the rage of a mother III — aemond targaryen x reader
When the whole kingdom believed you were mad, Aemond was there. And he would do anything to defend you.
warnings: grieve, violence, angst, blood, death, ptsd, this is some sad shit.
previous chapter in here. ya’ll asked for part 3 so here it is! idk how many parts this will have but i like it and i hope you do too. again, english is not my first language so i’m sorry if you find any mistakes here.
It’s been two days since your child was taken from you. Aemond tried his best to convince you to get some sleep, but you just couldn’t. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the black smoke on the form of a woman in front of you.
You tried to run to your baby before the witch, but it was too late. She took your little girl’s soul away. Now, you felt like she took yours too in the process, the only difference was that she left you to live without it.
Aemond took a look at you from the corner of his eye. You were across the room, sitting on a chair in front of the fireplace. He stood from the bed and walked to you, ready to say the same words he has been saying for the last couple days. ‘Please, y/n, come to bed. You need to sleep.’ All that effort only for you to ignore him.
But this time, when he got closer, he heard the sound of your voice.
“Aemma, Aemma, Aemma...”, you repeated the name of your daughter over and over again. “I’m here, my girl. Mommy’s here.”
Your gaze was on the fire. It was like the flames were calling you.
Aemond called your name once, but you didn’t answer.
He took his hand to your shoulder and that simple touch was enough for you to flinch. You looked at him with wide eyes, filled with tears. Your dark circles made your tiredness very clear. You seemed so... broken.
He tried to say something, but you took your finger to your lips, telling him to be quiet. With the other hand, you held his wrist tight. “Can you hear it?”, you whispered. “Aemma is crying.”
Aemond gulped. The only sound in the room was your own voice. He remembered the rumors that ran around the castle. ‘She is insane.’
“My love, look at me”, he said and kneeled in front of you to look you in the eyes. “Aemma is not here anymore.”
To say it out loud was as painful as a stab on the heart, but he couldn’t stand to see the love of his life like that. You had to understand. Losing you would be too much for him to handle.
“Listen to me, y/n, she is gone now”, he repeated and let a tear fall. “I know you want her here, but we need to let her go.”
“Why do I hear her then?”, you cried, finally staring at him. “Am I cursed too? Have the gods not taken enough from me?”
He had no words. There were no words to make you feel better. All he did was wrap his arms around your fragile body and let you cry.
After that night, you never talked about your daughter again. In fact, you spent three days without saying anything at all. Aemond was there, just like he promised.
Some nights were difficult. You’d wake up sweating and scared. The first time it happened he asked you about the nightmares, but soon he realized how much you hated to talk about it.
You tapped his shoulder once again in the middle of the night with tears streaming down your cheeks. It didn’t take more than a minute for him to wake up. “Again?”, he asked.
You nodded without saying a word. Aemond wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close, putting his face in the crook of your neck and you snuggled into his warm arms.
“Will it pass?”, you whispered, not even knowing if he was still awake.
He didn’t know the answer. How could he? It was hurting him just as much. The worst part was that he didn’t even know how to feel that kind of pain. Aemond never liked to feel things. For a long time, all he felt was anger. And when you met him and gave him a daughter, the two of you became his world. For the first time, he had lost someone he loved. It was way more painful than losing an eye.
“It will get better”, he answered. At least that was what he hoped for.
When the morning came, you prayed that he wouldn’t have to leave the bed. You knew that as soon as he did, both of you would have to deal with the reality. But your prayers were not enough and the sun reached your face. The birds were singing so beautifully that it didn’t even seem like there was a war going on.
Except that this time, you were the first to get up. Aemond grumbled something when he felt your warm body leaving his arms, but still, it was not enough to wake him up.
After everything you heard people saying about you, avoiding the maids became part of your routine. So, you got dressed by yourself. The last thing you needed was for them to create more rumors about your mental state.
