the thought. “Besides, Aemond will ask for my favor when he jousts against Lucerys.” Her clipped tone betrays any show of happiness at this, but for the first time you do not have the will to ask her if she was being honest.

Cregan Stark might have been bested by Daemon, but after a few rounds he has knocked Jace off his horse. The men both laugh like this meant nothing, and perhaps to them it was inconsequential, but then they left the field and two others entered.

Surely your heart had lodged itself in its chest as you saw Lucerys on his horse that was white as snow. He might have begun growing in the many moon cycles since you met him but when his uncle sat on his black steed it was no use. This was a horrible idea. Aemond’s heart was as black as his riding leathers he frequently wore and whatever peace Rhaenyra and Alicent had achieved was nothing to Aemond.

This was a ruse to him, an excuse to finish the job he had failed to do at Storm’s End. He was vile, truly, and how you had felt the need to defend him when Ser Erryk assumed he was the culprit behind your bruised wrist as if he had not sent Lucerys to the waves of Shipwreckers Bay? You felt the fool in the present, feeling sick to watch Aemond take his vengeance on Lucerys and show you who he was, and unable to look away from the scene.

Helaena’s fingers squeezed the top of your hand. A breath was released from your chest and with a heaving chest and wide eyes, you glanced at her.

“Are you well?” she queried, eyes scanning your face with worry.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you ask harshly, more so than you meant to be, but Helaena smiled softly.

“You are gripping the chair so tightly I might think you mean to break it.”

Her eyes moved to the wooden arm of the chair and you followed her sight, mouth falling open when you saw the leethal grip you had on it. “Oh.”

“Oh,” she repeated, more amused than anything.

“Sister, I wondered if I might have your favor,” a voice usually chilled down to the bones spoke with something that might be warmth if it were not for who said it.

Helaena looked away from you to Aemond. As you followed her line of sight you took in the prince who wore armor without a scratch, all with the regalia of House Targaryen and their dragons.

This was all for show, a mere falsity all to prove that House Targaryen was united.

Helaena rises from her chair looking angelic as she moves towards her brother. From the side you can see how she smiles and it is similar to the way she looks when you are with her in the garden surrounded by bugs and flowers. She does not look like a princess, a former queen even, but a sister.

“I wish you luck, valonqar.”

The favor falls down his joust and you wonder what the word means, though it must mean brother. Helaena flounces back to where you sit as Aemond moves to the center of the arena on his horse. She says nothing, smiling at you warmly before setting her eyes upon Lucerys on his white horse.

Something has changed in the past few moon cycles and he is no longer quite the same as the boy you met one fated dawn. As Rhaena rises to go to him, you follow. His cousin is all warmth that a betrothed must be, but you only lean over the partition still every bit a fisherman’s daughter that is pretending to be a lady.

“Good luck,” you murmur, eyes flickering over to where Aemond is atop his horse waiting. For what you are unsure, vengeance or a show of false amiability. “Knock Prince Aemond off his horse, I would enjoy that.” The words are teasing with the intention to make him laugh.

He huffs, shaking his head. For a moment he looks like the boy he was, not the man he was growing into. Briefly, you wondered if you had changed that much too and you suppose you had. “You overestimate my abilities,” he raises his brows. “But my uncle off his horse and on the ground would be amusing enough.”

By the grin he wears you know the mere thought made the worries leave his mind, if only for a short time. Without saying anything else, you turn from him, returning to Helaena once again.

Lucerys asks Rhaena for her favor and the wreath and flowers slide down his joust. As young as it is you can see the love there in her lilac eyes to his brown ones. “Can you see it too?” you ask Helaena in a whisper.

Her eyes follow yours to where they both stand. Rhaena returns to her seat and Lucerys meets Aemond, but she seems to understand all the same. “They will be a fine Lord and Lady of Driftmark one day,” she agrees. “It is easy to see.”

You can almost forget the fears you had of what Aemond might do and how he would strike, but when the princes move, white and black horses charged forward. For a moment you can see the end— Aemond’s vindictive strike, Lucerys fall and the heir to Driftmark’s failure to rise after Aemond’s stroke, Daemon’s vengeance taking over Aemond’s. You can taste the bloodlust on your tongue before Aemond even strikes.

A white horse passes a black horse and Aemond’s joust comes down on Lucerys, but your weary eyes catch the direction of it. The wooden joust hit the white horse, but not hard enough to spook the animal or send Lucerys crashing down. It made little sense to you and the relief you feel as you grip the arms of the wooden chair is short lived.

