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misguidedasgardian · 9 months

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Storm's End

HOTD MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Strong!Reader

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

Warnings: Cursing, use of the word bastard, angst, heavy, canon level incest, thoughts about dying, mentions of bedding, and more, dark fic, Aemond is unhinged, mention's of children maiming, mentions of virginity loss and blood. READER MIGHT BE DEAD, OR MAYBE DEPENDS, COMPLETELY UP TO YOU, dragon's death though :(

+18 MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.5 k

Notes: I know this has been done before, but… this is my way to look at it. You are the daughter of Rhaenyra, she sends you to Storm’s End instead of Luke, and this is what ensues

You know you should have turned back the moment your dragon took flight away from Dragonstone.

There was something in the air

Grandmother Rhaenys, and your dear brothers flying by your side soothed you, made you remember you were not alone, but they soon parted way with you, Jace went North, as did Lucerys, Rhaenys went west, and you continued south

Towards Storm’s End

Those stormy clouds in the horizon must have been your first dark omen, but you didn’t pay attention to them, or to anything else really

Your mind was set

You had begged your mother to let you helped her, so she send you to the closest place, a short fly, a message delivered, and then you could return.

But what were you going to say?

you wanted to believe your mother’s words, that Lord Borros was going to be honored to receive you there, you were a young princess, no real threat, only a messenger, he was going to respect you, you were going to say your piece, and then you were going to take his answer back to your mother, as easy as that.

You held tightly onto your dragon’s reins as you flew amidst a cloud with rain within, getting you drenched within second

Karnax, under you, roared softly, feeling your uneasiness, trying to make you feel safer, and you did.

It was not relief what you felt when you saw the tall tower of Storm’s End in the horizon, it actually felt like your stomach had turned on itself, but that is the second sign you decided to ignore

Karnax was small, bigger than Arrax and a bit than Vermax, but he was still small enough to land in the outer courtyard, and you did

Your saddle was wet, and you slid right off of it, landing heavily with your boots in the ground.

You jumped when the light of a thunder brightened the sky for just a second, and then moments later the thunderous sound made the floor shake.

Karnax whined when you touched him, trying to soothe him, he was nervous, and soon you learnt why

Another, even louder, more monstrous sound made you flinch, and when you looked over the huge defensive walls of the castle, there she was. Vhagar raised her head, dwarfing the constructions covering her, growling as a warning.

She was indeed the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world

And she was here

That means that Aemond was also

Probably doing the same thing as you, trying to rally Lord Borros to his cause, to his side

To the Usurpers

The prospect of seeing your uncle made you tremble in fear, you had always been afraid of him, ever since he lost his eye, even more so after the last time you saw him

You have eavesdropped a conversation in which he had asked for your hand in marriage and Rhaenyra had crudely rejected him, he did not reacted well

It did not help that it was the same day of the Driftmark trials

He had frighten you so much your mother send you back the same night, only a few weeks away

“Sobes Karnax, Lykyri”, you whispered soothingly, patting her snout, he whined, worried, but it was too late now, you couldn’t back down, you wondered if you were trying to calm him, or expected that he would sooth you back.

So ignoring your body, mind, heart, soul, dragons, the weather and everything in existence around you, you decided to walk towards the guards guarding the entrance to the Castle

“I have a message for Lord Borros from Queen Rhaenyra”, you said quickly, before you lose your momentum, they barely nodded and started walking, you followed suit, trying to fix your drenched clothes

The Storm had catched up with you.

You could still hear it raging behind you as you entered the main hall of the castle of the Baratheons, you had never been here before, and it amazed you the immensity of it, it was rounded and at least three stories tall, ending in a huge vault over your heads, front here you could see multiple passages leading to the rest of the construction, but you could look no more

“The Princess (Y/N) Velaryon”, presented the guard, “Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen”

Queen

You thought bitterly, as you found Lord Borros seated on his throne.

But your gaze was immediately taken away

Aemond

He stood at the side of the throne, standing straight by one of Borros’ daughters, as he heard your name he immediately turned

He looked dangerous

Dresses head to toe in black leather, his hair combed perfectly, the eyepatch cutting his face in half

You wondered if he could notice you trembling from that far

You guessed he could since he looked terribly amused at your presence, his naturally curved lips smirked.

But you didn't came here for him, you turned your gaze towards to the Lord of the Stormlands

“Lord Borros, I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen”, you didn’t realize you had a stone inside your throat until now, almost choking in our own words, you were thankful for the acoustic of the place or else nobody could have heard you

“Yet early this day I received an envoy from the king”, he said then, “so which is it? King or Queen? the House of the dragon doesn’t seem to know who rules it”, he was already crossed with someone or something and you cursed yourself for being so weak, sounded so pathetically

And then he laughed at his own joke and you shook, perhaps he was laughing at you

You looked fleetingly at Aemond

Perhaps to make sure he stood where he was

He frightened you

You begged the gods to make him stay there, as he stood, unmovable like the statues of Dragonstone

“What’s your mother’s message?”, the Lord of Storm’s End did not take well to your distraction, so you tried your best to reach with your arm and this one not to shake, to prove to everyone there, to Lord Borro’s daughters, him, your uncle, and the court, how scared you were

A soldier took your message hastily and gave it to the Lord

He sighed, frustrated, and call in the maester

In a silly second you thought fleetingly of your brother’s giggles when you tell them the rumors were true and indeed Lord Borros didn’t know how to read, you remembered fleetingly that you suggested it was because he had hit himself many times on the head while jousting

But you shook those thoughts away, when you felt the small hairs in the back of your hair stand up, as Aemond’s deep gaze was on you

For a second, only the wind making the stones whistle as sing could be heard, and then the ruffling of paper the maester made while reading the letter.

Your uncle’s gaze didn’t leave you for a second, so you tried to look away from him, only stealing glances to make sure he hadn't move

That he was still several feet away from you, with people in between you

You didn't want him near you

He frightened you

He hated you

You knew this

“Remind me of my father’s oaths?”, asked Borros, enraged, you turned to look at him, scared, “King Aegon at least came with an offer, my banners and swords for a marriage pact”

Poor girl, you thought briefly

“If I do what your mother bids, who of my household will you marry, girl? uh?”

“My lord…”, you could turn this around, you could, you needed to try, to explain, to plead to his honor, “I’m not free to marry, I’m already betrothed to Cregan Stark”, you said, and you were not completely lying, your big brother was flying North now with the proposal in his hand

Aemond hummed mockingly at your words, so your gaze landed on him again.

He still was amused, even more so now, you shook in your place, trembling like a leaf in the autumn winds

“So you come with empty hands”, said Borros, more angry than before, “go home pup, and tell your mother the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog she can whistle up in need to set against her enemies”, he said rapidly

You had failed

You tried to swallow your tears as the stone in your throat but you just couldn’t do it

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, My Lord”, you whimpered, and when you looked at the pity in the daughters’ faces you realized your voice did sounded broken and defeated

Weak

You turned to leave, sad because you failed, but relieved that this had come to an end

“Wait”, you trembled in your place, stopping immediately at your uncle’s call.

You turned slowly, fearfully, to look back at him

“My lady Strong”

You whimpered

“Uncle?’, you were acknowledging him, but it sounded more like a question

Weak

“Did you really think you could just fly upon the realms, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

You are the thieves

But the words never reached your lips, instead you wanted to hide your head between your shoulders, almost feeling ashamed

That much power Aemond had over you, the power to make you feel like you were in the wrong, and he was in the right

Ever since that night

When your little brother took his eye

The girl by his side took a step back, like giving him space, and that made you take a step back, less and less things could protect you from your uncle, your hand instinctively went to the pommel of the short sword your stepfather Daemon had begged you to carry, you didn’t know how to use it, but nonetheless… it couldn’t hurt

“I will not fight with you uncle, I came as a messenger”, you said, your voice, again, broken, weak, with fear and sadness

You had failed

“A fight would be little challenge”, he said dismissively

“I’m aware”, you admitted, if it came to blows, you stood no chance against his incredible skill with the sword, even if you meant a fight with words filled with poison

“No…”, his hand went to his eyepatch, and form one single movement he took it out of his face, revealing a sapphire where his eyeball should be

You whimpered, taking a step back

It had taken you by surprise, not that you found him monstrous, or anything, it was just… incredible

“...You brother is indebted to me”

You really wished, in the bottom of your heart, that he would have let this go, if not for your brother, for himself, but he didn’t he hasn't, and that made him so incredible dark, resentful, twisted and mean

And that is what you were most afraid of

“It was an accident…”

“I want you to pay instead”, you whined, taking a step back

“I have nothing…”

“A small payment in blood will suffice…”, you looked at Lord Borros, alarmed, he clearly was not meant for THAT, did he? Did he plan on slaying you there where you stood?, in front of all this people?

“...I will not breed you”, a single tear escaped your eye at his crude words, “I plan on gifting our bloodied sheets to your mother”, you looked back at the Lord of Storm’s End and he looked back at you, concerned

This was the man supposed to wed one of his daughters

“No!”, you cried, in defense of yourself

“So you are a craven as well as a traitor, as your brothers…”

“Not here!”, Borros finally intervened, but still you could not breathe, you were terrified

You never wanted to believe the gazes your uncle gave you were ones of desire, and dark intentions of bedding you, you never thought…

“GIVE YOURSELF TO ME, OR I WILL TAKE YOU BASTARD!”, you shrieked as he advanced on you with certain and long steps, you stumbled backwards trying to prevent him getting near you

“NOT IN MY HALL!”, the thunderous voice of Borros made him stop in his tracks, “the girl came as an envoy, I will not have bloodshed of any kind beneath my roof”

Lord Borros’ words came of little comfort, not when your uncle had taken a dagger of his belt and was threatening you with it, the storm outside, the lightning made his sapphire gleam meanly

“Take the princess back to her dragon, now!”, commanded Lord Borros and you, giving a titanic effort, managed to walk (and not sprint at high speed) out of the hall

Aemond watched you go and smirked, making the dagger dance in his hand

You were his to take

He looked back at the girl he had begun to court to notice she was far away from him now, clearly scared of him

“I will be back shortly to resume negotiations”, he said meanly

“Don’t bother”, said Floris, standing now next to a guard, she would not like to be courted by him now, “I’m not interested in a man that is pure bark and no bite”

When you stepped outside, the storm was raging, you were drenched in second, wet from head to toes, but you couldn’t paid no mind to such things now

Karnax felt your fear, how frightening you were and he advanced towards you whining and growling desperate

“Lykiri Karnax” [calm], “gūrogon īlva hen kesīr” [take us out of here]

Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong, you let your tears fall freely now that nobody could notice nor see you, another Lightning broke the skies from afar and when you turned…

Vhagar was gone

There was no way he could have left before you, it couldn’t, it wasn’t possible

He was in negotiations with the Baratheons, you had to go, so he wouldn’t catch you.

You thought he was going to let you be, because it had been your brother who took his eye, not you

Oh how wrong you were

“Why?”, you cried, trying to make sense of it all as you climbed onto your dragon’s saddle, “Sobes, Karnax”, you called, he growled but obeyed you, he also wanted to get out of here.

You needed to get back to your mother, to Dragonstone, to your brothers and stepfather, they needed you, but you somehow knew that wasn’t going to be possible, a crippling fear took a hold in your body, you felt like you could barely move, your body being so tense.

The rain hit your face with strength, the highers you flied, you only secured your staps tightly and held into your reins hardly

Karnax flapped his wings with difficulty, but he succeeded in keep flying, you wanted to relax, you were flying away from Storm’s End, the Baratheons, your uncle, everyone, but something told you it wasn’t going to be that easy

You wanted Karnax to fly faster, an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach

You whimpered in fear

something was wrong, terribly wrong

You felt a low growl coming from above and you cried, lowering your head, not wanting to face it, face him, and what he was going to do to you once he had you within his grasp

He was coming for you

And the moment you took to the skies, you raised the bet, he was not simply going to take you now, he couldn't not flying like this...

He rode the largest dragon in the world and you one of the smallest

You grabbed into your reigns and hoped Karnax would fly faster, but you couldn’t ask more of him of what you were already asking

You gained the courage to look up and you got a glimpse of a large looming shadow over you

Why?, you whimpered, crying harder, and Karnax growled

Why you?, you loved him once, you were friends, you played, and read together as kids, you had promised you could share little Karnax, and he had agreed.

But he got his own dragon, the largest in the world, and from that moment he pushed you aside and called you a bastard despite your Targaryen features and the fact that he had never called you that

He almost killed your brothers and then Luke took his eye.

After what transcurred in Driftmark with the Queen and your mom Aemond had come to your room in the hour of the bat, you woke up with a knife in your cheek and him over you, his hand in your throat

You never knew why he had come to your chambers and not luke’s or jace’s

He always knew you were the weakest one

You were a woman, he was a man

You looked ahead and shrieked once again when you saw Vhagar coming at you amongst the dark stormy clouds, at full speed

“NO!”, she changed her trajectory, going up in the last second, her feet and claws passing right by you, you could even feel them passing right by your head

Please

You were going to die

You could hear Aemond’s laugh, ricocheting amongst the clouds

He was amused by you

He hated you

And now he was going to kill you.

Karnax growled, scared too out of his mind, you could feel him, deep in your gut, the pure and sheer instinct to fight or fly kicking in, and both of you opting for the latter

just when you thought you had lost him, you heard the flap of huge wings behind you, you turned to look, and Vhagar huge open jaws appeared trough the storm, ready to swallow you whole.