You left your chambers after putting your gown on, without even bothering to braid your hair. For the first time since the loss of your daughter, you decided to walk a little around the garden outside the castle. It was still early and not many people were there. The weight on your shoulder begged you to go back to bed, but you were trying. Aemond needed you to be alright.
Hours went by and you didn’t even notice. The white daisies were doing a good job by making you forget about the pain inside of you. They were as beautiful as always. You wondered if Aemma would love them just as much as you did.
The sound of steps in your direction made you look away from the flowers. Ser Criston Cole was standing there, holding his helmet in one of his hands.
“My princess”, he said.
You never liked him. He might’ve been a good teacher to Aemond and a friend to Alicent, but you saw him as who he really was. An insecure and selfish man. You kept it to yourself, but it was inevitable not to feel uncomfortable in his presence.
“What do you want?”, you didn’t care to be polite. You were too exhausted to be polite, especially to someone like Ser Criston.
“There is someone who wishes to see you, my princess.”
“What? Are you a messenger now?”, you rolled your eyes and began to walk away. “Tell them I'm busy.”
“I was told that it’s really important.”
You stopped walking and turned to him once again. “Maybe you should call someone else then. I am sure you don’t want a mad woman like me to get involved in something so important.”
“I was sent to call only you, princess. Your presence is required.”
Ser Criston Cole did not seem happy to say those words. It was obvious for you to see how much he despised you, though you never quite understood why. But he knew very well why you bothered him so much. You were not weak like an ideal princess should be. You never cared about what others said about you. You were ambitious. You reminded him of someone.
Without a word, you followed him around the caste until you got to the Iron Throne. Aegon was not there, but Alicent, Otto Hightower and Aemond were. The absence of the King’s presence did not surprise you. Aegon was usually excluded from the family’s reunions. Otto Hightower was the one who made the important choices, no matter how unfair it was to Aegon.
“I’m surprised you bothered to summon me to a family meeting", you said to Alicent.
Aemond sighed. He knew that you and his mother never loved each other. Your marriage was only accepted because King Viserys still lived to allow it. If it was up to her, you would’ve never stepped a foot in King’s Landing. But it seemed to him that things were just getting worse every day.
“If it were up to me, I would have let you rest. I know how hard these last few days have been for you, my lady”, she faked a sympathetic smile. “But a... friend from Dragonstone has arrived with news I believe you should hear.”
The guards opened the doors behind you and you turned around to see a man walking in, carried by two more guards. He looked terrible, to say the least. His eye was so swollen that you couldn’t even stand to look at it for too long. His lip was cut and blood dripped down his chin, staining his torn, old shirt. He fell to the ground as soon as the men dropped him, so week and scared that it made you look away. Your gaze turned to your husband. He stared at the poor man with no pity.
“Can you repeat to the princess what you told prince Aemond, traitor?”, Otto asked the man.
The traitor looked at the prince scared. And right then, you knew that Aemond was responsible for that man’s torture.
“Rhaenyra Targaryen...”, the man spoke with a low voice.
“Louder. And look at your princess when you speak, bastard”, Aemond said with anger in his voice.
The man did as he was told, trying his best not to stutter. “Rhaenyra Targaryen has been working with the shadows, my princess.”
Suddenly, your eyes were filled with tears from anger and hate. You told them. You told everyone and nobody but your husband believed your words.
“How?”, you asked.
“The witch of the woods, my princess...”
“Her name. I want her name.”
“Please, my princess... I was cursed...”, he begged, but you did not have a single drop of mercy in your heart now. “I cannot say her name... her gods will come for me”
You surprised everyone by stealing Ser Criston’s sword. He tried to stop you, but you were quicker and walked to the traitor, pointing the sword to his neck. “You will give me her name or I'll kill you so slowly that you will beg for her gods to take you.”
He continued to look at you quietly, crying and sobbing. You did not feel anything. Because of the witch those gods, whoever they were, took your daughter.
