#bold and beautiful carter

[unfioreapezzi]

[vvalliu]

[ageofshadows666]

[onairwithdouglasclassics]

The second interview is at the bottom of this article.

Kimberlin Brown: A Versatile Talent in Daytime Television

Early Life and Career

Kimberlin Ann Brown, born on June 29, 1961, in Hayward, California, is a renowned American actress best known for her portrayal of the villainous Sheila Carter on the CBS soap operas "The Young and the Restless" and "The Bold and the Beautiful." Brown's acting career spans several decades, characterized by her dynamic performances and ability to bring depth to complex characters.

Brown initially pursued a career in modeling, which eventually led her to acting. She began her acting career in the mid-1980s, making guest appearances on various television shows. Her early roles included appearances on "Capitol" and "Santa Barbara," where she honed her craft and gained experience in the world of daytime television.

Sheila Carter: The Iconic Villain

Kimberlin Brown's most iconic role is that of Sheila Carter, a character known for her manipulative, dangerous, and often psychotic behavior. Sheila's storylines on "The Young and the Restless" and "The Bold and the Beautiful" have made her one of the most memorable villains in soap opera history.

Introduction on "The Young and the Restless"

Sheila Carter was introduced on "The Young and the Restless" in 1990 as a nurse working at Genoa City Memorial Hospital. Her initial storyline involved her obsession with Dr. Scott Grainger (Peter Barton). Sheila's desire to be with Scott led her down a dark path, including a series of increasingly dangerous and deceitful actions.

Major Storylines on "The Young and the Restless"

Obsession with Scott Grainger: Sheila's fixation on Scott Grainger began when she was assigned as his nurse. Despite Scott being married to Lauren Fenmore (Tracey E. Bregman), Sheila was determined to win his affection. She orchestrated numerous schemes to sabotage Scott and Lauren's relationship, including switching Lauren's baby with a terminally ill infant.

Kidnapping and Manipulation: Sheila's most notorious act was kidnapping Lauren's baby, Scott Jr., and replacing him with a sick child who later died. Sheila kept the real baby hidden, raising him as her own. This storyline showcased Sheila's extreme measures to achieve her desires and her willingness to cause immense pain to others.

Revenge and Escapes: After being exposed and presumed dead in a fire, Sheila returned to Genoa City multiple times, each time more determined to exact revenge on Lauren and others who stood in her way. Her ability to escape justice and resurface unexpectedly kept viewers on edge.

Transition to "The Bold and the Beautiful"

In 1992, Kimberlin Brown brought Sheila Carter to "The Bold and the Beautiful," where Sheila continued her reign of terror. Sheila's move to Los Angeles allowed her to interact with new characters and extend her manipulative tactics to a broader canvas.

Major Storylines on "The Bold and the Beautiful"

Marriage to Eric Forrester: Sheila quickly ingratiated herself with the Forrester family, eventually marrying Eric Forrester (John McCook). This union gave Sheila access to the powerful Forrester family, but her true nature soon emerged, leading to chaos and conflict within the family.

Rivalry with Stephanie Forrester: Sheila's rivalry with Stephanie Forrester (Susan Flannery) became one of the show's central conflicts. Stephanie's unwavering determination to protect her family from Sheila's machinations led to numerous confrontations, physical altercations, and dramatic showdowns.

Attempted Murders and Crimes: Sheila's time in Los Angeles was marked by a series of crimes, including attempted murders, blackmail, and psychological manipulation. Her actions often put the lives of the Forrester family members at risk, solidifying her reputation as a formidable villain.

Return and Redemption Attempts: Despite her numerous crimes, Sheila has made several attempts at redemption. Each time she returned, she claimed to have changed, only to reveal her true intentions later. These redemption arcs added complexity to Sheila's character, showcasing her internal struggles and the cycle of her dark impulses.

Kimberlin Brown's Legacy

Kimberlin Brown's portrayal of Sheila Carter has earned her critical acclaim and a dedicated fan base. Her ability to bring intensity, depth, and authenticity to the role of Sheila has made her one of the most iconic villains in soap opera history. Brown's performances have garnered her several award nominations, including Daytime Emmy nominations for Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Drama Series.

Personal Life and Other Ventures

Outside of her acting career, Kimberlin Brown is also known for her involvement in various business ventures and her political activities. She has been active in real estate and interior design, demonstrating her versatility and entrepreneurial spirit.