But Karnax was fast, and Vhagar liked to play with her food

“I see you!”, you heard from behind, and the sound that Vhagar’s jaws made when they close grabbing into thin air made your skin prickle, “Libōnos”, [bastard]

Your body was tense as a bow, you could barely feel your legs that were tightened around your saddle, the water, despite your leather cape, has got under the clothes, and froze you all over, that you felt like you were made of ice, you could barely move, your fingers were not going to survive this even if you did

Vhagar was still behind you as you commanded your dragon to fly downwards, to gain speed

You made him turn and twist in the air, but to no avail, the monstrous Vhagar had her eyes set on her prey and she was not going to let go, you use your whole body and strength to pull her to make her change her trajectory from one moment to another, she might be bigger, but you were faster

Deep down you knew it was all going to be for nothing

He was coming for you

He hated you

And you could hear his sick laugh as he was laughing in your ear

You soon could make out the sea under you and as you looked to your left there was a cliff splitted in two, a risk in the middle, you had a change, you might be able to flight in between, but Vhagar wouldn’t

Your dragon read your mind and went there, seeking refuge

It has worked, you looked back to see VHagar fighting to make her heavy body fly upwards, your uncle’s grunts cut trough the air reaching you, it was insane

He was insane

He had a grudge for 8 years, boiling and simmering in rage, anger, and sadness, and you were the one that was going to get the worst of it

You felt relieved even, that it was you and not sweet Lucerys

Better you than him

“JĒMELÃ GÊLŸNI ENKÂ!”, he screamed [you owe me a debt], “BYKA!”, little one

Karnax flied diligently through the cliffs and rocks, you looked up and he was still there, chasing you, looming over you

“I lied!”, you heard then, “I will give you my bastard”, a pain spread through your chest, all your sorrow, pain, fear, exploding, taking a hold on your body, preventing you from breathing properly, even with the skies falling upon your head, with your life in your uncle’s hands.

You screamed when Karnax again flew in open skies as the protection of the cliff was taken away. It was a scream of agony, frustration, and fear

Oh so much fear

But the gods, or whomever, granted you a small mercy, the clouds were thick and the sea was a few feet under you, they concealed you from your predator chasing you.

You took a shaky, long breath, despite the lump in your throat present since you left Dragonstone

You needed to get yourself together

Keep flying North, soon the skies will clear, you couldn’t let fear control you….

Fear

The last thing you heard was Vhagar growling, and Karnax high screeched when the biggest dragon in the world sank her teeth in him, catching his legs and tail, completely destroying him.

“AH!”, you barely got a scream yourself, she didn’t catch you, but so did half your dragon, now dead.

“VHAGAR! NO! NO VHAGAR!”, is the last thing you heard

The next?

The white noise of water, all around you, the cold grasping you, hugging you tightly, not letting you move as the water moved around you taking you prisoner

For better or worse, Vhagar’s had completely destroyed the saddle, releasing you, and now you were there, by a gift or a curse from the gods, amongst the dark tides of Shipwreck bay, sinking slowly, finally you didn’t feel more fear, only the instinct to survive.

You were a true Velaryon at last.

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

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oogaboogasphincter · 5 months

Text

a bowlful of joel-y

summary: he was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot / and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; / a bundle of toys he had flung on his back, / and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack / his eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! / his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! / he had a broad face and a little round belly / that shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly || you never would have guessed who you find stumbling around jackson dressed up as santa claus on christmas eve night, leaving presents for all the kids in town. you take on the role of santa's elf and help him deliver his toys - and land yourself on his nice list just in time for christmas morning.

word count/warnings: 4.8k+ words EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY) MDNI! // reader has insomnia, a pinch of grumpy joel but he’s mostly jolly (at least by his standards), one mention of alcohol/drunkenness, christmas/holiday fluff, a conversation about loss and grief around the holidays (joel talks about sarah), description of panic attacks + healing❤️‍🩹, food and eating (milk+cookies ofc), unprotected piv sex (do as i say not as i write), jackson era!joel, friends to lovers teehee

a/n: merry christmas @lisadean! i'm so so sorry this is three days late, i got a head cold just as i was putting my finishing touches on this and i didn't want to post it without a final read-through :( i hope you enjoy your secret santa gift as much as i did writing it! 🤭🎁 i want to thank all my besties at @pedrostories for organizing this event, it's what introduced me to the blog and i'm so excited and honored to be participating in it both as a writer and moderator this year 💗 i wish all my readers a very happy holidays!! (pls let me know who made the beautiful gif above, i found it on pinterest w no credit ☹️)

It’s Christmas Eve and you can’t sleep.

No matter how hard you try, your shuttered eyes can’t keep.

You toss and turn with increasing agitation,

Thoughts of going downstairs gnawing with temptation.

It’d just be a little peek, you reason,

Of the freshly fallen snow of the season.

With a huff of exertion and a swaddle of flannel,

You get up and trot down the stairs, passing the candles burning on the mantle.

The decorated tree twinkles with light to emit holiday cheer all through the night.

You push aside the heavy drapes of your window and you see red;

Specifically, a fur-trimmed three piece set.

Astonished by what to your wandering eyes did appear, you lean in and begin to peer.

You must be being deceived by your eyes, you think to yourself. The apocalypse has brought to life many horrific figments that you wished were bound by imagination, but the magic of Christmas is something that seems too good to be true after such atrocity has ravaged the Earth. Maybe your vision is bleary from your biting insomnia caused by the latter, or you’ve endured enough that your mind is gifting you a glimpse back into some innocent happiness that you feared you lost long ago. To your surprise, the broad man outside doesn’t vanish with the blink of your eye; instead he trudges along in the snow with a harsh sense of reality, his back bent at a painful angle and his feet falling heavily with every step, bearing the brunt of his costumed weight plus the filled sack that is slung over his shoulder.

Whoever this is - whether it’s a do-gooder or some bloke that had a few too many spiked eggnogs at the Tipsy Bison - it looks like they would appreciate some help. You slip your boots on and head out, wrapping your arms around yourself to cinch your flannel pajamas closer to your frame to shield yourself from the icy midnight flurries. Santa’s back is to you and he doesn’t seem to acknowledge your approaching footsteps. His grunts of exertion are carried on the wind that swirls around you in ribbons: his pack looks even heavier up close than it did from your living room window. You make an effort to announce yourself by grinding your heels into the snow, making each step crunchier than the last.

For a fleeting moment, you relish the childlike wonder that overtakes you, that this could be the real Santa. His heart must be pounding in his ears because when you tap his velveteen shoulder softly, he jumps in shock. It’s immediately apparent that the erratic movement hurt his back further, as a large hand comes to support the small of his spine and he groans when he straightens his neck. The sack drops from his grasp into the snow below. You’re already apologizing as he turns haggardly on his heel, towards you, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you-”

Santa finally rounds on you and your breath catches in your throat. Framed by a faux white beard and the furry trim of his hat are big, gorgeous brown eyes that throw icicles at you with an annoyed stare. His thorough costume fails to work on you - you could recognize those beautiful, baby cow-esque eyes in an instant. A joyous cloud of condensation wafts into Santa’s face as you burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, doubling over with tears in your eyes.

He steps forward and covers your mouth with a black leather gloved hand, “Don’t you know anythin’ about stealth?”

The saturation of Joel’s Texan accent increases whenever he’s irritated, tired or relaxed, you’ve noticed, or whenever his controlling grip on stoicism slips just slightly and he’s allowed to return to a more organic version of himself. To his grumbling annoyance, you’ve told him how cute you find it - especially when it’s followed by a blush of tamped-down flattery that crumbles his carefully constructed grimace.

He lets go of you when you’re able to stifle your giggles to a soft chuckling. You eye his outfit up and down, raising your eyebrow in approval. He tries his best not to mirror your bemused smirk. “ What are you doing, Joel Miller?” you ask incredulously.

“What’s it look like I’m doin’?” he grouches rhetorically. You patiently await his answer anyway with a grin that spreads to your eyes with every second that ticks by. He eventually secedes with a sigh, his broad shoulders deflating with exhaustion from more than just your affectionate pestering, “‘M… deliverin’ toys to the kids. Getting a present from Santa is a formative experience. No kid should have their magic robbed of ‘em.”

“Isn’t Santa just one big lie though?” you ask, genuinely. You remember the truth that your friends tried to peddle you while you were still a believer, asking you all kinds of questions as a test to your logic. How is he able to get all across the world in one night? If he’s so big, how is he able to fit down the chimney? Does Santa have to take bathroom breaks, and where?! Most of all, you remember the horror that washed over you when you confronted your parents with your newly-acquired facts, and to your fear, they confirmed the lie. It took you a while to have faith in anything they said after, to the point of absurdity - it took months for you to believe that taking medicine will actually make you feel better when you’re sick.

Joel stiffens. Some inexplicable reason makes you think that it’s not just because of his aching back and tired knees. His voice is tight, uncomfortable, “Yeah, I guess…”

He gradually warms back up, his words spliced with tired breaths, by explaining to you that, “Tommy told me that in years past, the adults would leave presents on Christmas morning, under that big tree they decorate in the town square,” he points behind him to the afar twinkling lights with his thumb, “just before the kids woke up. But since we found that fir tree lot about twenty miles out, everybody was able to get their own tree this year. I asked around if they think it’d be a good idea for someone… f’ me… to be Santa. So that all the kids could have the experience we had. Y’know… leave cookies out an’ all that.” He waves his hand noncommittally and looks off to the side like he thinks the whole idea is ludicrous, as if he doesn’t care. As if he isn’t the sweet, kindhearted man who introduced the very idea.

You fight hard to disguise the enamor that strikes your heart and threatens to leak into your gaze. So you turn to a reliable defense mechanism: teasing. “So… the costume is purely for your own enjoyment then?”

That pulls a breathy chuckle out of Joel’s chest. “I can’t have the kiddos wake up and see some old man in their house. You gotta keep up the illusion, girl.” He nudges you on the shoulder with his knuckles. When he leans in you can smell his breath, warm and sweet with faint notes of spice and cinnamon. His unprecedented playfulness always throws you for a loop and makes you squirm on your feet, a flustered smile warbling on your lips.

It strikes you in inappropriate moments like these that you have the privilege of being chummy with one of the most sought after men in Jackson. A man whose charms you’re not immune to, but you guess you’re better at hiding their effect than others are, as Joel tended to avoid those who openly expressed intimate interest. A man who you so desperately desire, but force yourself to hide your attraction for.

Joel sighs, bending to pick the sack handle up from the ground, “I’m bound to wake them up if I keep fuckin’ lumberin’ around like I am.” You can see how the heavy bag of toys weighs on his back and worsens his heavy-footedness. You can practically hear the alerting scuff of his boots against creaky floorboards, rousing sleeping kids and luring them to spoil their own surprise. “I damn near woke the first one up, ‘cause this fuckin’ sack got stuck between me and the door, an’-”

He cuts himself off, gaping with offended bewilderment watching you try to smother your laughter. The image of him wrestling with the bag, let alone in a full Santa costume, is simply hilarious. A deviousness glints the smile that tugs on half of his face, “Oh, so you think my struggling is funny?”

“No, it’s just…” you search for a more suitable word but guilt shines through your twisted smile and speaks for itself. He lets the silence fill the space between you two for an uncomfortable stretch, running out your fuse until you can’t hold back your giggling.

He puts his hand on his hip, fixing his gaze on you with lighthearted scorn, “You gon’ stand there and laugh at Santa ,” he jeers, scolding you for making fun of an innocent, jolly old man, “or are you gonna make yourself useful?”

For a moment you completely forget why you had come out here in the first place. Joel was legitimately having a difficult time and you had wanted to aid him in any way you could. However, his badgering demeanor has put an equally brattish spin on your helping hand from its chivalrous beginning. You defiantly square your shoulders.

“Actually, I will. I can be like an elf to your Santa. The elves do all of the hard work, anyways. Making the toys, wrapping them, packing the sleigh and caring for the reindeer. And Santa… eats cookies?”

Joel scoffs, pretending to not like the idea of some help, “Oh, yeah? You and what costume?” He jerks his chin at you, looks you up and down for your lack of costume. It’s hard not to pay any attention to the heat that rushes your cheeks thinking about him looking at you like that under different circumstances. He’s right though: you’ll need a costume to maintain the magical facade.

A Christmas miracle bestows itself to you in the front yard you’re standing next to: a snowman outfitted as an elf.

You go over and delicately pluck the pointed hat off of the top snowball so as not to disturb the icy artistry. You pull it down on your head, wiggle, and the movement gives the bell at the end of the point a jingle. “Ready when you are, Mr. Claus.”

Like on patrols and other tasks you’ve been paired with him on before, you and Joel make a fantastic team delivering holiday cheer in the night.

You’ll come to a house, quietly padding up the snowy front steps; Joel will sift through his bag for the correct present for the specific child; and hand it off to you to put under the tree inside. The parents in on the trick have left their doors unlocked and their kids have assembled platters of cookies, varying flavors from house to house, with a note of gratitude for their beloved Santa tucked underneath. You can only hope that the kids’ excited jitters for the following morning have worn their energy levels down enough that they’re soundly slumbering so you can pass through undetected. The bell on your hat is a hazardous giveaway to your presence, so you opt to leave it outside with Joel to ensure your drop-off is silent. There’s no chance any wandering eyes will catch you out of disguise, though, because, as quiet and quick as a mouse, you’re in with a gift and out with empty hands in a flash, ready for the next one.

A couple hours in and you’ve deposited gifts to three quarters of the kids in town. You’ll definitely finish before the Christmas morning sun even thinks about peering over the horizon. Despite the share of labor you’ve accounted for, Joel continues to have a difficult time trudging through the snow, so you both slow down to a pleasant, unhurried stroll to fulfill the remainder of your recipients.

“You okay?” you ask tenderly, smiling softly at him when he cranes his neck to meet your eyes. He nods, his voice tired and breathy, “Yeah, just… old .” He spits that last word out, with bitterness coating his tongue. The imperceptible shake of his head is impatient, agitated, that his body isn’t up to par with what it used to be capable of.