You could hear her crying. Was she scared?
You lowered the sword and the man breathed relieved. That was, until he heard your next words. “Take him to the dungeon.”
He looked at the guards terrified while they took him by the arms, raising him from the ground. He begged again for your mercy, but you didn’t even look at him.
“I will speak to him”, you said and looked at your husband. “Alone.”
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ೄྀ࿐𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸 || 𝗲𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝗺𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗼𝗻
content: 18+ MDNI + mean girl!reader + cheating (reader on bf) + fingering + eddie is a little shit and loves bratty!reader + reader flips hair over her shoulder at one point
pt. 1 | pt. 2 (coming soon)
“I can’t help but dream of his head between my thighs, how his hair would feel against my—”
Eddie slams the diary closed with a triumphant smirk. Well, well, well.
When Eddie Munson woke up this morning and set off on his daily trek through the woods, he never imagined he’d find a diary, pink leather bound and worn with use, lost among the dirt and leaves by the side of the trail.
Daughter of the sherif, girlfriend to hawkin’s golden boy, the town’s fucking ice princess. Thinking dirty, filthy thoughts about him, the town freak.
He can’t decide whether he’s surprised or not. You’ve always been a prissy little thing, staring down your nose at everyone who dared step in your bubble, but you’ve always had a special attitude towards him. not a nicer one… oh no. Just… special.
Something Eddie realized from the very first time he ever set eyes on you is that if getting under your skin was an olympic sport, he’d be taking home all the gold medals. It became a game between you two, ever since he walked into your shared homeroom that cold morning of your sophomore year. Something about him bugs you, sets you on edge, and since he’s never been one to back down from a challenge, Eddie Munson took on the role of your most inspired antagonist.
Now that you’re both out of high school things have mellowed out. Mostly because you just don’t see each other often enough for your rivalry to retain its vicious edge. Still, when you do bump into each other—at the local diner or the drive in—Eddie's mouth instinctively curls into that old familiar smirk that makes you grind your teeth.
Last time he saw you was in that forest clearing where he conducts his… business. He was sitting on the old picnic table meeting with your boyfriend, a jock with less working brain cells than a teaspoon, when you showed up. Eddie couldn't believe his luck when he saw you come out of the tree line, annoyed snarl set on your face and pristine white sneakers side stepping every puddle of mud like it was radioactive waste.
“Alright, princess?” he’d smirked while your boy toy eyed up the baggie he’d just overpaid for.
You’d scoffed, a petty bitchy sound, while you studied your manicured nails. “Do I know you, freak?”
The interaction had been short, but it reignited that familiar brewing fire in Eddie, one he hadn't been able to satiate ever since—not with the pretty waitress at Johnny’s Diner, not with the clerk at the board game store he frequents, and definitely not with his hand, no matter how many times he pictured how pretty you’d look bent over the hood of his car tits bouncing every time he buried his cock inside tight pussy. No one could take those sharp eyes and ever sharper, poisonous tongue out of his mind.
And then, he found your diary.
Pulling up into the diner’s parking lot, Eddie's cock is already swelling. With a final look in the rearview mirror, he fluffs up his hair and exits the car, swinging the keys round his finger as he sets off towards the door. The bell above the doorway rings when he steps in and an older lady waves at him from behind the counter. “Anywhere you like, sweetheart. Be with you in a moment.”
“Not to worry, Rose. I won't be staying.”
With a winning smile he beelines his way to the booth tucked away in the corner, eyeing your pink tennis skirt and bitchy expression like a cat sizing up a canary.
It’s unfair how devastatingly beautiful you look, fiddling distractedly with your straw while your friends yap about something that clearly does not interest you. When his footsteps get close enough for you to hear you look up, and suddenly the straw is being crushed between your fingers.
He tips an imaginary hat. “Howdy, princess.”
The table goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Your friends are staring, wide appraising eyes flittering between you and the smirking boy undressing you with his eyes.