Violence you could take. You might have welcomed it from Aemond if he matched the version of himself you had imagined the days after Lucerys told you everything so long ago. If Aemond gave you blood there could be comfort in that but this ruse of pretending to strike Lucerys only to strike his horse in a way that was clear the prince would never fall— well that you could not take.

His mercy was ill fitting. On Lucerys off all people you were certain was the last one he would bestow it on.

The horses go around again and this time as they charge, neither hits the other atop their horses. Lucerys tries, at least that is what your eyes believe they see, but he only hits Aemond’s black stead shortly, before each prince rides the other way.

“I do not understand,” you murmurs, worrying your lip so much that it might be bitten bloody if this goes on much longer.

But Helaena is still beside you and turns, disinterested in the joust. Her eyes, large and alight with some unknown emotion you could never identify, but one that seemed to know more than others could, fell on your anxious frame.

“All will be well,” she affirms, but your eyes cannot fall on her relaxed figure, not when Aemond is there, able to harm Lucerys at a moment’s notice. “No one will be harmed.”

Saying nothing, you want to laugh at that. There is no humor in the thought of it but Aemond could kill Lucerys if he liked. He did not need protecting but in your mind, Lucerys still did.

“Your brother rather enjoys hurting Luke,” you bite out. If you could have stopped the thought from leaving your lips you would have, hating to cause Helaena harm. But like Prince Aemond you could not seem to help yourself from insults and impulsive actions. “I doubt you can stop him if you’ve forgotten what he is capable of.” Now, your words come out softer, more regretful.

Helaena does not react at first. There is no sharp intake of breath or the opening of her mouth for some refusal of your words. He is her brother, after all, and a part of you imagines her defending him.

“No, I have not forgotten,” she says at last, head still facing yours, and the words are as soft as the glades of grass brushing against the back of your hand. Unlike yourself, she does not have to practice her gentleness and hope it is believable.

“It is not possible to forget.” She is solemn, eyes drifting downward to the tourney field.

As she says the words, Aemond and Lucerys have come to meet one another on the jousting field for the third time. Both of their jousts are facing the other and in a blink of an eye, both young men hit the other. In a mere moment, Lucerys is thrown off his horse, unmoving as you see the blood trickling down his face.

From the side of your eye, you see Rhaena jump up from her seat and it is only Baela’s hand holding hers that steadies her.

Helaena’s breath then leaves her when Aemond’s back hits the railing before falling down. Unlike Lucerys he rises, though he visibly winces. Helaena is not the only one who is affected. She turns, consoling her mother who shakes her head, murmuring affirmations that Aemond will be fine.

You can barely hear anything over the dull noise in your ears. The blood rush to your head and your rapid heartbeat sends your worries for the past days into overdrive. Aemond and Lucerys are gone from the field, having been carried to tents to be healed from their injuries. The thought sends you over the edge, making you turn around to the Queen.

“Your Grace, might I see Lucerys? To check on his injuries?” Rising from your seat, you barely notice her solemn nod, approval written on her features because you scurry away down the wooden staircase down to the ground.

Several deep red and black tents have been drawn up, all so grandiose that you would usually have an ironic thought of the riches of the Red Keep all down to their tents, but your mind is hazy with fear.

When you catch sight of a young man, even younger than Lucerys, with auburn hair and skittish eyes, you round on him. “Where is the Prince?” you ask with urgency, each word flying out of your mouth.

The auburn haired man blinks, confused as he regards you. “I—” he begins, red creeping up his neck and freckles cheeks before he stammers some more.

You shake your head at him, annoyed at the situation at hand. “The Prince Lucerys!” you raise your brows in frustration. “Where?” you attempt to be gentler, kinder, but even then you feel crazed.

He gestures behind himself to a large tent that looks the same as the other. Without thinking, you dash right into the one closest.

“It is only me!” you announce before evening entering the tent. Pushing past the thick material of the tent, you cannot see with clarity where he is in the darker tent. “Are you well? I feared the worst after he hit you off your horse.”

“I think you will find it was the other way around,” a familiar voice says indifferently from the other side of the room.

With the limited sunlight that pours into the room, you blink once, twice, thrice before it dawns on you.

“What are you doing here?” you spit the words, halting your steps as soon as you realized whose tent you were in.

Sitting on a table was Aemond. His arms were holding his upper body up and his silver hair, now moused and in waves from the heat and exertion, fell around his shoulders. His bare shoulders. Dried blood spotted his side from a few cuts that had yet to be clean.