Jackson has softened him, there’s no denying that, but you don’t think it’s such a bad thing. You only arrived at the settlement a year ago, a year into Joel’s stay. He had immediately shown you friendliness, a desire to help you settle in, to care for you. It struck you as odd when you heard the stories from other townspeople of what he was like when he was first welcomed in; that he was the cold, standoffish brother of their warm leader, Tommy, that his permanent scowl radiated a sourness, bordering on ungrateful. The par-baked sociability that you were introduced to was apparently underdone; his face flickered with uncomfortability when any affection was pushed on him, whether it was a simple compliment or a brotherly nudge to his shoulder. Joel couldn’t hide himself from you, though. His desire to surrender was so strong, so yearnful, but he constantly restrained himself from the comfort, the love, with an understandable fear that it could all be taken away.

Accidentally, you forced him to face his fears. He enjoyed your company and soon sought out more and more opportunities to spend time with you until you were inseparable. You began to frighten him when he realized what you were to him, a friend , but it was too late; he couldn’t stay away from you, no matter how loud the loathsome voice in his head screamed for the safety that isolation guaranteed. His biggest source of anxiety now isn’t something reasonable, like clickers: it’s how far into the future he wants to go with you.

Back in the present moment, you shrug, “Well, I think you’re doing a good thing, Joel. Old or not.” The tip of his nose and cheeks are beet red from the frosty air and itchy costume, but his blush deepens to a magenta upon hearing your words. He diverts his eyes. It’s sweet, in a way, how he has trouble accepting praise even from one of his best friends. You dump more validation onto him, because he deserves it, “The community will really love you for this, you know. I know how much you like your solitude, but it’s nice to see you involved. It suits you.”

“I guess literally,” he gestures to his suit of red and white and you laugh together. Despite the tarnishes of age and stains of neglectful wear, the costume does fit him nicely. Just like the infamous poem, it complements his eyes that twinkle under the starlight and his merry dimple that deepens when he laughs. He even has the little round belly to complete the look, though you’re sure he has as much disdain for his softened shape as you have love for it.

The night hours wane in proportion with the fun you’re having. Joel’s silent for a while, and though quietness is never awkward between you two, you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about.

You only have a few presents left to deliver when Joel says, “Sarah loved Christmas.”

You slow down next to him to direct your undivided attention on him in this tender moment, but he waves his hand at you to keep moving along. Always some degree of averse to comfort, you work with him however he’ll let you. He faces ahead into the snow coming down, but that’s not what he’s looking at; his gaze is slightly unfocused, like he goes into a dimension that only he can see. You’ve seen that expression on him before and know that snapshots of memories are drifting by in his mind.

His voice is happy to match his smile, only wavering with emotion slightly as he shares with you, “She’d always be eager to start putting the decorations up right after Thanksgiving, always so giddy to go to school and do all the festive little projects they had ‘em doin’. She’d get so into it, she’d come home with glitter all in her hair,” he laughs softly and so do you. “The fridge would be completely covered with her paintings and crafts by the time Christmas came around…”

He stops in his tracks to take a sharp breath in, looking up to the stars with damp eyes. A touch to the permanent fixture on his wrist - his watch - grounds him and restores his smile, despite the painful tinge it now has. You simply observe him for a moment, give him the patience he needs. Then he continues a bit somberly, “I always got a real tree, I didn’t like none of that fake stuff. I would’ve gone and cut one down myself if they grew better than they did in Texas.”

A detachedness casts over his eyes. He breathes hauntedly, “Maybe a lot of things would be different if I hadn’t lived there.”

He sniffles and shakes his head to try and dispel his thoughts, getting irritated that they infiltrated him in the first place. You take a gingerly step forward and lay your fingers over his with impossible tenderness, stroking his quivering knuckles.

“Sounds like she would’ve loved being your little helper tonight.” A stroke of happiness glimmers across his face, colors him back from his ghostly hue.

“Yep, she would’ve been all over that.”

With all of the delicacy you can muster to cushion your shameless, vital honesty, “I bet she would be proud of what you’re doing… of you .”

You reach into his bag and take out the last remaining present, placing it into his hands so he can be the one to close out the magical evening and deliver the final gift. Joel nods with residual tears in his eyes, “I can only hope.”

“I know,” you reassure him.

The corners of his mouth, downturned in shame and grief, begin to perk up ever so slightly. It sends you over the moon. A staggering leap of growth for Joel are imperceptible steps to others, but you’re always by his side to assure him that there’s nothing wrong with his pace.

You’re the one to wait outside this time while he sneaks in. While he’s disappeared for a few moments, you think about how he used to react when Sarah was brought up - or more likely, when his thoughts brought her to him unprovoked. He’d have brutal panic attacks, where his heart would pound violently in between seizures of oxygen, courtesy of his crippling lungs. He’d be rendered debilitated for days afterward, trying to collect his shattered remains and haphazardly piece himself back together.

But now, as he slowly closes the door behind him and turns to join you, his commendable progress frays your heartstrings. Though his eyes are still hurt and his heart still gives him problems, he’s able to talk about his daughter with unbridled joy . Her memory is no longer an abyss of torturous guilt; it has blossomed to remind him of all the happy days she did have, of what a beautiful soul she was and can continue to be in his heart. He’s realizing that instead of solely mourning her wrongful death, he can carry on her life by spreading the joy she instilled in him all those years ago. You view it as one of the highest honors to hear about her and to be friends with the wonderful man who raised her to be the kind girl she was. Seeing Joel’s misery lessened by any number makes you so happy you could cry.

Joel comes up to you and concern crosses his face, “What’s wrong?”, upon seeing the gleam to your eyes, putting a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Nothin’,” you say with a shrug and a proud smile, subconsciously parroting his accent.

“Congratulations on another successful year, Santa,” you hold up your hand for a silly high five. Joel obliges with a resounding chuckle. He intertwines his fingers with yours, holding your hand long after the celebration. “Couldn’t have done it without your help,” he mumbles sheepishly, “Thank you.”

Since you were the one picking up Santa’s slack for the most part tonight, you were also the one to take bites of cookies and sips of milk to leave as evidence of your visit. It only dawns on you now that Joel hasn’t had any treats the whole night. What a holiday abomination!

“I think Santa is entitled to his fair share of payment,” you playfully nudge at Joel’s belly and he swats your hand away with a grunt. “I made some cookies of my own, and I have some milk to pair if I’m remembering your tastes correctly.” He shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “Wanna come back to mine for some?”

Joel squeezes your hand in his, “Sure.”

The morning sun still has a few hours left to sleep by the time you and Joel cross your threshold. The house you were gifted in the center of town is small, but it’s a haven nonetheless. When you first moved in, Joel was assigned to check all the inner workings and help furnish, but most importantly he helped you return to yourself: what colors you liked and didn’t like, which way you preferred your living room to be arranged, where you wanted your mugs stored. It was incidental, trivial things, but their impact was seriously underestimated. He helped make the little blank-slate house yours.

He enjoys being in it as much as you do because he’s constantly surrounded by you and the evidence of your habits and patterns. The rings of coffee staining your side table, next to the bookmarked novel on the arm of your couch. The shoes dropped unceremoniously by your front door. The dish towel powdered with the flour of cookies you made earlier, their mouthwatering scent lingering in the air with the dry, residual warmth from your oven. He doesn’t know if he wants to consume you or be consumed by you, but either way he knows one thing: he’s bewitched.

In the kitchen, he leans against the counter as you pour him a glass of milk and plate some cookies. The long night’s energy expenditure has worked up quite an appetite in him, so he doesn’t waste any more time and takes a bite.

“You have to dip it in the milk and let it get soft! They’re best that way,” you offer, but he just waves you off with affectionate annoyance.

From his sloppy eating, a piece of chocolate has smeared itself on his upper lip and into the hairs of his mustache. It makes you smile. Without thinking, you lick the pad of your thumb and bring it to his face to clean it off.

Joel’s lips part, as if with practiced ease, so you can really get in there. It’s so natural , so domestic between the two of you; it’s startling. His eyes are on you and you can feel them, watching you with brazen intensity as you prod the plushness of his lip, but you keep your own gaze focused on your work.

You flicker a fatal glance into his. Joel wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss that’s a strange mix of gentle and intoxicating. Just as it registers in your brain what is happening, he’s breaking away and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first, goddamn fool …” he grumbles to himself. He goes to remove himself from you further, but you pull him right back by the chest of his t-shirt that’s damp with sweat.

“You should’ve.” You press your lips to his with ravenous fervor.

You pull him to the living room, to the chair that he picked out for the space when you first moved in. The soft suede reminded him of you, he had said, and you didn’t realize what his true meaning was until now. His fingertips skim over your exposed skin, addicted, yet tentative in their touch of such preciousness.

You swiftly rid him of the rest of his costume down to his underclothes and he soon follows to undress you until you’re left in your base layers. You’re practically shaking with need, wishing you could take your time with him but you’ve been pining after him all night (really, ever since the moment you laid eyes on him over a year ago.) That goofy costume couldn’t hide his delicious figure and he makes you delirious now that he’s exposed; his broad, inviting chest; his sexy, burly arms; his cute little ass.

He shares your desire’s impatience. He falls onto the chair, pressing against the back. You climb into his lap, straddling his thighs, and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him into you for another desperate kiss.

One of his hands balances you on your hip and the other fumbles with his belt buckle frustratingly. He groans impatiently into your mouth, but your aid is being dispersed elsewhere; your fingers are tethered to his hair, brushing it and grabbing it and pulling it.

Finally he solves the metallic riddle and you both sigh in relief when his stiff length is released, slapping against your thigh. You reach down and stroke him from base to tip a couple times, making his eyebrows scrunch in pleasure. This is going to be quick, you both know it, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be enjoyable.

You’re just as near to bursting as Joel when you sink down onto him, inch by glorious inch. He digs his heels into the floor in preparation to fuck up into you, but you beat him to it and begin to ride. He groans loudly, his arms constricting around your waist and burying his face into your neck. He’s holding you so tight that you can barely move; it makes your thighs burn deliciously with the amount of effort you have to put in to keep up your pace. You work up a sweat to rival his as a fresh sheen breaks out on his brow.

Combined with the heated passion, there’s an enamored twinkle in his eyes, an adoration. One that screams that four-letter L word, the one that his brain wants to profess to you from rooftops but that his heart can’t work up the strength to say it and make it real.

The holidays are run on magic, anyways - you’re content to give him all the time he needs.

“Please, Joel,” you whisper breathlessly into his ear, wanting his body if you can’t have his heart just yet. That does him in; his hips stutter beneath you and his warmth fills you up, radiating up from your core until it tickles the underside of your pounding heart. Your own release is brought on by his sly fingers against your clit and it seizes your movements, rippling in tantalizing waves from head to toe, until you’re reduced to a puddle in his arms and slump against his chest.

Hazy with exhaustion and a potent shot of dopamine, you barely register him tucking a blanket around you before you succumb to some much-needed sleep.

The Christmas morning sun breaks over the horizon a few hours later. Amidst your throes of passion in the darkness of night, you hadn’t realized your front window’s curtains were strewn wide open. You and Joel both startle awake when a particularly harsh sunbeam glints off of a frosty white snow bank, shooting directly into your unprepared pupils.

You bury your face into his chest, groaning with embarrassment, “I really hope nobody starts singing that they saw an elf kissing Santa Claus.”

Your newly minted lover chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and holding you ever closer, “Eh, all the kids were asleep. And if any adults saw…,” he shrugs, “Fuck ‘em.”

Now, your blanketed bodies remain safely hidden from the happy kids running about and cheering in the streets with their new toys. Joel watches on with you, smiling despite the sleep deprivation that prohibits you from even thinking about moving an inch. And with Joel beneath you, surrounding you, why would you?

“You know, I’ve been thinking for a while now…” he continues, running a finger delicately down your cheek, “I’ve been wanting to promote my head elf, but she’s already at the top of my list.”

You poke him in the chest playfully, “Hey, I’m a seasonal worker. Last night was a one-time deal. Well, what happened before we got home was a one-time deal,” you specify.

Your clarification brightens his smile. “How d’ya think… Mrs. Claus sounds?”

Your heart leaps. “Sounds like just what I’ve been wishing for.”

You settle in to watch the rest of the morning unfold, with the joyous kids playing, their contented parents observing, and the snow swirling in the air in dreamy trails.

“Merry Christmas, Joel.”

He presses a tender kiss to your forehead. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

summary excerpt from “‘a visit from st. nicholas” by clement clarke moore

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edenmemes · 2 years

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house of the dragon starters

ep1 - 10 .