You flip your hair over your shoulder, eyeing him up and down as you lean back against the booth, arms crossed over your chest. “Can I help you, Freddy?”
The obvious jab makes his grin widen. “Just saying hello, it’s been a while. Can’t help but miss you, sunshine. My days are not the same without your effervescent charm.”
“Well you’ve said your hello,” you shoot him a fake smile just as your eyes roll and then you’re waving your hand at him in dismissal. The pretty glitter on your sharp manicured nails makes his cock twitch. “Off you go, then.”
“Actually, since I’m here,” he pulls the small pink journal from his back pocket. “See, I found this little—”
You’re on your feet before he can finish, molten lava in your eyes. “Give me that.”
“Oh,” he grins, “it’s yours? I wasn't sure you see, the contents seemed very…” he taps the notebook against his chin, “out of character,” he laughs. “Yeah let’s go with that.”
Eddie takes great joy in the way your eyes are flying around the place, making sure no one’s watching your interaction closer than they should. Your friends are still staring, but they flinch when you throw them an icy glare. Clearing your throat, you smooth out a strand of hair that got in your eyes. “Not sure what that is, Ernie. but I can help return it to its rightful owner, I suppose.” You shrug, “I do know everyone in town.”
“That's very considerate of you,” his grin widens. “Always knew you had it in you.”
The smile you shoot back at him is saccharine but it’s dripping poison. Grabbing your purse, you storm past him, slamming your shoulder against his as you strut towards the front door with your nose up in the air. Eddie bows to your friends. “Ladies,” and then follows the clickety clack of your heels all the way till you’re standing outside the diner.
You whirl around on your heels, “Give it to me.”
“Now, now,” he lifts his hands, like he’s trying to appease a wild animal. “Before you start, I have a couple questions. I have to make sure it belongs to you, can’t go handing someone’s personal belongings to any whack job that claims it's theirs.”
Your perfectly plucked eyebrow rises. “Whack job?”
Eddie grins. “Nothing personal, princess. Just being a good samaritan.”
Your lips tighten. “Well go on then, ask your question so we can be done with this.”
It's cold outside the diner, and your little skirt is not doing much to protect you from the gust of wind that makes you shiver and cross your arms in search of warmth. Eddie is nothing if not a gentleman, so he smiles wide at the goosebumps on your legs. “Sure you wanna do this here? Some of the stuff in here seemed quite…” he scratches his jaw in faux consideration, “personal.”
He can see the way your teeth grind together in annoyance while you look around. “Do you have a car?”
Eddie’s arm opens to the side towards the hidden away spot where he parked. “Right this way, your highness.”
You side eye him and then roll your eyes, pushing past him again and heading towards his beat up car.
Eddie eyes the way you curl your lip at his ride from across the hood. “Now watch what you say, princess. I don't mess about my car. She’s a beauty.”
“Sure she is,” you mutter under your breath, making a show of pulling your sweater over your hand before reaching for the handle. There’s something on the seat, a jacket. With your nose wrinkled in disgust, you grab the jacket by the sleeve and toss it into the backseat.
“Hey!” Eddie scowls and reaches back to shove the jacket to the side, revealing the electric guitar you nearly smothered. “Watch it, I don't mess about my baby either.”
“You really need some human friends, Munson. This whole hyper attachment to inanimate objects is getting pathetic.”
Eddie's lips curl, “Munson, eh?”
Your eyes roll back with a huff and then your hand is hanging in the space between you. “Give it to me.”
“Now sweetheart, you know I can't do that.” his smile is honeyed, “not after what I just read.”
He takes great pleasure in watching you process what he’s saying. It’s in the way you fist at your skirt, the way he can practically feel the heat on your face from where he’s sitting.