In 2018, Brown ran for the U.S. House of Representatives as a Republican candidate for California's 36th congressional district. Although she did not win the election, her candidacy highlighted her commitment to public service and her willingness to engage in political discourse.

Conclusion

Kimberlin Brown's career is a testament to her talent, versatility, and enduring appeal. Her portrayal of Sheila Carter has left an indelible mark on the world of daytime television, making her one of the most memorable characters in soap opera history. Brown's ability to captivate audiences with her intense and nuanced performances ensures that her legacy as Sheila Carter will continue to be celebrated by fans and peers alike.

Second interview a year later below:

[totallytonyavlogsyoutuber]

Bold and the Beautiful Full Episode: HOPE FAINTING | STEFFY Panicking FI...

[gitzette]

🌟 Shockwaves through Soap Opera Fans! 🌟 The Bold and the Beautiful Sheila Carter's dramatic exit has left fans worldwide on the edge of their seats. Dive into the unforgettable showdown between Steffy Forrester and one of the most iconic villains, Sheila Carter. Discover the emotional aftermath and what this means for your favorite characters. Don't miss out on this gripping story! #TheBoldAndTheBeautiful #SheilaCartersExit

[ablufox]

[justjacquiboldbeauty]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Steffy & Finn Fan Page🤍 (@forever_teamsteffy)

[falling-mellow]

Can't sleep thoughts are me secretly somewhere feeling sorry for Sheila 'I have trust issues I've been betrayed before What are you really trying to do here and I know that what I did was actually horrible' Carter and Bill 'I love you I understand you We are basicly in the same boat I wanna marry you You can tell me everything This is a safe space- Oh sike b🤫tch!' Spencer

[applcrumbl]

Soulmate.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Soulmate! Reader Warnings: None I don't think? Author's Note: still old fics from @bapplbrumbl - unedited

It was in all caps, simple, but elegant. A blue ballpoint scrawled the somewhat legible lettering on the back of his hand. It was an unusual feeling, felt as if you were writing it yourself. He wasn’t. A soulmate thing, He didn’t really understand the reasoning behind it, or why it happened. Just that it was unusual, and that less than 45% of the population had it. Only those with a true soulmate; one that they actually had a chance of meeting. It was activated through sight, as soon as you saw your soulmate, whether it be a fleeting glance or prolonged eye contact, they would have the ability to see everything you wrote on your skin.

Dentist 2:30, it read.

Never anything useful in finding her, always appointments, or little reminders to get milk. Sometimes even a beautiful line of poetry that he wound up writing in his letters home to Steve. But, never a name, or an address.

She had obviously seen him before though, as he could read what was written on her skin; see the little doodles that lined the edges of her hands. Every Tuesday, 11:30am, they would appear. He assumed it was the cause of a boring class, a solid hour of sketches of flowers, and trees. She was talented and educated. He could tell. Bucky really liked that about her. But, sadly, he didn’t know who she was, and there was a possibility that she didn’t realise he existed.

At 16, he enlisted. Because of his duty to fight for the country he loved? Maybe. Because she had written about a visit to the recruitment office and he wanted the possibility of meeting her? More likely.

He wanted to at least see her. He wanted to be able to write to her and have her read it. He wanted a name, an age, anything to give him hope. But routinely, a simple ‘hello’ was written in bold capital letters. There was never a reply.

The first day of his training was a nervous one. He had left Steve in Brooklyn, alone, and the guilt was eating him. Not to mention his ‘skin scribe’, as Steve would put it, hadn’t left any messages that week. Bucky bit his nails down to stubs whilst on his lunch break. Any hope of finding her now was long gone, She was probably back home. And Bucky was most likely going to die fighting.

One of his fellow Regiment brothers cracked a joke. Something at Agent Peggy Carter’s expense. Bucky, desperate to fit in, poked in as well.

“Women on the front line? She wouldn’t last. Too busy combing her hair or something-”

His peers laughed. It died down rather quickly as a female voice spoke.

“That’s a write-up.” the person said. He hadn’t seen her before.

“Sorry ma’am” Bucky replied.

“What is your name, Soldier?”

Bucky sighed, “James B. Barnes, Ma’am.”

The woman nodded, turning on her heel as she walked away. Pen in hand. The man ignored the feeling of embarrassment as he turned back to his group.

“Bloody psychopath,” Bucky laughed, slightly on edge and checking the time on his watch, 11:29. “Okay boys, we’re late for track. Let’s go.”