❝ try not to look too relieved. ❞ ❝ did you sleep? how long? ❞ ❝ no king has ever lived that hasn't had to forfeit the lives of a few to protect the many. ❞ ❝ i don’t need mothering. ❞ ❝ it is our fate, i think, to crave always what is given to another. ❞ ❝ you’re safe with me, i swear it. ❞ ❝ to elude a storm, you can either sail into it or around it. but you must never await its coming. ❞ ❝ i have only ever defended you. ❞ ❝ i've always thought of you and i as having been made from the same cloth. ❞ ❝ you will address me as "your grace" or i will have my guard cut out your tongue. ❞ ❝ i’d rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory. ❞ ❝ you’re always like this when you’re worried. disagreeable. ❞ ❝ i like this position. it’s quite comfortable. ❞ ❝ how sweetly the fox speaks when it’s been cornered by hounds. ❞ ❝ we haven’t spoke much...since... ❞ ❝ i do not wish to rule over a kingdom of ash and bone. ❞ ❝ i was never much of a dancer. ❞ ❝ do you want me to kill him? ❞ ❝ i’m asking with you to come with me...away from all of this. ❞ ❝ come, eat. fortify yourself for the journey. ❞ ❝ you swore to protect me. ❞ ❝ what will they say of me when the histories are written? ❞ ❝ it’s the only thing i have to my fucking name! ❞ ❝ look what my life became without you. a droll tragedy. ❞ ❝ strive to restore whatever scrap of honor you have left. ❞ ❝ our worth is not given. it must be made. ❞ ❝ it pleases me to hear you say this. that i am not alone in my grief. ❞ ❝ if you mean to elicit some anger from me, you should know that you're failing. ❞ ❝ it bothers you, does it not? ❞ ❝ the realm owes you a great debt. ❞ ❝ all i wanted was for someone to say that they were sorry for what happened to me. ❞ ❝ we must all mourn in our own way. ❞ ❝ do you have a specific course of action to propose? ❞ ❝ we're both people who have had to cut our own way through the world. ❞ ❝ were that to happen, losses would be incalculable. ❞ ❝ it was not my intent to make offense. ❞ ❝ when steel is drawn, a fair match isn’t something anyone should expect. ❞ ❝ i find i have...few friends lately. ❞ ❝ we don’t belong here. ❞ ❝ i only want to help you. ❞ ❝ you cannot believe such gossip. ❞ ❝ just get out. leave me at once. ❞ ❝ to have every young knight and lord fawning over you...what a misery. ❞ ❝ you’ve been much alone these past few years. alone and angry. ❞ ❝ the road ahead is uncertain, but the end is clear. ❞ ❝ you’re young. you will learn. ❞ ❝ this is just what i need...a little adventure. ❞ ❝ care for some company? ❞ ❝ what is this brief mortal life...if not the pursuit of legacy? ❞ ❝ the wise sailor flees the storm as it gathers. ❞ ❝ you are a plague...sent to destroy me. ❞ ❝ for one night, i wish to be free of the burdens of my inheritance. ❞ ❝ do you wish to hear my opinion on the matter? ❞ ❝ i’ve been alone. you abandoned me. ❞ ❝ i’ve decided to remain here and read instead. ❞ ❝ if there were another path...one that led to freedom...would you take it? ❞ ❝ we should be free to speak our minds to one another. ❞ ❝ everything i’ve given you, you’ve thrown back in my face. ❞ ❝ answer me. it’s important. ❞ ❝ do you never long for home? ❞ ❝ i know you’ve never seen true battle. ❞ ❝ your heart is even darker than i thought. ❞ ❝ you think yourself a cunning person. your plans are obvious. ❞ ❝ you never were one to stay idle. ❞ ❝ do not speak of this again. ❞ ❝ they whisper about me in the corridors. ❞ ❝ am i your prisoner? ❞ ❝ have the decency to look grateful. do you know what has been done to give you this day? ❞ ❝ love...is a downfall. ❞ ❝ we’re free to do as we please. ❞ ❝ you will make a fearsome knight. ❞ ❝ just take my arm, at the least. ❞ ❝ it seems the gods have been especially cruel to you. ❞ ❝ i will be a stranger when we meet again. ❞ ❝ you dare put hands on me? ❞ ❝ you look so much like your mother in certain lights. ❞ ❝ i have no shortage of allies. ❞ ❝ who gives a fuck what some lord thinks? ❞ ❝ take your fucking hands off me. ❞ ❝ a certain insolence runs in the family. ❞ ❝ meat without wine is a sin. ❞ ❝ i gave up the idea of wearing a crown generations ago. ❞ ❝ are you...are you hurt? ❞ ❝ reluctance to murder is not a weakness. ❞ ❝ exhausting, isn’t it? hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. ❞ ❝ we have nothing in common. ❞ ❝ you deserve better than what i have been. ❞ ❝ you are an honorable man with a good heart. it’s a rare thing. ❞ ❝ i promise you, in time, you and i together will prevail. ❞ ❝ life has, i know, disappointed you. ❞ ❝ if a king isn’t feared, he is powerless. ❞ ❝ i’d rather ride alone. ❞ ❝ be careful. one could take your words for treason. ❞ ❝ i’ve never seen that side of you...i even doubted its existence. ❞ ❝ i will have the truth of what happened. now. ❞ ❝ do you wish to know your death? ❞ ❝ if we don’t mind our own histories, it will do the same to us. ❞ ❝ i believe you were made to wear the crown. ❞ ❝ we are turning back, all right? ❞ ❝ everyone’s staring at us. ❞ ❝ i would say it’s nice to be home, but i scarcely recognize it. ❞ ❝ most of my years have been spent living in terror. ❞ ❝ all that i have, i owe to you. ❞ ❝ i’ve wondered many an hour what your purpose was in coming here. ❞ ❝ what can either of us know of ruling a kingdom? ❞ ❝ does the promise of war excite you? ❞ ❝ none of this is a game. and yet you treat it like one. ❞ ❝ a matter has arisen that requires your attention. ❞ ❝ night time, you might not be so lucky. ❞ ❝ i have no wish to rule! no taste for duty! i am not suited. ❞ ❝ you flee what other men die seeking. ❞ ❝ i endured it for as long as i could. ❞ ❝ we don’t choose our destiny. it chooses us. ❞ ❝ it is ill luck to look upon the face of death. ❞ ❝ you’ve already found enough trouble today. ❞ ❝ who might you be running from, now? ❞ ❝ i am yours and you are mine. ❞ ❝ i will not have blood shed beneath my roof. ❞ ❝ we are closer to gods than to men. ❞ ❝ you shouldn’t do this alone. let us help you. ❞ ❝ that war is not mine to begin. ❞ ❝ it has been so long since we were granted the joy of your presence. ❞ ❝ how could you allow such a thing to happen? ❞ ❝ do not allow your temper to guide your judgement. ❞ ❝ now they see you as you are. ❞ ❝ do you want to know the truth of it? i was frightened. ❞ ❝ you desire not to be free, but to make a window in the wall of your prison. ❞ ❝ you are wiser than i believed you to be. ❞ ❝ i speak the truth. and you know it. ❞ ❝ hope is the fool’s ally. ❞ ❝ while i like your support, i do not need it. ❞ ❝ go to your chambers. you have said enough. ❞ ❝ i thought i wanted it, but the burden is a heavy one. ❞ ❝ i understand you’ve found yourself in some trouble. ❞

#rp meme #roleplay meme #roleplay starters

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enden-agolor · 21 days

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How are you and your boyfriend doing?

I just want you to know that you're amazing. You make my day and night with all of the homosexual cube males (and of course the homosexual cube females and the other cubes) and I hope you're doing better. I only want good luck to find you in the future. I know it's tough losing someone you love, I understand what it feels like. Just know that you can do this. I believe in you man! Keep up the amazing art and have a good day/night!

Hey there, and thanks so much for reaching out...

Before I get into how we are doing, I just wanted to say thank you for taking your time to say this. We really appreciate it, and I love so dearly that you enjoy my silly block art. I still have a lot of trouble wrapping my head around that, especially as of late, that people actually like it so much. I have trouble accepting so much praise, but jeez does it go a long way. So thank you. 🩷

As for how we are doing

We are okay. We now know the woman who did this, and we also have a lawyer too. Animal control was no help (no surprise there) so we are mostly relying on the lawyer for help us figure out what to do next.

Andy went back to the doctor recently to get his cast removed and reapplied. His thumb was looked at, and while the sight is... very unpleasant to look at, they say he's healing nicely. Looks like he'll be keeping his thumb. Yahoo!

We also got Shiro back. Bro is in a little brown box now. Our little minecraft brown brick. I've been through animal death more times than I'd like to admit, and I cannot go into detail about that here, nor will I ever in public probably, but I know with my experience that I will be okay. My main concern is Andy, because Shiro was his best friend. The trauma of the event is unholy, especially for him. I'm taking care of him the best I can through these tough times. Feed him, bathe him, take care of the house and animals. Definitely a Recovery moment (as he likes to call it 💀) In the end, Andy is very strong. The strongest person I know. He's tough and has a heart of pure gold. I know he'll be okay. Sudden loss is terrible and changes you as a person, but life must go on and I know we will be okay. We just have to live our lives in honor of our sweet little guy. It's what he'd want.

Everything Shiro taught us and we taught him will be carried along to a new friend in the future whenever we are ready for it, so in a sense, Shiro is still very much with us in the way he impacted our lives and will continue to do so in the future. Even if he is gone, he'll always be our baby boy and I know I'll see him again some day.

#ask #tw animal death #cw animal death #tw mentions of death #hopefully this isnt too dark to post #i hope i will have good news to bring about all this in the future #i dont know though

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mcgnagallsarmy · 1 year

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Top 10 Spuffy fics I’ve read (March 2023)

Bleeding Poetry by Dusty [PG-13]

All his life, the words just bled out.

Boon by Soulburnt [R]

Buffy has been an amazingly effective Slayer. To honor that, the Powers That Be grant her a one-time boon. The only catch? Her friends get to pick it for her.

Brick by pfeifferpack [G]

At the end of S7 Lies My Parents Told Me I would like to have Buffy lying on her bed thinking of every time Giles has let her down, betrayed her. Late in the night, after everyone has fallen asleep, she makes her way down to the basement to talk to Spike because she can’t keep the anger and hurt she is feeling to herself. While talking with the vampire, she comes to another realization: that Spike is the only one she can vent to and she can count on no matter what.

Domino Effect by anaross [PG-13]

AU after End of Days. A re-write of the events after the episode of End of Days.

First Alternate by Soulburnt [NC-17]

After ‘Not Fade Away,’ Angel gets the Shanshu. A thrilled Buffy gets her curse-free soulmate. And Spike? He gets his heart shattered again. Gutted and seeing no point in staying in a world without his Slayer, Spike doesn’t hesitate when pursuing a deadly demon through a portal. He finds himself stuck in an alternate reality where he truly died closing the Hellmouth. He also finds another Buffy, one who is devastated that her Spike didn’t believe she loved him. They console each other over their losses… but are they only consolation prizes? Or can two heartbroken people get a second chance for love?

His Lady Dancing by violettathepiratequeen [PG-13]

Buffy makes a wish on a Christmas star, and Spike chooses that moment to waltz into her backyard. Could he somehow be the answer?

Only Time Will Tell by Grief Counseling [NC-17]

Buffy, Giles, and the rest of the Scoobies are living in London a year after the collapse of the Hellmouth. They are faced with an interesting mission to save the world: they must retrieve an artifact that was destroyed over a hundred years ago. The catch? Buffy must travel back in time to the exact location where Spike lived before he was turned to obtain the artifact. The pain of seeing him again after losing him, even in human form, might prove to be too much. Or it might be exactly what a grieving slayer needs.

Rendezvous by Eurydice [PG-13]

When Giles retrieves the amulet from the collapsed Hellmouth, he encounters the last person he ever would have imagined - a young boy who looks remarkably like a now-dead vampire.

Slayer Bound by Holly [NC-17]

A glimpse of eternal hell gives Spike some much-needed perspective.

The Worst Day Since Yesterday by Dynamite [NC-17]

After Los Angeles falls only one vampire is left standing. Will Buffy make it in time?

#Buffy The Vampire Slayer #btvs #spuffy #ficrec #monthly ficrec #dustyfics

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moralpuppet · 25 days

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In your main verse, how do you envision Orel growing up? His family, his beliefs, stuff like that?

Okay so if I had to give some key notes this is going to be long and rambly, and feature talk of depression , death , terminal illness so please be careful going through ... starting from the end of the episode honor here you go ....

OFFICIALLY UNRELEASED CONTENT / END OF THE SHOW

talking about Grandpa Puppington / goth Orel / I mention terminal illness and death here so please skip over if needed !

Orel by the end of the show is 13 . It's not ever OFFICIALLY announced but we know from season 1 his birthday is after Halloween and before Christmas . He never fully recovers from being shot and as they said in the last episode he continues to limp even in deleted scripts that follow episodes that never made it because of the shows cancellation .

We know that in unreleased scripts he loses his grandfather on Easter after Clay basically condemns Orel's Grandpa to Orel's bed as a death bed when Arthur Puppington ( Orel's Grandpa ) comes to Clay seeking reconciliation as he is terminal .

Orel comes home to Arthur every night and tells him about his day , getting a new perspective on lessons , as we know , Orel usually mistakenly gets wrong/misguided by . Arthur is essentially a grounding perspective and helps Orel become a little more wary of what he trusts .

Orel at this time seems , at least in the scripts , to have not forgiven Clay but he's still caring about Clay , at least still showing that he has some respect and generally loves him as his father still . He prays to God for Clay and Arthur to reconcile in hopes that it would stop Clay from "getting any sadder " I quote he says " he can't afford to get any sadder " . Of course that never happens and they never reconcile .

After Orel loses Arthur , he becomes a Christian Goth for a while sort of not denouncing his faith but not fully committing to it either. He is essentially lost and he's in this state of grief for a few weeks until Reverend Putty can't stand seeing him like this anymore and snaps him out of it .

That's it for unreleased stuff really ... Here's where headcannons come into it .

HEADCANNONED STUFF !

Relationship to faith after Goth Orel tm ! Found family

Things don't necessarily go back to normal but Orel is now finding that returning back to focusing on his faith is actually helping him with the grief and loss . As my good friends @ rvrend and @ dollene have built up he comes to Reverend Putty more and more , finding that the good reverend is more like a father figure to him than Clay but not quite making that leap because of the views he was raised on that he must honour his biological father . Noellene too is far more motherly than Bloberta . She is more emotional unlike the emotionally withdrawn Bloberta .

Orel also is a far better brother to Shapey and Block , teaching them to do stop motion animation too and helping them get schooling by teaching them at home so they could enroll in a public school .

FAMILY / CHRISTINA AND DOUGHY

Eventually , in his late teens to early adulthood ,Orel finds an interest in architecture of religious buildings , something he could sculpt out of clay and design in other ways like he used in his stop-motion videos / my friend scribbs actually suggested this one . And of course all the while he and Christina are still very much sweethearts.

His relationship to Clay and Bloberta become estranged but he still invites them to important gatherings, probably had to kick Clay out of his and Christina's family home for being a violent drunk a few times . Clay and Bloberta are still stuck together ! Block and Shapey become a fireman and a police officer ! Orel and Christina of course get married and have a family of their own like in cannon.

Lastly , I will say Doughy , Orel always wanted to stay in touch and still be his best friend but I quite like the fan headcannon by the fandom that Doughy is incredibly jealous of Christina due to actually having a crush on Orel since childhood and maybe sadly he pushes Orel away .

Orel always keeps his faith .

OKAY so that was a lot but if you ever want to ask any more questions or for me to elaborate on anything let me know !