For a second you don’t move, he’s not even sure you’re breathing. And then, “I don't know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, that’s okay, let me remind you.” He flips through the diary to a dog eared page. You glare at the folded corner. Eddie scans through the page and laughs, “Oh yeah, this is one of my favorites.” He clears his throat theatrically. “Sometimes I think about how big he mu—”
A hand smacks over his mouth. Your eyes are glaring daggers, steam practically coming out of your ears. Your face is burning and his cheeks hurt from smiling. “I'm going to kill you.”
Eddie licks your palm and laughs when you squeal and wipe it on his sleeve. “Babe, if you do that you’ll never get to find out!”
“Shut up! You’re insufferable, give that back!” You’re smacking at his arm now. “And don’t call me babe.”
You let out a bratty scream when he just laughs and watches you slump down on the seat with your hands over your face. “This isn’t happening. I’m going to make your death slow and painful.”
“I’ll play Madonna at your funeral.”
“Now that’s just cruel.”
You can’t see it, not with your hands covering your eyes, but Eddie has to adjust his jeans at the groan that comes past your lips.
“Sweetheart, you’re being shortsighted here.” He tilts his head to the side when you look his way, your face smooshed against the headrest, lips pulled into a huffy pout. “The way I see it, this is an opportunity for the both of us.”
Your brows furrow. “What does that even mean?”
“Well,” he sighs and shifts so he’s facing you on his seat. “You have dirty little thoughts about me,” he shushes you and squeezes your lips shit when you go to interrupt, “and I’m not a fucking idiot, so obviously I want to fuck you too.”
Eddie can’t deny the way his heart does a weird thing when you gape at him. God, he’s down bad.
“I—you can’t be ser—” he watches you turn to face the front and take a deep breath as you smooth out your skirt and clear your throat. “If this is a joke it’s not a funny one.”
There's a curious seriousness to the way you say it, and Eddie is intrigued. Why would he be joking?
“It’s not,” he tsks and chucks at your chin, playful smile on his face. “Don’t get shy on me now, princess.”
You smack his hand away, your fire seemingly back in stock and Eddie can breathe normally again. “I have a boyfriend.”
He laughs at that, “from what I hear that’s never stopped either of you.”
You’re glaring at him again, and his cock is stirring. If you keep this up he won’t be able to last long enough to get his pants off.
“This is stupid we don’t even like each other!”
“Oh I like you plenty,” his voice is teasing when he says it, and a little mean. He can tell it gets to you by the way your thighs twitch.
Your eyes are a little glazed over the longer you stare at him, a little softer, and he watches you gulp. The way your throat bulges when you do it is just about enough to make him explode. “We shouldn’t”
“Who are you trying to convince, sweetheart?”
The second your teeth bite down on your bottom lip, Eddie knows he has you. He shifts toward you, eyeing your every move. “I'm going to kiss you now, yeah?”
Your eyes flash out the windshield and then you’re back to him. He smirks, “they can’t see, sweetheart. I’m a strategic parker.”
Your lips twitch, “bit overconfident, don’t you think? Hubris has killed many a hero, Munson.”
“Don’t worry, princess. I think this is my year.”
Before you can quip back, his lips are on yours. He kisses like he talks, mean and playful and tough around the edges. He bites at your bottom lip and swallows the broken moan that bubbles up in your throat. The day-old stubble peppering his skin prickles at your palms, and that’s when you realize your hands are cradling his face, knees digging into the seat as you lift and lean towards him, melting into his body as his hands move you to his lap. Your knee bumps against the gear shifter when you climb over it, startling a whiny “ow!” out of you.
Eddie eats up each little whine with a smile, loving the way your brows furrow into a grumpy frown before you slap at his arm. “Be careful with me!”
The bratty tilt of your voice makes his hands tighten on your waist, lips curling in amusement. “Sorry, babe, just got excited.” He kisses your lips and rubs gently at your knee. “You hurt anything else?”
You really are like a spoiled child, and how fucked is he that he loves every second of it?