“I rather think I should be asking you that,” he replied in the same uncaring tone that somehow made him sound vexed by your very appearance. Almost like the air you were breathing belonged to him and he could barely tolerate the slight of it. “This is my tent, although I suspect I know whose you thought it was.”

You met his words with a glower, your body growing rigid.

His words cut through to an unamused breath of what must be laughter to a man as sinister as he. “The boy is fine,” he said without care nor respect for Lucerys. “A scratch will not kill him.”

“You hit him off his horse,” you spat, your neck leaning forward at the force of the words you threw at his face.

He shifted his position, leaning the palms of his hands on his thighs covered in the same dark black trousers that must have been under his armor. The linens, though now filthy, hid nothing of his muscles.

For a moment too long you looked at how his fingers encompassed his thighs and knees. You had to bite your tongue to distract yourself, an action you swore never to repeat.

Aemond smiled showing teeth that looked like knives ready to aim for the kill. “You do know what a tourney is, do you not? One of us had to fall off the horse, tis how the game goes. Perhaps you never knew of such things in that wasteland village of yours.”

His words are sharper than usual, something you barely take into account because you are full of anger too and are glad to give it to him.

“Then you should have fallen off of your horse!” you hissed, stepping towards him angrily. “He is a prince who will inherit Driftmark. He is the future of his house, you are not! Why you had to throw him off his horse is unseemly.”

“Future of his house,” he mocked, shaking his head at you. “My, my, you have been listening to the words of men on the small council for so long you think you are learned in politics, do you not?”

You say nothing. A thin line pinches your lips shut in distaste, the gaze in your eyes growing heavy and hateful.

“You know nothing,” he regards you from head to toe and it is obvious he finds you lacking. “A poor girl from a village who happened to save a prince, that is all you are. You are an arrogant creature, unfit to serve a queen. What my sister sees in your distasteful person I will never know. I do not care to. I see you exactly for who you are.”

You smile and like him you are spiteful. “You see what you want to, my prince.” You see a lowborn girl and think her worthless. “Why your sister thinks you are redeemable and true I will not think to consider, for it is a wasted effort to tax my mind for the irrational. I would never forgive a brother so vile, let alone love one without conditions as she does.”

“A good thing you have no brothers,” he tells you coolly. “You are not fit to love another as a sister does, I think.”

The words pierce through you as you think of the brother you had and lost. He does not know and you are glad he does not. Aemond does not need another knife to sharpen and use on you.

You are no good at hiding how this barb was one too far, one too sharp, when your lips turn down in a grimace. Somewhere in your eyes there is the truth and he seems to see it for a moment, the ruthlessness of his lone eyes dimming for a spare moment.

He does not know the tender wound he has poked too hardly into. The flesh bleeds anyways. For the very first time it occurs for you to care what he says.

Perhaps he hit too deep. Maybe the events of this day had been too worrying. The lack of rain your village in the Stormlands had in King’s Landing has strained your mind and the heat is too much.

There is a heavy cloud that hangs upon your head, pulling you down until you can only feel the discomfort words alone can bring. The way he stands up and the purple of his eye changes into something akin to confusion escapes your notice. You never see his fingers twitch— not once thinking he might be reaching for you.

In that light his emotions in the purple of his iris might have been worry, not confusion. You notice no such thing. As quick as he stands, you flee.

By now it is habitual to flee from him. You do it in the courtyard when his eye finds yours. You left in the throne room at the feast as his brother was keeled over from your swift kick.

Why should now be any different? On all accounts it is the same feelings you leave him in a flurry of skirts— the discomfort in your chest at the way he regards you, cool and perturbed.

Yet when you leave him this time, frustration not yet pulling tears from your eyes but landing a frustrated heave from your chest all the same, it occurs to you for a moment that this discomfort is not the same as the one so keenly known before. There is no part of yourself that wants to identify it.

The curtain feels heavier this time when you push back it, nearly tripping over your own feet when you feel the unveiled sunlight beat upon your neck again. What makes you nearly fall is not just your own feet, but the two faces you are greeted by.

In front of you is head of braided silver locks, warm eyes, and a relieved, happy grin. Besides her is another silver head, this one of waves and large purple eyes you know well.

“Lucerys is well!” Rhaena beams, ignorant of your discomfort. She gestures to the tent next to the one you are outside of— Aemond’s. Her brow creases, the only moment of worry, before it too disappears from her expression. “He has not seen you. I am certain he would be eager to, though, come.” Rhaena is ushering you in the direction of the tent, the smile on her face never leaving.