#[ ✟ ] 𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙖 𝙘𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙘𝙝 / 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 .#✟ 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 / 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .#thank you for the question sorry about the info dump ! i tend to sit on all this information i mean i've had this blog almost 2 years so ye #tw: death mention #tw: terminal illness

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raayllum · 11 months

Text

thinking about these lines in particular bc good god, man

Karim’s sure fire focus on the end, so much like Viren, where he only sees his people restored through his own glorious hand because the end is all that matters, even as a child to adulthood:

Karim could see that line, unprotected and waiting for him. They only needed to reach it. [...] He had memorized the runes. The spell, its words, its motions. He had visualized it countless times: the orb restored by his hand in a display of magic so brilliant it would light the city’s poisoned sky like a golden sunrise.

The persistent idea of loss and how he rails against it (which, no wonder the Soul Candle ceremony is so important, when he lost a friend recently too alongside his eldest sister)

Stars. Just stars, obviously (+ bonus “game motif” of playing a game as children, and then it’s very much not to boot / “yes, mages were his prey”)

WHAM. Someone slammed into Karim’s side. He went down hard. But we’re going to win, he thought, blinking stars out of the noon sun. Someone tore the banner from his grasp. We have to win.

We have to win, Karim told himself. The writhing, tainted darkness of Lux Aurea’s night sky spread infinitely above him, the stars all swallowed up inside it.

They did not stop until they reached a dry riverbed far, far past the last of Lux Aurea’s golden gates. They could see the stars again, the violet tinge of twilight behind them. It would be dawn soon.

Never mind that nothing good ever happens at dawn in this show (Sarai and the queens of duren’s deaths, Callum’s possession, etc) + bonus river/water motif (although it’s dry).

Tainted by darkness, corruption, continually (“the writhing, tainted darkness of Lux Aurea”)

At dusk, every shadowed corner of Lux Aurea erupted with—he struggled to find words for them—monsters. Some of them he could almost call familiar, like horses and banthers, but they were changed. Like the sun orb itself, the abominations rippled with corruption, with tainted magic so vile that light itself seemed to bend to avoid its touch.

After darkness, light. [...] He hardly heard her. I can save him, Karim thought. I can save all of us. Nothing is lost! Karim’s mind raced and found a light to cling to: the spell—the cleansing spell!

Which also fits with his emphasis on light (and tradition) in his original short story from Vol. 1, “The Queen’s Soul”:

Karim’s chest tightened. “It is never too late. We must honor our traditions, now and always! They are the light that will guide our way out of this darkness.”

Janai spoke with a brutal honesty that cut him like a blade. “Her soul – it is lost.”

“No. It merely waits, Sister. It waits for us,” Karim urged. “We must guide her back to the Sun.”

The constant emphasis and comparisons to sickness and infection, also tying in lines from the Book One novelization in terms of how the Moonshadow elves respond to Rayla:

“Your wound,” announced Tijana, staggering away from Osato. “That’s— that must be how it spreads. Like an infection!” [...] The corruption wriggled like worms under his skin, snaking further with every beat of his heart, down towards his hand and up to his shoulder. “Cut it off,” he shouted. “Cut off my arm, before it spreads!”

"Runaan, you know that weakness is an infection," the third elf said so angrily he was spitting. "You must cut it out!" (book one novelization)

He could still see it: the top of the Sunforge Tower, upside-down from where he lay, shrouded in inky corruption. It looked ill, its sickness weeping red and crowning the spire in a haze of blood. [...] All around them, he could hear the sound of battle down every alleyway, around every corner, the worst of the bloodshed mercifully shrouded by the night’s darkness. How many had they already lost? Karim felt sick, desperate, weak. [...] Karim took a last look back at the ailing heart of Lux Aurea atop the Sunforge Tower.

Which, continual heart motif even over storms, thank you kindly, as well as the red equalling sickness, and Karim literally putting on the red glove of his sick, dead friend by the end of the story.

Karim waited until he could no longer hear the sound of her boots before he let himself weep. He wept for Osato as he buried him, marking his grave with a circle of stones. He wept for his city, his people, and the darkness struck deep into their hearts.

As well as Karim’s parallels to Claudia - the younger sibling, unable to accept change, unable to accept that they cannot save everyone they love with their magic, likewise poisoned with sickness and corruption and losing/finding (“Stay safe, and stay in the light. Don’t follow me, and don’t look for me. I don’t think you’ll find me, anyway.” Dear Callum)

The corrupted elves drew closer. Osato stepped towards them, a desperate captain reaching for his soldiers, but Tijana seized Osato by the arm. “Don’t. They are lost. But we’re still alive.”

“Lost? They are our kin! They are not dead!” Karim protested. “They might still be saved! All of us can still be saved! We must—”

“I will banish that darkness,” Karim swore to Osato’s grave. “I swear it, Osato. Lux Aurea will not die with you. We will be whole again. By the Sun, we will be whole.”

And last but not least because TDP hates me, specifically

Karim stepped towards them, peering closely, and his eyes fell upon Osato’s wound. The moon, he realized, had played a cruel trick. Osato’s blood was not simply dark in the moonlight… It was black.

as well as

“Do not speak as if you mourn him!” Karim snapped, overcome. “You killed him!”

Tijana spoke softly, almost at a whisper. “He was my friend.”

Anyway this short story was extremely fucked and i am both scared and excited to see the literal ramifications it has for both the Sunfire elves and Janai/Amaya and Karim, as well as the possible broader implications for S5, dark magic, Aaravos, and possession plot line as a whole

#prince karim #tdp #tdp shorts #parallels #arc 2 #s4 #mine #mini meta #analysis series #analysis #light and darkness motif #almost was thinking about making a tag for TDP's dealing with sickness/corruption so we're getting #closer and closer to having one lads #dark magic #tdp karim #the dragon prince

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stromuprisahat · 7 months

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Prince Daemon himself would take Caraxes to the Trident ... to find Prince Aemond and Vhagar and put an end to them. Ulf White and Hard Hugh Hammer would fly to Tumbleton ... to assist in the defense of the town and castle and destroy Prince Daeron and Tessarion. Lord Corlys suggested that mayhaps the prince might be taken alive and held as hostage. But Queen Rhaenyra was adamant. “He will not remain a boy forever. Let him grow to manhood, and soon or late he will seek to revenge himself upon my own sons.” Words of these plans soon reached the ears of the Dowager Queen, filling her with terror. Fearing for her sons, Queen Alicent went to the Iron Throne upon her knees, to plead for peace. This time the Queen in Chains put forth the notion that the realm might be divided; Rhaenyra would keep King’s Landing and the crownlands, the North, the Vale of Arryn, all the lands watered by the Trident, and the isles. To Aegon II would go the stormlands, the westerlands, and the Reach, to be ruled from Oldtown. Rhaenyra rejected her stepmother’s proposal with scorn. “Your sons might have had places of honor at my court if they had kept faith,” Her Grace declared, “but they sought to rob me of my birthright, and the blood of my sweet sons is on their hands.” “Bastard blood, shed at war,” Alicent replied. “My son’s sons were innocent boys, cruelly murdered. How many more must die to slake your thirst for vengeance?” The Dowager Queen’s words only fanned the fire of Rhaenyra’s wroth. “I will hear no more lies,” she warned. “Speak again of bastardy, and I will have your tongue out.”

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

The gall of this bitch!

She's one of the instigators of the war, yet she comes to suggest peace as if it were the only thing on her heart. She only does it once her side's losing.

She comes to "beg", yet she dismisses Rhaenyra's loss she and hers caused as if it didn't matter at all, once again insulting Nyra and her family in the process.

Alicent doesn't call only the Velaryon boys "bastards", but Viserys- believed to be dead at the moment- too. It's obvious Rhaenyra's children would be rumoured bastards no matter who fathered them, because *checks notes* they came from that whore, who dared to get in the way of Alicent's ambition.

While all of the Black children's fate was caused by the Greens- Aemond and their allies from Triarchy- Maelor's death was a combination of bad luck (The egg being discovered.) and unmanageability of a mob.

How many more must die to slake your thirst for vengeance? says the woman, who'll be more than willing to sacrifice her only remaining descendant to murder the last of her enemies, she made into enemies by her own fully intentional actions.

#ASoIaF #Fire & Blood #valyrianscrolls #ch: The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Triumphant #Alicent Hightower #Rhaenyra Targaryen #Dance of the Dragons #Greens #V #GRRM #books #quotes #anti Greens #anti Alicent

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messinwitheddie · 5 months

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Since Red died, did Purple keep any of his belongings? Wore any of his cloths or armor?

What was he like at the funeral? Did any other Irken feel his pain or was Purple the only one mourning?

Yeet "Oooh... The Tallest really isn't fond of answering questions about late Red's death. I'll answer any questions as best I can.

"My tallest mourned late Red longer and harder than I have ever seen any drone mourn another drone. They knew each other since smeethood. They were linked in spirit, not just in their title. I think it was brave and sweet how openly Tallest Purple grieved, but he worries the empire might see his grief as a weakness.

Tallest funerals are never recorded or broadcasted on live stream. I remember watching the news segment announcing Late Red's passing. Tallest Purple looked like a shell of himself when he addressed the empire. His wardrobe staff told me he was inconsolable at Red's funeral. He could barely keep it together long enough to carry Red into the Colossus's right hand and read his rites before lighting his body aflame. They told me his grieving screams echoed clear across no drone's land... Poor tallest Purple.

Usually when a tallest passes the empire goes into lockdown until a tallest is measured. There is a period of recognition and manditory honorable mourning by the empire, but because late Red and Tallest Purple ruled as one unit, there was no lock down. Purple just took over the full title and us shorter drones were instructed to carry on as normal.

I think that really distressed Purple that the empire didn't seem to mourn his loss as he did. I'm sure SOMEONE besides Tallest Purple must have been devastated when late Red passed.

To be fair, my generation have only been alive long enough to salute late Red and Tallest Purple. Most of the empire is still nostalgic about late Miyuki, which is understandable. She's a hero of mine too. Late Red didn't rule long enough for the general public to be deeply invested in his passing. He's convinced no one will mourn him when he passes. I, personally, imprinted on Purple as a smeet, so I take comfort in knowing he's still with us. I would be devastated if we lost Purple, even if he doesn't believe me.

Purple wore his funerary robes for YEARS after Red's passing. He was still wearing his white robes and vail when he hired me as his coordinator. He snapped out of that eventually, but went through a fase where EVERYONE on the massive had to wear late Red's shade of red. I was even instructed to wear contacts to alter my eye color for his first century jubilee. Luckily he moved past that too.

Late Red's formal robes are on display at the Tallests' memorial museum on the massive, but Tallest Purple has kept all of late Red's other robes in his chambers. He kept nearly all of late Red's possessions, including the puppets he crafted, his old battle ballad choir helmet from his cadet days and even the bag from the last box of donuts he ate.

I made another silk doll of Red in formal robes for Tallest Purple. He talks to it regularly. It's a little strange, but whatever brings him confort.

Threw in some old posts on the subject. Again, couldn't find the exact post I was thinking of In reference to this ask ^^; This reminds me; I never really touched on the side plot, but frylady Soo-Garr was actually in love with tallest Red; which was her biggest motivation to try to become the next frylord of the Massive's grand mess hall.

I REALLY wish I knew how to find my tumblr archive. I forget half the crap I come up with. ><

#invader zim #18-years-later #au #tallest purple #irken #ocs #asks #might be a few days before I'm able to answer any more questions

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yr-obedt-cicero · 2 years

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No because I absolutely love the headcannon Philip Hamilton was perceived as a “prissy, respectable, best behaved, goody-two-shoes, etc”, or just a “sweet, honest, little angel” while being the complete opposite in actual reality. Because it actually has some historical backing, if you look at it hard enough.

Philip was still a good student, with great talents, and high hopes. But he was also a little shit, and probably the most rebellious and mischievous out of all of his siblings. Though the thing is, the both sides of Philip are portrayed hilariously; many friends, family members, associates, business partners of Hamilton's, etc, usually described Philip as being a respectable young man, with intelligence, and having the best manners. While more personal accounts show that Philip had a different side to him; of being a rebel, and troublesome.

For a prime example, in 1801, Philip took a trip through Philadelphia. And while there, he was able to meet and spend part of his days with the Rush's family, even making good friends with one of Benjamin Rush's sons. Benjamin Rush spoke absolutely positively of this experience, which comes as a surprise because Rush and Hamilton were politically divided. Granted, the letter is written in condolence of Philip's death, and thus some sugarcoating could have been present, but this is much too praising even for Rush. It is my belief, Philip's good manners and charming “upstanding youngman” attitude won the verbal applause from Rush. And so he writes happily about meeting Philip;

“It may perhaps help to sooth your grief when I add to that united expression of Sympathy, that your Son had made himself very dear to my family during his late visit to Philadelphia, by the most engaging deportment. His visits to us were daily, and after each of them he left us with fresh impressions of the correctness of his understanding and manners, and of the goodness of his disposition. To One of my Children he has endeared himself by an Act of friendship & benevolence that did great honor to his heart, and will be rememb[e]red with gratitude by Mrs. Rush, and myself as long as we live. My Son has preserved a record of it in an elegant and friendly letter which he received from him After his return to New York.

You do not weep alone. Many, many tears have been Shed in our city upon your Account.

It afforded your friends great Consolation to hear of the pious manner in which your son closed the last hours of his life. God does not judge, nor condemn like man. There are no limits to his mercy.”

(source)

And yet, on this exact same trip, Philip would spend $20 worth at a tavern, and leave the state without paying, which lead to his parents having to cover for it after his death. But what's most considerable, is that in 1801, $20 is equivalent in purchasing power to about $466.63 today. So basically, Philip spent a shit ton on alcohol on his trip, and probably couldn't pay it back, so he left it behind in the state and returned home;

“I have paid 20 Dlls 67 to the keeper of the city tavern on account of your son’s bill and have taken a receipt in full. I enquired for other bills, but could not find any, and I believe he owed nothing more.”