You cradle your hand to your chest, genuinely annoyed frown on your face. “You hit my hand, my fingers hurt.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, bringing your hand to his mouth so he can brush his lips over your knuckles. His eyes hold yours captive as he kisses at the pad of your fingers. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” and then slowly he sticks two of them in his mouth.
The sight is erotic, filthy in ways only Eddie can manage to be. His tongue swirls around your digits, warm and wet against your skin, and you can’t help but think back to those fantasies that brought you here. His tongue between your legs. “Eddie”
He hums around your fingers and slowly pulls them out. “What, baby?”
You’re gasping for air before he even touches, forehead knocking against his. Your voice small and needy and demanding. “Please.”
His smirk makes something tighten in our belly.
“Please what, pretty?”
Your eyes harden on him, that old familiar glare, but the neediness in them softens the edge. Your hand moves down to your clothed core. “I think you hurt me here too.”
His grin is wicked. “Yeah? Need me to kiss it better?”
You nod and Eddie is just about ready to propose.
He swiftly lifts you up to your knees and slides his hand between your thighs, toying with your pussy over the soft fabric of your underwear. The wetness on his fingers makes him groan. “Can’t eat you out in here, babe, not enough room. And trust me when I do it I’m gonna need the room.” He huffs out a laugh, “I'm gonna take my time with you.”
He shushes the wounded whimper that escapes you with a kiss. “Don’t go crying yet,” he chuckles, “plenty of other things I can do to you here, sweetheart. Not to worry.” He brushes hair out of your face with a faux pout, condescension written all over his face. “Know you dream about it, baby.” He licks at the seam of your lips, “my tongue in that pretty pussy, making you come.” He grins at what sounds like a sob. “Gonna have to earn that, pretty.”
He’s wholly endeared by the way your face finds refuge in his neck. “I hate you.”
The roll of your hips against his takes all the heat away from your words, making him bury his laugh in your hair. “‘Course you do, baby.”
You huff, but then you’re startled when you remember the hand he still has buried in your underwear. “Wha—”
“Still gonna make you come though.”
His fingers swipe through the curls that frame your pussy and then to the wetness that awaits him, teasing at your clit but skirting around it until you’re crying into his neck. He shushes you the whole while, working you up until you’re soaked and dripping down your thighs. “You’re making a mess, sweetheart. All over my pants.” He groans, “gonna have to walk around smelling like you the rest of the day.” He smiles when you shiver, “you like that, baby? Knowing everyone’s gonna smell you on me?”
You should've known he’d have a sinful mouth. With every word he plucks at a tightly bound cord that holds you together, slowly and meticulously pulling you apart.
The tip of his finger pokes at your entrance, “you ready, babe? Gonna take my fingers?”
“Y-yes!” Your hands fist at his hair, nose digging into his cheek, “please, please, Eddie.”
He sighs a happy sigh, “atta girl, say my name.”
“Eddie,” the whine is enough to make him slide a finger in. It’s only one, but you’re so tightly wound, so pent up, that you clamp down hard enough to make him moan.
“Gotta ease up, honey. Gotta let me in,” he coos until you relax, his thumb rubbing loose circles on your clit until he can slide a second finger in. “There you go, knew you could do it, pretty. Fuck, you feel so good.”
“Eddie,” your babbles are mindless, and if you had any sense of awareness you'd make a mental note to die of humiliation at the fact that he’s rendered you brainless with only his fingers. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Please”
“I know, I’ve got you, sweetheart, ‘know I do.” The arm that's not pistoning in and out of you clamps down around your waist to try and hold you still, your heart beating a mile a minute against his chest.
Suddenly he laughs, breathless and smug. “Is this the answer then? Get a couple fingers in you and the little brat turns into a little angel?”
He doesn't expect the kiss he gets in response but he’s never been one to complain.
Eddie holds you through every second, the build up and then your orgasm, shushing you when you try to pull away. “One more, you can give me one more, can’t you, baby? There you go, good girl, give it to me.”