She may be none the wiser but Helaena’s eyes are on you and the tent behind your body. There is no escaping her perceptive stare and what is worse, Baela appears behind them both. Her eyes immediately looking to the tent, then to your figure.

Everyone seems to know where you were and there minds must be assuming what happened behind the tent. An unbearable heat seizes your chest, making your skin feel what you can only assume dragonfire feels to the touch. It takes the breath from you and for once, you cannot look at any of their eyes, your own flitting between the three pairs set on you.

Rhaena’s smile falters, genuine concern taking its place. She calls your name, once or twice, you cannot recall. Your feet move before your mind thinks it through, fleeing the scene. It will not be until you are off the grassy field where the tourney was held, far in the castle within an isolated corridor that you can breathe.

It is there that the shame creeps up, leaving you feeling guilt that crawls under your skin and makes you want to disappear.

You had a habit of fleeing the scene.

You had a habit of fleeing Aemond at the first chance.

Never had you felt ashamed of leaving him in a blazing fury. He was vile, cruel, ill-tempered and above all dangerous. Not once had you thought of him as others had— resilient, dedicated, devoted.

The image of him moving towards you coupled with the look in his eye was all consuming to you. It was a feeling that could end your very being.

Like the very night in Dragonstone where you slept in a room too large with opportunities too noble for your blood, you feared you would get no sleep come the night.

With a heaving chest and weak arms grasping a stone pillar for support, you knew the truth as you saw it— whatever his meaning behind his eye in the tent, you knew you wanted but one thing from him.

His hatred. You could endure not much else.

note: consider reblogging and comment if you enjoyed this- that's what motivates me to post my writing here

#aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond oneshot

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optimisticstudentangel · 11 months

Text

Heart to heart

Warnings: yanderish Simeon, you die like lilith, no happy ending, Simeon eats you.

Summary: It seems like Simeon hides his true desires about you behind of his sweet facade

People are always taught that their thoughts should be as clear and transparent as a trickle. It's so depressing. Since childhood, you hear everyone saying that you have to be the right person. But are those people who love to point out your mistakes to you so much and to moralize you, are they any better?

This is a paradox. In fact, they are much worse than you, nothing will help their rotten heart anymore. But instead of admitting it, they peck and poke at you. Society can be so terrible...

But you weren't alone in this situation. Angels also often meet such vile judgments, In their world it is sometimes scarier and at times more disgusting. It's hard to believe, wasn't God supposed to make his fellow sons perfect? So that they are blameless, forgiving beings?

But no. Angels can behave worse than demons. They can be just as sadistic. They don't have the same horns or sharp claws as the fiend, but they don't need extra limbs to hurt anyone. They can do it without it...

What is scariest of all, they will be bully with an innocent smile on their face, as if what they are doing is too ordinary. The angels will cover themselves with their holy name, wounding you deeper and deeper.

Of course, you didn't realize it right away. The understanding came too late when you were deeply entwined in the networks of the lodge of one comely angel. He skillfully manipulated your mind, as if it was not difficult at all. It was a game of chess where all the moves of your opponent were calculated for several steps forward. No matter how hard you tried to change the course of action, one result would be waiting for you. Loss…

- Hmm, good luck another time! Simeon said with a certain arrogance. His eyes narrowed slyly, and a childish smile spread all over his face. He was so happy that you couldn't be mad at him, much less hold a grudge.

- Well, do you remember what we agreed on? The winner has the opportunity to demand a wish from the loser! I'm so glad," the angel said.

- There's nothing to be done. What do you want, Simeon? - you asked.

After a little thought, the angel blurted out: "Your heart!", His answer confused you. He was such a seducer, and the rarest one at that. Your cheeks turned pink, and your eyes were fixed on his expression.

Again it's an "innocent smile". And you're sure what Simeon says must be from the bottom of his heart, aren't you? You smile, a feeling of small anxiety appears in your stomach, but you throw it off on the butterflies that were born because of Simeon's pleasant words.

- How can I refuse such an offer? - you asked rhetorically. The angel smiled even harder. He came up to you and hugged you. His strong arms gently enveloped your body, you felt the warmth radiating from him. Hugging Simeon is so nice, you've never felt so calm and safe before.

- Now your heart belongs to me -the angel whispered softly, one of Simeon's hands touched the place where your heart was. "How melodiously it beats, I would only listen to the beat of your heart. Can I kiss you? I want it to beat harder and louder," the angel asked.

- of course.. - you answered.

His lips gently touched yours, you felt so light, as if his kiss took away everything bad and negative from you. Instead of these feelings, he filled you with something airy and unearthly.