(source)

Even Hamilton, himself, fell prey to this “good kid” behavior, having described Philip as if he was this innocent soul that could be ruined by the world in his response to Rush's condolence letter mentioned above;

“My loss is indeed great. The highest as well as the eldest hope of my family has been taken from me. You estimated him rightly—He was truly a fine youth. But why should I repine? It was the will of heaven; and he is now out of the reach of the seductions and calamities of a world, full of folly, full of vice, full of danger—of least value in proportion as it is best known. I firmly trust also that he has safely reached the haven of eternal repose and felicity.

You will easily imagine that every memorial of the goodness of his heart must be precious to me. You allude to one recorded in a letter to your son. If no special reasons forbid it, I should be very glad to have a copy of that letter.”

(source)

And while treating Philip as “this sweet little angel that the world could have corrupted”, it's not Hamilton didn't know his son and his rebellious tendencies.

“I am anxious to hear from Philip. Naughty young man.”

(source)

I love the idea that Philip was a unruly and impish teen, but played the good student and well-mannered young man act very well in front of others. Anyway, fun little headcannon for you all about the regency little fuckboy I wanted to ramble about.

#amrev #american history #american revolution #alexander hamilton #historical alexander hamilton #philip hamilton #history #hamilchildren #hamilton family #hamilkids #hamilton kids #cicero's history lessons #txt

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ashdreams2023 · 2 years

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Hii, so my brother passed away last year and it’s really affecting me lately and I was just wondering if you could do Loki comforting a reader who has lost a family member?? If not, that’s totally fine, sorry for bothering you :)

A better place

He didn’t want to show up during the actual funeral so he ended up coming after when it was only you and family.

"You must be Loki, they are upstairs in their room, it’s the third one on the right" Loki nodded and headed towards the stairs, his heart sinking with each step.

The loss was still new and the wounds fresh, he remembered when his mother died, it felt so rushed and he didn’t have a proper time to grieve.

He had nobody, and knows how miserable you must feel at this very moment, feeling hopeless and empty in some mysterious way.

Your room’s door was opened so he coughed in his fist announcing that he’s coming in before opening the door fully. You sat on your bed holding a picture frame on your lap.

"Hi" he said so quietly.

You looked up to him and nodded, your eyes shut red from crying and your face looked drained out of color.

A sight far too familiar to his eyes, he wondered if the world just liked to make people look this way, lifeless like they have no purpose or goal.

He sat beside you and warped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest and just holding you there as you hugged the frame.

After a couple of silent minutes you spoke "I…don’t know how to feel, I’m so torn about being strong and letting my emotions take control…he left so suddenly I don’t know what to do" Loki rested his chin on your head and sighed nodding.

"You don’t have to know, you’re already doing your best" he pressed his lips to the top of your head "he’s proud of you believe me, you’re here honoring him and thinking about him" you sniffed hiding your face in his chest.

"And even though he left so suddenly, he’s in a higher and better place now, looking down at you and waiting till time ends and you two reunite"

"Do you fear death?" You said.

Loki smiled sadly at you "I’ve died countless my dear, it doesn’t necessarily scare me anymore but I know it’s gonna happen one day and for real this time"

You sighed, lifting the frame up for him to see.

A picture of you and your brother holding you as a toddler "I’ll miss him" you whispered.

"He misses you too" he said.

#tw: death #imagine #mcu #loki angst #loki laufeyson #loki #loki x reader #fanfic #comfort #loki imagine #mcu loki #loki/y/n #loki layfeyson x reader #loki friggason #loki friggachild

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saellefanwork · 4 months

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𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖

Reminder: This Demon Slayer fic is rated Mature (adults only) for canon-typical violence and eventual suggestive or explicit sexual content

Return to Chapters List

Chapter 26: Grief and Gratitude

Tanjiro visits Kyojuro to see how he is holding on.

Author's note: Happy New Year with delay guuuuys! Sorry that I'm a bit late, I was more wasted than expected after the new year lmao. That's the pros and cons of hosting the party, I guess. Not everyone can be as flashy as our dear Uzui the days following such an incredible night of cosplaying and playing board/video games with my gang!

Anyway, this is a long chapter, and I think it's FINALLY a calm one where some good things happen. 2024 shall bring less angst and suffering to our characters, I swear!

There's actually only two chapters left. The rest will be bonuses!

Kyojuro held your hand, which seemed so delicate and cold in his, his eyes tracing the calluses and scars that adorned your palm and fingers. To most, such marks might appear unsightly, but the former Flame Pillar found them beautiful. They were the hands of a warrior who had battled, bled, and made profound sacrifices in the relentless pursuit of protecting others.

As a Pillar of the Kisatsutai, he was no stranger to the concept of sacrifice. To fulfill his duty and shield the vulnerable or his subordinates, he had willingly placed his life on the line, time and time again, without a moment's hesitation. Yet, upon reflection, he could recognize the boundaries of his own resolve when compared to yours. As a proud heir of the Rengokus, he found himself unable, or at the very least highly reluctant, to compromise his image, dignity, or principles. Becoming a demon, remaining one to vanquish his foes and save innocent people, or even accepting the loss of a civilian to ambush an Upper Moon—these were not options for him if the decisions were his to make. But you, you could seize such opportunities, unburdened by the fear of tarnishing your honor if it meant safeguarding your loved ones or more lives. To fight against monsters, one must accept the possibility of becoming a monster himself. Sacrifices were part of being a Demon Slayer, a reality well known to all, yet few were willing to soil their hands to fulfill their duty. By shouldering such weight, you demonstrated a level of selflessness that exceeded his own. In this aspect, you reminded him of his dear friend Tengen, who had quite a dark past too. Both of you were more honorable than him in his opinion, even though others might unjustly criticize your lifepaths. He acknowledged that he, too, had been unjust to you at some point.

His thoughts meandered through memories of the challenging last few months that the two of you had faced together. It was difficult to fathom that nearly a year ago, he had professed his love to you for the first time, after years of close friendship. The recollection of your initial kiss brought a faint smile to his lips, though the subsequent events left him burdened with profound sorrow and regret. His upbringing had instilled within him a stringent code of conduct, deeply rooted in bushido principles, but it offered no pardon for his past actions. He understood that you had forgiven him already, yet he longed to voice his remorse once more. How much he wanted to talk to you again...

"Rengoku-san Aniki..."

The Hashira raised his head slightly upon hearing his name, his thoughts disrupted as he turned halfway toward the room's entrance. He must have been deeply engrossed in his contemplation not to have sensed the presence of his former tsuguko approaching The young man stood near the door, his expression tinged with concern.

"Come over here, Tanjiro my boy," Kyojuro invited, tapping the seat beside him, unconsciously mimicking their second meeting on the train. The charcoal burner was taken aback by his superior addressing him by his given name, although Giyuu was also using it since the Hashira training. It wasn't unwelcome; in fact, quite the opposite. He nodded warmly and approached with a smile, which turned sad as he glanced at you.

"Nagase-san, she is..."

"Hmm! Kanoko has been in a coma for three months, as I'm sure your little sister has explained to you," Kyojuro began, his voice remaining as robust and steady as ever. "Nezuko has been a tremendous aid in taking care of her. The butterfly girls fon't allow me to tend to her, citing modesty and feminine dignity, so all I can do is hold her hand when they're not attending to her."

Tanjiro smiled compassionately at his former mentor, finding it admirable that Kyojuro could still provide kind and reassuring smiles despite the helplessness he must be feeling. He could hear and smell the worry and hint of self-deprecation that the retired Pillar exuded.

"I was informed that her body has endured significant strain due to her Blood Demon Art," Tanjiro confirmed as he settled into the offered seat. "But her scent suggests she's in a peaceful slumber, at least. I wouldn't be surprised if she awakens soon," he added with sincerity, wearing an encouraging smile.

Kyojuro's large eyes widened slightly as he gazed at his tsuguko, then his expression softened. "That's wonderful news, Tanjiro! I also have faith she'll wake up soon, but it's comforting to hear it from a person who truly believes it too."

The two young men remained at your side for an extended period, sharing updates and easygoing conversation, occasionally punctuated by tranquil silences. The months they had spent together as master and disciple had forged a camaraderie that resembled a fraternal bond, something that the boy in the checkered haori found both gratifying and pride-worthy.

"Rengo... Kyojuro-san," Tanjiro ventured timidly, emboldened by the informal address now used by his senpai. He was relieved to see that the older man didn't correct him. "How about we take a walk outside? It might help clear your mind, and I need to attend my recovery training anyway."

"Excellent idea!" Kyojuro responded enthusiastically. "How about I supervise your training, as a tribute to the months you've spent as my tsuguko?"

"With pleasure!" the young boy replied, his enthusiasm undiminished, despite his lingering apprehension. He vividly remembered the demanding nature of the Flame Pillar's tutoring, but he was not one to shy away from challenges or intimidation. He was the eldest son after all!

You awoke for the first time since the final battle a few days after the conversation between Tanjiro and Kyojuro. The enticing aroma of food miraculously pulled you out of the limbo where you had been immersed for months. Slowly, you opened your eyes, your stomach growling despite your confused state. The first thing that met your gaze was Aoi leaning over you, her brows furrowed, her serious face almost entirely filling your blurred field of vision.

She professionally lifted your eyelids and examined each of your pupils before straightening.

"It's good to see you've regained consciousness, Nagase-san. You've been showing signs of restlessness in your slumber for a few hours now, so I suspected you'd wake up soon. How do you feel?"

"Very weak...," you murmured, your voice hoarse and almost inaudible. "Food... smells good..."

"Does it? It's just soup, though. Now that you're fully human again, you can have it for dinner. Sorry that your first meal in so long can't be something more special, but you'll need to eat soft food for at least a few days."

Despite your disoriented state, a powerful emotion overcame you. Human food, not the blood of wild animals or the one of your dear comrades... you had almost forgotten how a real good meal tasted. How long had you been asleep, anyway? Your gaze instinctively turned toward the window above you. The setting sun bathed the cherry blossoms and plum trees of the Butterfly Estate's courtyard in a silky light with warm pink hues. It was already spring… You couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness at having missed so much precious time with your loved ones.

Aoi supported you to sit up and slipped the tray of food in front of you. Despite the hunger and the joy of being human again (and alive), a question gnawed at you.

"Kyojuro...?"

"He's doing well. He had to be placed in intensive care after the battle, but he was only unconscious for two weeks afterward. He started his rehabilitation a month ago." Rehabilitation? You didn't have time to inquire further as she continued, "He was doing exercises with Tanjiro and Inosuke. I didn't want to give him false hope, so I didn’t tell him that you might wake up soon, but I saw Kaname-san fly off his perch when you emerged. He should be back any moment now."

You had many questions, but it was difficult to speak, so you settled for nodding and focused on eating. Soup had never feel so good, and it was frustrating that your hand trembled a whole lot. Your watchful assistant only intervened when necessary, letting you reacquaint yourself with moving again as much as possible. After a few spoonfuls, you already began to feel a bit better.

Toward the end of the laborious meal, Kyojuro burst into the chamber with a deafening crash of the western door.

"Kanoko! You're really awake!" he exclaimed with a huge smile, his face radiating both contagious joy and profound relief.

"Don't shout in the patient's room," Aoi snapped at him.

Ignoring her, your childhood friend jumped swiftly to your side, taking your hand in his. His shunpo made an unusual, loud clicking sound, almost like he had struck the ground with something hard, but your foggy mind didn't delve into the details. You smiled tenderly at your beloved, gently caressing his face with your free hand. He hastily kissed your palm and rested his cheek against it, gazing at you with fondness. Embarrassed by your open displays of affection, Aoi coughed and grumbled about the Flame Pillar's incorrigible behavior.

"Kyojuro... I'm relieved to see you in good shape," you said with an amused tone, as much as your rusty vocal cords allowed.

"Hmm! Kocho's rehabilitation therapy is as effective as ever. You'll be back on your feet soon too, Kanoko! Right, Kanzaki?"

He turned his attention to your nurse, seeking her confirmation, but Aoi's countenance took on a somber and sorrowful complexion. She tightly gripped the hem of her apron, nervously fidgeting with it.

"Um... yes! My master has already prepared customized treatments for both of you. You'll regain your strength quickly, Nagase-san."

Your gaze shifted between Kyojuro, whose expression had subtly closed off although he maintained a reassuring smile, and the remorseful young girl before you. You decided to address the aspiring doctor directly.

"What do I need to know, Kanzaki? I was aware of the risks every time I used my Blood Demon Art. What's the final diagnosis?"

Aoi's countenance deepened into a new shade of sadness, but she responded, "Well... according to Shinobu-senpai's analyses, it appears that the Time Backlash has caused irreversible damage to your body, Nagase-san... especially the last two instances during your transition back to your human form. While most of your battle injuries have left minor scars, many of your organs seem to have weakened, as if they've prematurely aged. I'm truly sorry to have to deliver this news like this, but... in this state, it's unlikely that you will live past thirty."

The absence of surprise in Kyojuro's darkened expression, who was no longer smiling, indicated that he had already been informed of the situation. He inspected your reaction with concern, raising his eyebrows when he noticed you softly laughing.

"In the context of a demon hunter's lifespan, thirty years equates to old age. An early end is a small price to pay for the miracles granted by my Blood Demon Art, and it would be in poor taste to complain when Marked individuals have even less time ahead of them." A menacing anguish stirred within you as you thought of the fate awaiting most of the remaining Pillars and Tanjiro... but you pushed it aside for now. Kyojuro held your hand tighter; you managed to continue, "I have no regrets. Thank you for informing me about all this, Kanzaki."

"Don't thank me... you have every right to be angry or sad, you know. What's happening to you is unfair. The rest of us stayed behind, which is why we are alive and in good health. On the other hand, you fought valiantly, and..."

She burst into tears, unable to finish her sentence.