When you finally come down you’re a melted puddle on his lap—chest heaving against his, trembling hands still clinging to his hair.
Eddie's hands run up and down your back as he presses distracted kisses to the side of your face.
He hisses when you shift on his lap. “Wha—” you look down and find a wet spot on his jeans. Your lips quirk, “is that—”
“You have a girl moaning and crying on your lap and then come talk to me about not coming in your pants.”
His smile breaks through his forced scowl when you dissolve into a fit of giggles, tipping over into his chest once more while he huffs and brushes hair out of your face. “Yeah, yeah, laugh away. Eddie please! no one can make me come like you plea—”
A hand slaps over his mouth for the second time that night and Eddie grins at your glare. He brings a thumb to your cheek as he licks at your palm for the second time today and speaks over your squeals, “you have some mascara there, babe. Must be all the crying.”
He snickers at the way you slap his hand and half turn, still on his lap, to fix your make up in his rearview mirror.
Eddie sucks his fingers clean, noting the way you stare at the move through the reflection, and reaches for your diary. “Well, we got that done.” He plucks a pen out of somewhere in his car and draws a checkmark on the page. He flips through the other pages and goes back to the dog eared one that started it all. “Think we could explore a couple more of your filthy fantasies tonight?”
"You saw it?"
"For a second. Yeah. I saw one."
"Start at the beginning."
"Hoo. Okay. Uhhh... It was 77. I think. I was air force. Or, hypnoengineering support staff contracted to help out around St. Louis."
"That's how you came into your supply of JVH-1"
"It was JVH-11 actually, and yeah, the fuckin, uh- the requisitions officer at Scott was an old buddy of mine. We used to fuck around in college before I, you know-"
"Yes I understand."
"I worked records for Sears-Roebuck, I had all the accounting expertise, as well as a ready supply of LSD."
"How did you start?"
"Oh it was easy at first. Really just selling off phials of the new experimental stuff to finance guys. They'd go nuts for the stuff, pay top dollar for it too. Hell, I could get 100$ for a milliliter. Made it easy to keep my contacts bought in and re-invested. Honestly I don't think the req office would even know that we were skimming if they weren't in on it.
But, you know how it is with hypnoregulation. Transchronological market data is worth it's weight in diamond. It started with the odd photo of a 2q-week readout, then biometric data, then, uh- then. Well, we decided to try it ourselves."
"You attempted full sub-finantial emmanation?"
"No no god no, what're you nuts? No, see. We figured if one person can meld their brain with the market, we just had to get as close as we could to that guy, and mark the twain, hypnologically speaking."
"Mark the twain?"
"Yeah, see, okay. A plutophant in full emmanation isn't like us. We exist at a single point in time, an R1 rational market actor. But they exist in multiple points in time, back in 77, I think the government could hit R6 with that analogue tech. Most people can hit R2 with a single hit of JVH-1, with practice you can hit R3, but anything higher than R3 takes a pretty serious support team. But here's the thing, I had a whole cadre of co-implicated members of a military grade hypnoengineering support team. All we needed was the space."
"The warehouse. Schaeffer Marble and Tile was it?"
"Bingo. See here's the thing. You know why the government had to start building those special regulation temples? It's not just for security. Once you crack the R6 barrier, Plutophants start leaving what's called a wake. You know, like a fuckin, uh, like a boat. They're imperceptible to normal people, but if you have sensitive enough instruments or, say, a person in the edge of sub-market emmanation.
See the government didn't know at the time, but if you balanced the drugs just right, and kept someone right on the edge of R4, you could actually read the plutophant's interpretations by their wake rather than their direct neurofeedback. It's not nearly as precise, but if you have a good team and you know what to look for, you can get some really, really valuable market data that way."
"And your co-worker?"
"You mean Mills? Fuck. Yeah...Mills. Right."
"Take your time."