The kiss was very gentle and kind of timid, as if he didn't want to put too much pressure on you. Recoiling from you, he touched you again to your heart.

"I'm glad... Haha, I caused your strong heartbeat."

Simeon was a wonderful boyfriend, People envied you, the two of you were the discussion of the whole RAD. But your lover started behaving strangely. You should have opened your eyes to his unusual behavior before it's too late.

He started insisting that you start going through some religious practices. Every day you had to get up earlier in the morning and pray for three hours. All this time Simeon has not taken his eyes off you, correcting you on your mistakes.

- Little lamb, I don't feel your efforts. You'll have to start over," the angel said coldly.

If you refused to listen to Simeon, the angel began to take equal punishments towards you. Each time they became tougher, it could come to the whip. After all these punishments and tortures, the angel seemed to turn back into a "good" part of himself. He asked you for forgiveness, explaining that he did not do it out of malice.

- My dear, I do not know what came over me. But you have to understand, it's for your own good - the angel began to appease you with his attention and care. He tried to redeem himself by giving you gifts.

And at the very end, he pressed his ear to your heart. It was kind of the end of your day. He whispered to you about how clever you are and that he is very grateful that you are always on his side.

The creepy thing was that Simeon always needed to check that your heart was still pounding. Sometimes you got the feeling that he valued your heart much more than you as a whole.

And you weren't wrong. One evening you got the answer to the question that you were afraid of openly asking an angel.

There was no one in the hall.

You locked yourself in Simeon's room and didn't let him in, he was angry because you didn't agree to let him "cleanse your soul." The angel was pulling the door handle hard, just a little more and he would break it.

You closed your eyes and backed away.

A second later, Simeon broke down the door, you didn't see it, but if you opened your eyes and looked in his direction, you would see your boyfriend's crazy grimace.

"MC, you didn't behave very well, my dear, It's time to pay for mistakes," his face twisted into a terrifying smile. Simeon pushed you to the ground so that you wouldn't get up and sat over your figure. His hand stopped at the base of your heart. It was there for a while, and a second later he plunged it into your chest. Blood spurted out of you in an instant, some drops fell on Simeon's face. A quiet laugh came out of him and he smiled like a little child and said: "Your heart is mine! Do you understand what I mean now?"

- I've always wanted to try this delicacy, but if I ate it right away, I wouldn't get any pleasure. That's why I worked on you and your heart so that it would be soaked with my love and become tastier," the angel began to explain. "Besides, it was necessary to make a cleansing, otherwise, eating your heart, I would have felt the taste of all the sins you committed" - with these words, the angel made several bites.

- Mmm, really great, - stroking your cheek, he thanked you. The angel, still sitting on you, slowly savored your taste, murmuring compliments to your heart. The life in your eyes began to fade slowly, and the color of your skin changed.

Having finally eaten your heart to the end, the angel kissed your forehead, saying the last: "thank you"

#obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me scenarios #obey me simeon #simeon x reader #simeon x mc #simeon x you #yandere #yandere simeon #simeon cult

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merakiui · 1 year

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For the SK Azul perhaps you were a singer at his or his Mother's restaurant. He was pretty jealous of your voice and beauty. But you were so tender and attentive, so diferent of the other self-absorbed artists he grow used to interact with.

So he grows to believe you have a soft spot for him even when you behave the same with the other staff. Azul is so convinced he has been planning to confess you his feelings but then when he follows your voice outside he finds you in the embrace of your boyfriend, white wine bottle in hand as he congratulates you and you coo him back.

Azul is stunt and betrayed, his love quickly turns sour as the the taste of your name oh his tongue, now spit with a tune of pure hate.

Azul is mortified when he watches this sweet, happy scene play out in front of him. All this time he’s loved you from afar, admiring your soft nature and the kindness you reserved only for him (a delusion), and yet here you are with someone else. You’ve never looked at him in the same way he looks at you. You’ve never even considered a loving future with him. All of his dreams burn away at that moment, reduced to hateful piles of ash. Perhaps he should have expected you’d have a lover because of how perfect and beautiful you are, but it never occurred to him. He was far too enchanted with your voice to even think of anyone outside the two of you.

The world narrows down to a single point at that moment; sound muffles and his sight dims, colors blending and fading like splattered paints on canvas. He can’t panic right here. He has to stay level-headed. He needs to take a moment to calm down, step away from the situation, and consider it from a new perspective. He tastes ink in his mouth, bitter and foul, and his heart is thrumming with wild thrill. He has to relax.