"...And we were rewarded with a magnificent victory," Kyojuro continued, completing her thought and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "The end of a thousand-year-old war. That is worth all the sacrifices. We did it precisely because we didn’t want others to go through the same hardships as we did. Unlike many fallen comrades, we even have the chance to witness the dawn of a world without demons, where the new generations can live without fearing the night. Don't be sad, Kanzaki. Let's cherish the time we have left together, in honor of those who departed this world too soon. And who knows, miracles may happen!"

Aoi continued to cry while nodding vigorously. "I promise we'll do our best to keep you healthy for as long as possible! We'll defy the odds!"

"I have no doubt that you all will do an extraordinary job, thank you!" Kyojuro exclaimed enthusiastically, his gentle pat turning into an encouraging slap on her shoulder.

"Whatever happens, we'll forever be grateful for your care," you added with a sincere smile.

Aoi threw herself into your arms, and both you and Kyojuro chuckled at her outpouring of emotion. It was rare to see the young girl in this state, as she typically wore a mask of severity and discontent. You returned her embrace warmly, gently rubbing top of her head.

The butterfly nurse eventually left the room, and you quickly drifted back to sleep after the meal, your body still recovering. Kyojuro remained steadfast by your side throughout the night, despite the staff's insistence that he should lie in the neighboring bed. You didn't try to persuade him otherwise, fully aware of his stubbornness and relishing the comfort of having him close.

Dawn broke, and you awoke again, a habit perhaps formed during your last year as a demon desperately avoiding daylight. Sensing your restlessness, Kyojuro opened his valid eye as well.

"What's wrong, Kanoko? Is there something you need?"

"The sunrise..." you whispered, your voice strained from fatigue.

Initially, Kyojuro assumed you were still half asleep and was about to reassure you that the sun couldn't harm you anymore. However, he soon realized that fear was not the cause of your reaction. With an understanding gleam in his eye, he gently lifted you into his arms, cradling you as if you weighed nothing. He swiftly wrapped a blanket around you then carefully carried you outside. Once again, you noticed something different in his gait and the sound of his footsteps, but your thoughts were swept away when he executed a leap that brought you both to the rooftop. A tile broke beneath him after his slightly ungraceful landing, and he muttered to himself about Kocho going to kill him later for that mishap.

You chuckled softly, abruptly halting as you felt the first rays of light on your skin. Your gaze wandered toward the horizon, where the lush tropical forest and the mountains gradually came to life under the gentle morning glow. The colors of spring blossomed before you, vibrant and more captivating than ever, while the melodious symphony of birds celebrated the dawning of a new era. As you observed the daystar emerging from the dew-kissed landscape, you couldn't help but be reminded of Kyojuro's warmth. The soothing rays caressed your skin, which had grown pale after a year of darkness. You closed your eyes, basking in the embrace of the sunshine, a tear of joy tracing a path down your cheek. The Flame Hashira watched you in profound silence as you savored your first peaceful sunrise.

"My time as a demon has been a challenge for both of us, but I want to thank you for being my guiding light through this long and painful night," you whispered serenely.

You couldn't see it, but a myriad of emotions danced across Kyojuro's features. You felt him draw nearer, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his touch welcome, though you could sense it was tinged with a hint of restraint. You opened your eyes, meeting the blazing sea of his gaze. You couldn't help but get lost momentarily in the contemplation of his captivating beauty, his radiance accentuated by the blessing of the morning sun.

"In truth, Kanoko, it's the opposite," he murmured. "Thank you for all the times you saved me, despite knowing the consequences it would have on our relationship and your own well-being. Without your unwavering dedication and sacrifices, I don't know if we would have won, and for sure I would have never experienced the joy of witnessing the dawn of a demon-free world with you."

His words brought a lump to your throat, and you lifted your head to capture his lips in a kiss filled with profound emotions. You perceived a fleeting hesitation and a hint of tension on his side, causing you to pull back slightly, searching his eye with a questioning expression. He averted his gaze uncomfortably.

"I didn't want us to have this discussion right away, but... it seems necessary now. I love you with all my heart, Kanoko. My deepest desire is to cherish the years we have left together and make the most of it. However, given our potentially limited time, I would understand if you felt the need to seek someone with a better chance of living a full life, a man who could watch your future children grow if you decide to have any," he spoke slowly, each word carefully chosen.

You could sense the load of his speech, the difficult contemplation he had undertaken while you were in your coma. The recent events must have weighed heavily on him, and it was clear that he had grappled with this resolution to give up on you. It struck you that your positions had reversed from a previous conversation you'd had, right before he embarked on his mission aboard the Mugen Train.

"What about you, Kyojuro?" you asked, your gaze fixed on him. "Do you desire to find a healthy partner who might have a better chance of raising your future children?"

The former Flame Pillar shook his head firmly, his gentle smile unwavering as he looked deep into your eyes.

"No, I don't. I want no one but you in my life, and I believe I'd rather be alone than seek another solely for the sake of normalcy. However, I would like you to take some time to seriously consider it, now that we are free from our duties and can meditate on these matters. I wouldn't want to deprive you selfishly of a better future; I could never forgive myself if I did."

You rolled your eyes, hoping to convey that he was worrying needlessly.

"Kyojuro… Do you truly believe I would give up on you after all we've been through to hold onto each other? I don't want anyone else in my life either."

Despite your reassurances, you could tell that he had something more to say.

"Even if I'm not… the same as before?" he whispered uncertainly.

The vulnerability in his voice left you momentarily speechless. Sensing your confusion, Kyojuro lifted the folds of his hakama, revealing his left leg—or rather, the absence of it. In place of his limb was a prosthesis, primarily composed of wood and lightweight metal, stopping just short of the knee. You didn't recall that your companion had lost his leg during the battle, but he had been seriously injured and poisoned in that area. Perhaps Shinobu had deemed amputation necessary afterward due to complications.

Kyojuro expected a horrified or more saddened reaction, but you didn't show much surprise; instead, your irises lit up with understanding. The strange noises when he walked and his 'clumsiness' on the rooftop now made sense. Your expression softened, and you gently caressed the prosthesis. Was he afraid you would love him less because of his wounds or perceived weakness? You knew that the loss of his half his eyesight had affected him more than he had let on already. But to you, he was more than just raw strength, bravery, or swordsmanship. He was the person closest to your heart, and he was the most beautiful man in the world to you, with or without any scars or disabilities. You could only hope to help him see that.

"Really, Kyojuro... is this the best you can do to try to convince me that there's a worthier match for me? Because that's not working very well." you replied with a teasing smile.

He looked at you in surprise, not expecting your lighthearted response, before letting out an amused breath. He knew you well enough to realize that he wouldn't change your mind anytime soon. So he gave in to his desires and leaned closer to you, placing his lips on yours and adding his warmth to the daylight.

The following morning, your first recovery training exercises began. They weren't harsh, but given your condition, even standing proved to be a challenge. You could feel just how weakened your body had become, and something inside you told you that, apart from your life expectancy, you might never fully regain your pre-demonization strength and vitality. However, mastering total concentration breathing allowed you to get back on your feet relatively quickly, and after a few days, you could walk without support. It was at this point that Kyojuro proposed taking a stroll through the Kisatsutai cemetery, a suggestion to which you readily agreed. Although you had only briefly been a part of this army and had known only a fraction of its members, you still wanted to pay your respects to your fallen comrades. The idea of informing these brave warriors that their fight was over and they could finally rest in peace felt like an important step in allowing both of you to move forward.

As you strolled through the graves, placing a flower at each tombstone, you quickly ran out of chrysanthemums. You had left some baskets behind, thinking you might not have the energy for an extended walk, but since you were feeling fine, Kyojuro offered to go back to fetch them. He took a shortcut across the woods, perhaps pushing his prosthesis a little too hard, but he couldn't help testing his limits. You let out an exasperated sigh as you watched him jump from a tree branch to another playfully, despite Shinobu's warnings not to engage in unnecessary risks. However, you knew better than to judge him harshly; after all, you were not much different and recently had your share of scoldings for the same reasons. Old habits died hard, it seems.

After waiting for a few minutes, you felt the approach of two individuals along the path, likely some former members of the Corps or relatives of the deceased.

"Anehue! You're back to normal!"

You turned just in time to intercept Senjuro, who had sprinted toward you from a distance and launched himself into your arms. Wide-eyed, you held him tightly, a lump forming in your throat. Kyojuro had promised that you would visit his family after you had regained enough stamina to make the journey back to Komazawa, so you didn't expect to see his littler brother so soon, but you welcomed the chance nonetheless. It had been almost a year since you had last met; he had grown so much, and the tips of his spiky bangs now brushed against your nose. His familiar scent enveloped you along with the warmth of his embrace, and you noticed he had become stronger, although he remained a relatively ordinary young boy in that regard.

"Senjuro... I missed you so much..."

That was all you managed to say without breaking into tears. The teenager was crying freely in your arms, and you hugged him even tighter. After a few moments, you finally released him and took a step back, looking into his eyes for the first time after such a long time. The resemblance between the Rengokus was still as striking as ever, and Senjuro's puberty only emphasized his connection with his brother and father.

"Me too, Anehue... I'm so happy to see you again." His bass voice had deepened somewhere between his thirteenth and fourteenth spring. "Now that you're back to your human form and awake, we can see each other like we used to, right?"

You were about to respond affirmatively but froze as you remembered sensing another presence approaching earlier, now standing behind Senjuro. With a sinking feeling in your stomach, you slowly raised your eyes to the third party, already knowing who it was: Rengoku Shinjuro. He must have witnessed the entire exchange. How would he react to learning the truth about you?

Contrary to your expectations, the gruff man appeared surprisingly relaxed. He stood with his arms crossed, adopting a pose that bore a resemblance to his eldest son's signature one, albeit more casually. His expression held a hint of exasperation and weariness, as he addressed you.

"Don't make that face, Nagase. Senjuro confessed everything to me weeks ago. I had suspected a while back that you had become a demon, which is why my sons avoided talking about you, and you stopped coming to the estate. If you had died, they would have eventually told me. But I must admit I didn't imagine you were fighting in that condition for the Kisatsutai, or that you had saved Kyojuro with your powers, and had been in a coma because of your Blood Demon Art.”

Lowering your gaze, you remained silent, still holding Senjuro's hand. Your beloved reappeared at that moment with new baskets of flowers, arriving through the path this time. His customary radiant smile suddenly turned vigilant upon noticing his father. While he greeted him respectfully, he subtly positioned himself slightly between the two of you in a protective gesture.

"It's been a while, Father. I'm glad to see you're in good health," he said sincerely, but with a touch of caution in his voice.

Indeed, the patriarch appeared to be sober and stable, displaying a composure that was unusual for him. In fact, you couldn't recall ever seeing him leave his home for anything other than sake runs. You wondered how long this change had been occurring. Senjuro's timid but relaxed smile seemed to indicate that it had been a while.

"Humph. It would be better if you came back more often and stayed longer, like I'd expect from my eldest son," his father chided without any real bite in his voice. "You took so long to send news and return that I had to come get you myself with your little brother. And what do I find once I arrive to the Butterfly Manor? That you're leisurely strolling nearby with Nagase without a care. Tssk, I should have known better than to worry for nothing."

Despite his exasperated speech, there was a hint of amusement and relief in his tone. It was rare to hear this man, who had been so distant, stern, and violent until recently, express his feelings. Not giving you a break to get used to this new behavior, Shinjuro looked around with a tinge of regret.

"It's been a while since I last came to this place. I have many comrades resting here too. I suppose it's time I pay my respects properly. Let's continue together."

After exchanging a glance with your partner, you shrugged your shoulders, having no reason to refuse. The visit to the graves proceeded in a respectful and contemplative silence. You placed a flower at each tomb, mostly without saying anything. Occasionally, Shinjuro or Kyojuro would introduce a Slayer they had known, sharing one or two memories about them, their expressions filled with sorrow. It was hard not to have tears in your eyes and a heavy heart while listening to their stories, even if you didn't personally know the deceased. Fortunately, the grief was softened by the idea that no more victims would be buried here in the line of duty, and you conveyed the wonderful news through your prayers to each of these valiant warriors.

"Shall we have some tea?" Senjuro finally suggested when the last flower was offered. "I brought some... it's probably lukewarm now, but this tea is good cold too, and the weather is nice. I also made some mochis."

You found a charming spot under a sakura tree. The four of you enjoying leisure time together was a new experience and felt a little awkward. You weren't used to anything other than hunting demons or training for that purpose, making you feel a bit restless, as if you were wasting precious time you no longer had to spare. Additionally, it was challenging to feel comfortable around Shinjuro, given his behavior in recent years. Senjuro appeared to be the most content among you, probably because he lived with his father daily and knew him the best. He was also the only one who hadn't faced demons directly, so maybe the new reality didn't hit him as hard as the rest of you. In any case, his relaxed demeanor slowly put you all more at ease.

After some time, perhaps encouraged by the emotions stirred by the memories of his fallen comrades, Shinjuro spoke in a calm voice:

"I must admit... I find it hard to believe that you managed to defeat Kibutsuji Muzan. Nagase, your ancestors hadn't falsely earned their reputation as excellent warriors that Rengoku Genjuro used to boast about in his boring writings. I owe you and Kyojuro an apology and my thanks. You kids did a great job."

Turning on his knees to face both of you, the head of the Rengoku family and former Flame Pillar bowed to the ground before your widened eyes. You had sworn before the gods that you would make this man eat his derogatory words about you and your clan, but over the years, it had lost its significance, especially after your transformation into a demon. Nonetheless, Shinjuro's apologies and congratulations struck a chord within you.

Both you and Kyojuro quickly bowed back. "We were just doing our duty!" your childhood friend hurriedly brushed away, distinctly flustered by his father's behavior.

Shinjuro straightened up slowly and placed his hands on your shoulders for you both to do the same. The gesture was affectionate but somewhat awkward, as the family patriarch had lost the habit of displaying tenderness.