"No, no I'm good. It's... It's uh, It's dangerous. Brains aren't meant to take that much JVH-11 all at once. We could stay on R4, but what we didn't have was a recovery team, or a medical team, or recon team. It was me, Mills, Israel, Connaught, and Marsh. The five of us were the only ones in the soup. Bruso was running the machines and Lasker was monitoring the readout."
"Can you tell us what happened?"
"Yeah. Yeah. It was a normal intrusion. Hypnogrid emmanation is pretty simple with our tech and support. Sedation was all green, hypnoinduction was green. Smooth as silk. Landed about 40 minutes from our work location. We had the codes from the IRSAW people that morning, all we had to do was maintain hypnoinduction for 40 minutes while traversing the colon and we'd be able to-"
"I'm sorry, colon?"
"Oh come on. Colon. Collective Unconscious. Col-Un. Colon."
"I- of course. Continue."
"Hey, have you ever been on a dive before?"
"Can we focus on your statement?"
"It's important. I need to know if this next bit is gonna make sense to you or not."
"I've undergone basic anti-intrusion training standard for IRS investigation task force officers."
"So you've done safe dives. White room? Castle training? Putting up the wall? All that jazz?"
"Did they ever tell you why it's dangerous to perform off-site hypnoincursion in meta-unstsble hypnospace?"
"Well they're lying...don't look at me like that. I'm not bullshitting you. They're lying...there's...there's shit out there okay? There's things out there."
"Yeah. Mills. Uh..."
"Take your time."
"Yeah yeah. Quit interruptin me. Mills... Uh, yeah so we were T-Plus 30 into the dive. Bruso gives us a heads up that some hypnoflora is headed our way, but can't get a read on mass. Says we should steer clear, but we are so close. Israel had handled some hypnoflora before, so we weren't worried. But it was... I dunno. I can't explain."
"Do your best."
"Like. Okay. Meta-unstsble dives are fucked. They're acid trips. The St. Louis hypnoscape already doesn't look normal, but Scott Base looked like some kinda bastard lovechild of a medieval castle and a seashell, all twisting up into itself. The streets were a chessboard, and all the streetlights we're these tall kinda mannequin lookin' things holding a tiny sun in their hand. Everything is fucked, it's all topsy turvy. But it's okay, because it's meta-unstable hypnospace, its not SUPPOSED to be normal. And then there was a Red Sock."
"Like for the feet?"
"No. Like. In the middle of this fucked up dreamscape, there's suddenly a batter for the Boston Red Sox. He's standing there, maybe 50 feet away. He's got a bat in one hand and a mitt in the other, and he's just kinda walking towards us. Nobody really knew what to do. It didn't look dangerous, but something wasn't right. It didn't fit. We just kinda stood there, looking at the thing. Israel starts talking to Bruso, asking him what to do. Suddenly, Bruso is screaming at us, telling us to book it. He's screaming into the com, telling us to prepare for de-emmanation. Nobody knows what's happening. Israel is suddenly standing between Mills and the Red Sock, and..."
"Any information you can recall could be of use."
"It's...it's mostly feeling at this point. You ever been having a normal dream? Like, a good, normal dream? And suddenly you realize that something is really, really wrong? There's signs. For me? It's that the lights go out. Suddenly day turns to night, and something about this batter just makes me want to curl up and hide. Suddenly, moving through the world is like trying to swim through molasses. I try to run, but nothing moves, and everything is dark. The world is shifting. There's shadows under the bathroom door that can't be happening. A man who looks like Jesus. An old and terrible house and an old man with no name whose face I can't remember. The batter swings at Mills and she just...vanishes. Shes gone. Bruso pulls us out a second later."
"So this, batter killed Ms. Mills?"
"No. We get out, she's comatose. Whatever that thing did to her, she was still in hypnospace. I gave her a hot shot of barbiturates. Her brain activity slowed to R0 after about 90 seconds."