And he does. He turns away from the scene, hurries back inside, and nearly throws himself into the bathroom in his haste to spit up thick globs of ink. His hands grip the countertop when he peers at himself in the mirror, wiping smeared ink from his lips with great disdain. Azul is furious and betrayed and saddened by this revelation. He feels as if he’s just lost the most important person in his world. How could you do this to him? How could you love another when he was here all this time?

Azul is not usually so immaturely rash, but his emotions are getting the best of him and he can't step back and calm down. Usually it was your voice that helped him retain focus, but now even that isn't a comfort. It just sounds like screeching static, no longer the smooth, caramelized cadence of a siren. And since you’re no longer so beautifully kind—since you’ve become so vile and wrong—he will take from you all that you hold dear in order to repair his shattered hearts.

He already knows your address, having been stalking you for so long, and it’s easy to get inside your home because he’s done it before. You’ll never see the face of your killer when he makes swift, precise work of you, but you hear him in your final moments, mumbling about how he wishes things could be different.

And then you wake up in your bed, snugly wrapped in the blankets, and your alarm is going off, shrill and annoying. When you peer at your phone, the date flashes back at you. It’s Friday; you have a shift at the restaurant. Somehow it feels a little strange to wake up from such a violent, visceral dream, where your throat had been slashed and a knife had been buried into your side during the struggle. You touch those exact places when you get up, staring at your reflection and finding nothing amiss. It’s weird. That dream felt so real...

But dreams are only dreams, and now that you’ve woken it can’t bother you.

You spend the entire day doing everything you had done in your dream. It’s as if you’re reliving the same day that happened in your dreams, talking to the same people, singing the same songs on the stage, smiling at the same patrons and staff. You can’t seem to shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right. This intense déjà vu lingers with you throughout the entire day and into the night. You meet with your boyfriend outside, who congratulates you for another successful evening, but you’re certain you’ve already heard his words before. It’s just like your dream.

You return home, but there’s someone waiting for you in the darkness. And just like in your dream, you’re caught by surprise. While trying to take the knife from your assailant after your throat has been so brutally sliced, it’s buried in your side so deeply that pulling it out would certainly speed up your death. You fade away in a spreading puddle of your blood, and the person who did this to you stands over you the entire time, watching your precious life ebb away as you drool and choke on thick globs of blood.

And then you wake up in your bed, snugly wrapped in the blankets, and your alarm is going off, shrill and annoying. When you peer at your phone, the date flashes back at you. It’s Friday; you have a shift at the restaurant. You sit up in bed in a cold, horrified sweat, grasping at your side and neck and expecting to feel fatal wounds. But nothing is there; you’re completely unharmed.

You get ready for the day, unable to shake the sense that you’ve already lived this moment. Acutely aware of everyone’s responses and reactions. Oddly certain that when you return home you’ll be killed.

But dreams are only dreams, and now that you’ve woken it can’t bother you. Right?

#twisted chit chat #serial killer azul #i think serial killer x time loop is such a fun concept #especially if you don't know who the serial killer is to begin with #so you have to find a way to avoid being killed while looking for your killer #and it could work well with azul #because he's very intelligent and with each time you fail and loop the more he learns your patterns :)#and no matter who you try to tell the truth to it won't matter when you're killed and you loop again #because no one will remember anything when you're back to the beginning

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rfaromance · 1 year

Text

Rika.

Love her or hate her, no Mystic Messenger player can deny that she is central to the overarching plot of the game.

Depending on your view of her, her major role in Ray (Saeran) After Ending is either intriguing, exciting, frustrating, or infuriating.

Personally, I loved the portrayal, insight, and development in Rika during the RAE. Read below the cut for my Rika thoughts. Spoilers abound for Ray's route, RAE, Rika Behind, and even the Secret Ending. Also, uh, it's a long post. Longcat long.

(If you're interested in opinions on the RAE from a Saeran-loving POV, I'd suggest you consult @marshmallowprotection who pours her heart and soul into her analyses, especially regarding Saeran.)

If you're reading now, I'm assuming you have enough background in the game's lore where I don't need to explain the basics, so I'm going to dive right in.

At the start of Another Story, our well-intentioned but common-sense-challenged MC ends up being personally escorted to Mint Eye. And MC chooses to fixate on Ray and his mysteries and allure, ultimately trusting the not-so-honest rose boy instead of the highly mysterious V, who apparently is not an AI but also should not be anywhere near this cult.

In MC's defense, sometimes it's easier to choose the evil you know versus the evil you don't.