"You can give yourselves more credit. That’s not all I wanted to say, though…" he hesitated, gathering courage. "If you wish to marry each other one day... you have my blessing," he uttered, clearing his throat and gazing to the side, a little embarrassed.

Your mouth opened in surprise at the declaration, and you bowed again, deeper this time. "Thank you, Rengoku-san."

As you straightened, you stole a glance toward Kyojuro, whose eye was shining brighter than before, his usual disciplined façade cracking under the weight of his emotions. He seemed much younger when he showed vulnerability like this. "Thank you, Father," he replied softly, his throat tight.

Shinjuro gazed at him regretfully, as if he was looking back at the harshness and unfairness with which he had treated his sons. Suddenly, he moved closer to Kyojuro and pulled him into a rough and uncontrolled embrace, filled with all the love and remorse he couldn’t express properly with words.

Initially stunned by surprise, Kyojuro froze. It had been about a decade since his father had shown him any attention, let alone affection. Now that he was an adult, a hug wasn't the kind of paternal gesture he thought he desired. But as he was receiving it, he realized how much he had secretly longed for his dad's warmth, who had once been so loving and passionate. He slowly returned the hug, his expression a complex mix of disbelief, hesitation, and boyish joy.

After a few moments of emotionally charged embrace, Shinjuro pulled back to look at both of you.

"I've asked the butterfly girls to send some Kakushi at our Estate to supervise your rehabilitation there, which they've accepted. Shall we head back together?"

To say you were surprised by the proposition was an understatement. Was the Rengoku patriarch inviting you to stay at their house for a while? His sharp eyes lingered on you as he waited for your reply. The two brothers also turned their expectant gazes toward you, their faces beaming with excitement.

An immense wave of happiness washed over you, and you nodded, grinning wildly.

"Hmm, let's go home!"

Taisho secret:

Kyojuro had informed Senjuro about your coma but hadn't extended an invitation for his brother to visit you. As suggested in the conversation, he had also avoided a proper discussion with his father regarding your previous demonic state. At that time, he felt ill-prepared to address the topic, as you were unconscious, and he was adapting to life with his prosthetic limb.

After you woke up, he still didn't give updates to his family, though he couldn't pinpoint the exact reason. Perhaps he wanted to savor some privacy with you after a long period without contact. It's also possible he wanted to give you more time to reflect on the conversation you had and, quite possibly, he feared his father's reaction upon learning the truth about you.

Fortunately, Senjuro stepped in to bridge the gap. He could sense that their father had found a better emotional place, especially after hearing about the defeat of Kibutsuji Muzan. Also, he understand that Kyojuro was not in his best state of mind and doesn't resent him for momentarily shutting himself. (What a golden child <3)

Next chapter: "Home"

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daitranscripts · 6 months

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Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts Pt. 23

The Divine Election

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts Masterpost First: Gaining an Invitation Previous: After The Ball

Josephine and a Revered Mother ar arguing in Skyhold.

Revered Mother: The matter is urgent, Lady Josephine.

Josephine: I am well aware of that, Revered Mother.

Revered Mother: We will need them to return to Val Royeaux as soon as possible. There are ceremonies–ordinations! Maker’s mercy!

Josephine: That’s quite impossible at the moment. However, I will see to this matter as soon as possible.

The PC joins them.

Revered Mother: My [lord/lady] Inquisitor! Please, may I have a word with you?

Dialogue options:

General: How can I help you? [1]

General: It’s always something. [2]

General: Not now. [3]

1 - General: How can I help you? PC: How may I assist you, Revered Mother? [4]

2 - General: It’s always something. PC: Just when you’ve solved one crisis, another springs up to take its place. Revered Mother: I am sorry to place this burden on your shoulders, but you are the only one who can help. [4]

3 - General: Not now. PC: I’ve just returned from the Winter Palace. It will have to wait. Revered Mother: I know you must be weary, Inquisitor. Ending the civil war is no small accomplishment. But you alone can help us. [4]

4 - Scene continues.

Revered Mother: With the political turmoil put to rest, our minds turn to a single question: the next Divine. We cannot answer it without the Left and Right Hands of Divine Justinia V.

Josephine: I have already told you, Revered Mother: Lady Leliana and Seeker Cassandra cannot be spared from their duties.

Revered Mother: But surely with the support of the empire, the Inquisition will not be harmed by the loss of just two souls?

5 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: Why do you need them? [6]

Investigate: How long would they be gone? [7]

General: I’d have to let them decide. [8]

General: Those are crucial people. [9]

General: You’ve been told no. [10]

6 - Investigate: Why do you need them? PC: Why do you need Leliana and Cassandra? Revered Mother: They were Her Holiness’s most trusted advisors. They represent her legacy, her hopes for peace in Thedas. They could rally the grand clerics to follow as no candidate from the clergy has been able to.

Dialogue options:

Confused: What are you saying? [11]

Sad: The clergy is that divided? [12]

Surprised: They’re candidates for Divine? [13]

Pleased: You think very highly of them. [14]

11 - Confused: What are you saying? PC: I don’t understand. What is it you’re asking of them? Revered Mother: We need them to serve as candidates for the role of Divine. [Back to 5] 12 - Sad: The clergy is that divided? PC: Are the grand clerics truly unable to elect a Divine? Revered Mother: Everyone with the political support to succeed Justinia perished along with her. Those who remain are unable to gather the majority votes from the Conclave of grand clerics. They have been deadlocked for too long.[Back to 5] 13 - Surprised: They’re candidates for Divine? PC: Leliana and Cassandra… are candidates to become the Divine? How is that possible? Revered Mother: Not yet. But they could be. We need them to be. There is precedent—other times when clerics remained deadlocked, a successor was chosen from outside the clergy. [Back to 5] 14 - Pleased: You think very highly of them. PC: You must think very well of them to suggest such a thing. Revered Mother: Lady Leliana and Seeker Cassandra were Justinia’s most trusted friends and advisors. Our late Divine is still held in high esteem. To honor her, the grand clerics might support one of them as successor.[Back to 5]

7 - Investigate: How long would they be gone? PC: How long does the Chantry need them? Revered Mother: Several months at least. If one of them is crowned Divine, she would not be returning to the Inquisition. [15]

8 - General: I’d have to let them decide. PC: Leliana and Cassandra would have to make that decision for themselves. Josephine: And they certainly will. At a later date. [15]

9 - General: Those are crucial people. PC: These aren’t just any two people. They’re key members of the Inquisition. Revered Mother: For the sake of Thedas, we must ask you to make this sacrifice— Josephine: This will have to be settled later. [15]

10 - General: You’ve been told no. PC: Josephine has already told you this is impossible. [15]

15 - Scene continues.

Josephine: The Inquisitor has only just returned and has important business to attend to. You must excuse us, Revered Mother.

The Revered Mother leaves.

Josephine: Don’t let them detract from your victory at Halamshiral.

Josephine (HLTA complete): We’ve beaten his Wardens and stopped his intrigues. Soon, Corypheus will have no place to hide. Cullen is hoping to press our advantage. We’ll plan our next attack when you’re ready.

Josephine (HLTA started): The support of the empire should make our search for the Grey Wardens easier. Varric is eager to help his friend Hawke.

Josephine (HLTA not started): Now that the political situation has stabilized, we can devote more Inquisition resources to pursuing Corypheus. I would talk to Hawke. Soon.

Next Quest: What Pride Had Wrought

#dragon age inquisition #dragon age #dai transcripts #dragon age transcripts #dragon age dialogue #wewh #wicked eyes and wicked hearts #long post #at lasttttt

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jamesunderwater · 1 year

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Unmoored: a marauder's era Lily fic

Photo credit: itsjamespotter Summary: Lily is too young to lose both parents. She is too young for a lot of things.

----

The wind swirled soft new flakes of snow onto their coats, their hats, their scarves, in a gesture of childlike innocence that felt deeply incongruent with the moment. The Evans mausoleum stood before the five silhouettes. Yellowed against the backdrop of white, it appeared oddly neglected for having had two new occupants added within the past 6 months. A single green Christmas bow was fitted to the door handle, the one sign of modern life. Lily had specifically requested no flowers; instead, those who wished to honor her mother were asked to donate to the children’s hospital at which Rose Evans had dedicated her life. This was the hill she chose to die on–the only thing she cared about in the barrage of decisions to be made in the wake of her mother’s death. She had been all too happy to let Petunia plan it all. Except that. Lily and Rose had discussed it specifically when her father passed half a year before, thinking it would not matter for quite some time.

----

“I know your Aunt Corinne will just have a fit if I change it for your father–she made a fuss about it at their mother’s funeral, too–but I just think–”

“It’s a waste,” Lily finished for her.

“Yes. It is. I mean, what use…” Rose paused kneading the dough in her hands to take a quiet, sad breath. When she looked up at her daughter again, there was a thin layer of tears in her eyes. “He doesn’t need flowers, now.”

A lump formed in Lily’s throat, and she nodded, placing a hand over her mother’s. “I know, Mum.”

The moment stretched between them, until Rose patted Lily’s hand, wiped her eyes, and returned to the dough. “At any rate, you know my position now. Have everyone donate to St. Mark’s when it’s my time, alright?” She glanced at Lily briefly, a small smile on her face, as if this were an inside joke between them. As if the idea that she’d be gone any time soon was funny.

----

It turned out not much fighting was required to get Petunia to agree. Though the two had done nothing but argue and yell during their father’s passing and the planning of his funeral, it seemed neither had much left to say to one another at the sudden loss of their mother. Lily hadn’t even heard from Petunia herself that she and Vernon were expecting. Rose had called to tell her of her sister’s happy news.

And less than a week later, she was gone.

----

“Lily!” James’s voice carried through their tiny house much louder than he ever realized. She cringed from in the bathroom.

“What?” She called back, distracted by her current investigation. Surely, she must be at least spotting. She was 6 days late. There must be some blood, if she just wiped again–

“It’s Petunia!”

“What?” She called back again, attention now thoroughly pulled in two directions.

His voice came back this time at a normal volume, low, from the other side of the door. “Really, Lil, I think you should come take the call. She sounds–off.”

Concerned now, she flushed, turning her mind away from the problems of the bathroom for the time being.

----

Lily had always liked the word ‘unmoored.’ She felt it both looked and sounded like a small boat, lilting across the waves, far from where it was meant to be. With her mother gone, she finally understood its full meaning, and found herself clinging to it like a childhood teddy. Unmoored, unmoored, unmoored, the word played repeatedly in her head throughout the day and as she lay in bed at night, further away from James on their mattress than she’d ever laid before. With no mother, no father, a sister who had disowned her, what family did she have? What link was left to her own sense of self? She suddenly felt that a bit of metal bent into the shape of a circle and a few sweet words did nothing to tie two people together. James didn’t know her. He didn’t know the evolution of her laugh. He wasn’t there when she’d been 5 and split her kneecap open after coming down the slide too hard. He wasn’t the recipient of her late night letters those first few years at Hogwarts, when she’d woken up still confused not to be at home. How could he be the only family she had left? He didn’t count for anything.

----

“Lily,” His voice came to her through the door again, soft and kind. She hated it. “Sorry, I know–you asked for space, but er, it’s been an hour and a half now, and…” He sounded sheepish. “Well, I’m sorry, but I do have to wee.”

Pantsless, she glared at him through the door from her seat on the toilet. “Be out in a minute,” she replied in a flat tone, which seemed to satisfy him.

She had spent the first 30 minutes begging her uterus to bleed, for the love of Merlin, bleed, you stupid fuck. Half a roll of toilet paper later, she’d spent another 15 minutes simply staring at the floor tiles, willing herself to do the damn spell. Finally, rolling her shoulders back, locking her jaw, and shutting off her mind, Lily aimed her wand over her lower abdomen and whispered the spell. The wand tip glowed a strong green. Pregnant.

The last 45 minutes she simply hadn’t known how to move.

----

The sun was beginning to die now, the sky behind the small mausoleum shifting to a lavender hue that changed the white snow a ghostly pale. The boys had dutifully stood in a line beside her, uncharacteristically still, for nearing 30 minutes. The last guests, and Petunia herself, had left over an hour ago. Still, Lily couldn’t stop staring at this building that would now house both of her parents, for all time. How could that be true? How could it be true that her mother would not rise again and walk through the doors of that stone house, smiling to greet her? That her father would not wave at her from beyond the foggy window, coffee mug in hand? How could they leave her, now, of all times? How could they leave her childhood home for this crypt, this lifeless eternity, where she would never get to tell them, never get to see their smiles, never get to feel their hands on her growing stomach, never get to watch them hold her child, never get to call them Grandma and Grandad? How could she be this achingly alone just as another person began to form inside her?

She felt James stir beside her. “Don’t.” She barely opened her lips to speak the word.

“Lily…” There was a pleading tone to his voice.

She put up a hand to stop his arm from reaching out for her. “I just–need another minute.”

Leaving their shadowing line, Lily walked up to the gray building and entered through the creaking doors. The light was quickly fading as she passed her father’s coffin, running a hand lightly over the stone. Reaching her mother, Lily looked down at the fresh coffin, nausea rising up with the tears. She placed a flattened hand on the cold surface and held it there, eyes closed, breathing. The longer she stood, the harder it was to think of leaving. She needed to go, or she might choose to freeze out here if it meant staying by her mother’s side.

Steeling herself, Lily knelt, facing the coffin as though it were only her mother’s bedside, and she was simply whispering a secret to her as she slept.

“Mum,” she started, butterflies exploding as she spoke the next words aloud. “I’m pregnant.” She let the words hang in the air, as if giving her mother time to process the news. Giving them both time.

“I just wanted you to be the first to know.”

----

Author's note: this is also my first fic I've posted on ao3, if you wanna leave a comment or kudos there! I came across this mausoleum on a walk yesterday and wondered what Lily might have felt, losing both parents so young, and as a new mother. This is what we got from that.

#lily evans #lily potter #james potter #the marauders #marauders era #mwpp #mwpp era #jily #jily fanfic #jily fanfiction #lily evans fanfic #lily x james #james x lily #my writing

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