Rika doesn't have a problem with this, initially. She knows that she needs to throw Ray a bone. Allowing him to have a little doll like MC to dress up and pose and control and adore will appease him, and he has a plan to make MC useful for her goals, anyway. It's a win in her book, to keep Ray indebted to his Savior and also the possibility of luring the RFA members to her faster.

But a major distinction exists between Rika in Another Story (AS) and Rika in the original timeline (OS). Much like Saeran's mental state deteriorated further over the extra year and 6 months (give or take) between AS and OS, giving us Unknown, so did Rika's. In the SE, she explicitly tells Unknown that he was a failure and she wanted Saeyoung instead. She no longer valued Saeran's prior contributions to Mint Eye or her mental state--she wanted results now, and she would sacrifice anyone and anything to achieve them.

(Well, almost anyone. Turns out sacrificing V was not what she wanted, after all.)

But her goals are different in Another Story. She's still pursuing her dreams of making people happy by "saving" them from a tainted world of pain, but she's still itching for the personal happiness she has wanted all her life: love.

She wants a loving family. She has never known what it feels like to have a family that loves her, as her earliest memories are in the orphanage, and she was adopted by a vile, hateful woman who cursed her and subjected her to physical and emotional pain, verbal abuse, neglect, humiliation, warped "religious" cult ideas of sin and salvation, and the list goes on.

When she learned of two twin children who needed loving, protective parental figures... she became obsessed. She could save them. Nobody ever saved her, but she could save them.

That delusion of forming a happy family with V and the twins only became worse after Mother Choi's death. (I hesitate to call it a murder, because it was an act of imperfect self-defense, and thus I'd argue it was voluntary manslaughter under USA law. But if we're being technical, under Korean law it's murder under extenuating circumstances. Legal jargon differs across countries.) Having taken Saeran's mother away from him, Rika got the idea that she needed to be his mother now. They would both have a good family now--that's a win-win, right?

This is the Rika we still see in Another Story. That's why she gives him the name Ray, to eliminate his past and all traces of V and Saeyoung, molding him into her obedient, doting son. That's why she dresses him up in layers upon layers and forces him to study hacking, so she can control every aspect of her sweet child. That's why she swipes Ray after she catches wind of his kiss with MC in the garden. She doesn't know or care who instigated the kiss; all she needs to know is that MC poses a risk to her fantasy, her game of house.

So she tortures Ray until he can become her puppet-son again. Except she ends up with Suit Saeran, and for the time being she'll allow that because at least he isn't tripping head over heels for MC.

That backfires too, and when Saeran frees himself of that stuffy suit and allows his body to breathe, once Saeran makes his own decision to abandon those shackles, follow his heart, apologize and atone for his wrongdoing, and break out of his gilded cage with MC... Rika loses it.

She's lost everything. Mint Eye be damned, she's lost her illusion that she will reach a "happily ever after."

So when V blames himself and crawls back to her, not wanting to see her crumble alone, she locks a collar and leash onto him. Honestly, it's the worst possible ending for V. He can't shake his self-hatred and guilt complex, and he feels the need to stand by Rika even as she sends them both on a path of destruction, because he refuses to abandon her like his father abandoned his mother. He didn't even love her anymore, but he wanted to give her the peace that he never could when they were together. This was how he felt he needed to pay for hurting her, even if it meant destroying himself.

Okay, screenshot is a good place to wrap up the backstory and dive into the RAE itself.

I've seen complaints that Rika's character was inconsistent in the RAE, but candidly I think the fluctuations in her goals, emotions, and actions represent her fragile mental state in a phenomenal way. She was highly sensitive and susceptible to emotional influence, whether positive or negative. The seemingly smallest, most trivial events could send her reeling. She clearly has a lot of mental health issues and trauma that have never properly been addressed. Instead she turned to the worst possible coping mechanisms: comphet, making a cult, and brainwashing folks into being your make-believe family.

She didn't team up with Saejoong because she likes the guy. She sees him as a means to an end: getting the twins to live with her in her game of house.

The "he" that Rika refers to in this chat is Saejoong. He's a horrendous parent, but he managed to capture Saeyoung, and therefore Rika sees him as a tool. She also is adamant that the younger twin is "Ray", not Saeran, because the boy she needs for her happy ending is the submissive one with pruned wings, not the independent one who flies away on his wings of love.

If MC tries to inquire into Rika's motivations, she simply says she chooses happiness and to focus on the small joys in life. She's no longer as guarded and high-strung, because she has much less to lose. She doesn't feel the need to be perfect, to be a Savior. She's at peace with herself, instead of constantly seeking approval. Part of that cab be attributed to V's (reluctant) acceptance of Rika for who she is, instead of trying to fix her.

She's trying to be more open and honest, and with that attempt we get a Rika who is less guarded and poised, and rather a Rika whose mask is off and is trying to navigate what it means to simply "exist." She just wants her family of 4 to live "happily" together, and a lot less scheming is required. She almost has the energy of "I'm going to be the fun, cool mom. :)"

I bet she's awful at stacking chairs, though.

Now, many characters AND players have wondered, "Why in the WORLD would Saejoong team up with Rika?" He thinks she's nuts. We know that Rika is using him, and I'd venture that he's doing the same. He knows he's caught between a rock and a hard place, but he also knows that this woman is desperate to take his troublesome bastard sons and disappear with them. She can't exist in public, after all, or she'd risk her secret of being a cult leader getting exposed. It's a weird solution, but he was in no place to refuse her offer. Coerce Saeyoung into making false broadcasts to bolster Saejoong's public image, and then let Rika, V, and the twins run off into the sunset.

A special insight that you only get during the Normal Ending is that Saejoong thought he and Rika were similar, which is likely another reason he was willing to collude with her. And the Normal Ending is the reason that I felt inspired to write this post at all.

On day 3, Rika accuses Saeran of hating her. She's furious that she doesn't have Ray anymore, because Ray needed her and gave her a purpose. Saeran doesn't need her, and that sends her into a panic. But he chooses to be compassionate and to try to sympathize with her.

On day 4, we get this exchange between MC and Rika:

Rika breaks down in MC's arms. She didn't know what love was, and she didn't know how to reach it herself. Her solution was to control, to manipulate, to clutch desperately onto people who showed her even a shred of warmth... but always staying just distant enough where she could withdraw or flee if she felt threatened, or worse, sabotage the connection herself.

She didn't know what love was because she'd never experienced it. Her mother was a malicious, cruel woman. Mika sacrificed and manipulated her. Her priest assaulted her. V did his best, but he kept pushing his ideals and methods onto her instead of listening to her. She kept Saeran through control. She brainwashed and gaslit believers, smooth-talking her way into their minds and pockets. She even kept V bound to her by blinding him; we can only assume he got treatment after his trial.

MC and Saeran showed her what love is. It's about kindness for the sake of kindness, not to curry favor. It's a willingness to step out of your comfort zone to help those you care about. It's being brave when you're terrified. It's communicating in more ways than one, always listening and considering the other's thoughts, feelings, actions, and reactions.

For the first time in her life, she saw love. She saw love in Saeran, who'd lured her and V away so that his lover and brother could be free. She saw love in MC, who'd always been gentle but firm with Rika, expressing genuine intrigue and concern for her. She saw people who didn't immediately demonize her for her worst mistake: the death of Mother Choi.

She's being honest with herself, too, acknowledging and understanding that her actions were wrong. And she starts bawling, because she's been repressing herself, her fears, and her needs for so long. She laments that she yearned for love like a child, but her body was too big now... and that made the void feel larger and emptier.

She finally got the answers she'd been trying to find for her entire life: What is love? And is she worthy?

So when the opportunity comes for her to set Saejoong straight, she tears into him. Now, she only does this in the normal ending. In the good ending, Saeran is the one who talks to Saejoong, says his piece, and gets his peace. Clearly that's the best possible ending for Saeran, because it allows him to put his last demon to rest. Now he can focus on healing and finding happiness on his own accord.

But in the normal ending, Rika shows that she's not just a sob story for MC and Saeran to pity. She's taking their lessons and her new convictions to heart and putting them into action.

And Saejoong truly loses his cool when he hears that the investigation team is coming. He knows he's toast, and so he tries to appeal to Rika one last time: "You know that you'll be going down, too."

To which Rika says: "Yes. It's long overdue."

Rika has a long, difficult road ahead of her, but it'll be a surprisingly peaceful one. She wants to heal. She wants to live a better life. She wants to be honest and true, and that means atoning for her crimes.

But then, she's going to devote her life to love.

The RAE Normal Ending is, in a bizarre way, the best outcome for Rika that Mysme canon gives us. (Because seriously, shipping her off to Alaska to GTFO was the laziest and most unsatisfying ending for her that I can imagine.)

#mystic messenger #Mysmes #Mysme #Mm #Rika Kim #rika mystic messenger #Rika mysme #Analysis #Rika essay 2 #saeran after ending #ray after ending

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