The encounter was forgotten as quickly as it had happened. Bucky ran the 500m track, correcting his form as much as he could. He ignored the scribbles that appeared on his hands, much too focused to look at them. In hindsight, he wished he had. The quick glance before she washed her hands was not quite enough for him to believe what he had read. His heart fluttered at the sight, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. But it was too late, the pen had gone. Only the trace of the little note that took place on his skin.

James B. Barnes - 107th

If he wasn’t already nervous, he certainly was now. Almost stopping in his tracks as his regiment caught up behind him. He ran off of the track, despite the shouts of his superiors. He scanned the base, no faces jumped out at him though. He swore to write something to her as soon as he found a pen.

“Barnes, What are you doing?”

“Sorry Sir, Bathroom issues.” He lied.

Clammy hands gripped the pen tightly in his right hand. Veins climbed his fingers, framing the space where he was going to write. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to contact her, but the extreme likeliness that he’d seen her that day made his heart thunder. Thoughts swarmed in his head like wasps around fresh fruit. What if he hadn’t seen her? What if she wasn't here? What if she didn’t reply, and didn’t want anything to do with him?

A shaky hand, lettered the words ‘are you here?’ In a small font at the top of his hand, leaving space for her to reply.

You had decided not to tell Peggy of the encounter with the rude group of soldiers. She already had it much too hard to hear every little rumour around the barracks. And so, the write-up went unfinished. ‘No trace that could hurt Peggy’s feelings’ you thought.

You were supposed to supervise training that afternoon, instead opting to take some well-earned time away from the camp. You sat with your book, reading. Eyes scanned the pages, taking in the words of one specific sentence to mind. Grasping for your notebook, you could not find it. Instead dog-earring the page to keep it in mind. Peggy would be mad at you for damaging the book, but you could deal with that later.

A knock at the door signified wanted entry. Cynthia entered. She was nice, you had nothing against her personally, but all she ever wanted to do was talk about her soulmate and how they met. The story was cute the first time, but after hearing it weekly for the entirety of the year so far, it got boring. And your feeling of loneliness grew bigger.

The whole soulmate trope felt like bollocks to you, where did it come from? Why do we have it? Millions of questions in your head but one of them stood out the most: Where was yours?

You were one to draw on yourself anyways, even accidentally. Mindless doodles were your coping mechanism and a source of entertainment during boring lectures. In other words: it was purely a hobby. But part of you hoped that your soulmate was out there if you even had one and that one day he would write something back.

You almost didn’t feel the ballpoint writing on your skin. It was faint, he had a light touch, almost careful to hurt you. It was so soft that if you had been paying attention to Cynthia, or were not craving the sensation, you probably wouldn’t be feeling it at all. The feeling was almost burning, yet loving at the same time, caring.

In a panic, you interrupted the story. “Have you got a pen?”

“Yes, but I’ll need it. Why?” She handed it to you.

Your leg bounced as you read the message on your hand. In all of the excitement, you didn’t even answer his question, instead of posing one of your own.

Who are you?

Bucky stared at his hand for what felt like hours, He sat alone in his barracks. Eyes not once leaving the rough skin of the back of his hand. Your handwriting had always been beautiful, but even more so now that it was directed to him. ‘James, But call me Bucky’ he answered, stroking his finger over the sentence she’d just finished writing.

The writing was getting smaller, a struggle to squeeze the conversation in. ‘Y/N’ she wrote.

Cynthia was getting impatient, somehow desperate to get her pen back. Considering the hours you had taken listening to her story, you would think she would be the least bit understanding of your situation.

“I need the pen back” she stated, a pompous hand extended forward. There was not much you could say to protest, handing the writing utensil over. You arose quickly, walking out of your room and into the neighbouring.

Bucky wrote back. 'Meet me, Please.'

“Is there a pen in here?” She asked one of the soldiers sitting on the bed. He threw a spare over. “Thank you”

‘Where?’ she wrote, hiding away. Then passing the pen back to the Soldier. And leaving.

‘I’m with the 107th regiment.’

It was a long shot, she might just ignore it. Wanting nothing to do with him. He silently prayed for an answer.

Meanwhile, in the corridor, you froze. He was here.

If only you still had a pen you could find him. Unwilling to ask that soldier for his pen back, you thought. Eventually giving in.

“I’m going to need your pen again, I am so sorry"

“I’m using it now,” The other soldier said, putting it on his bed and turning away.

A moment of worry traced your features, what if he thinks you’re ignoring him? You reach to grab the pen anyway, surely he wouldn’t notice.

But, he did. And with lightning reflexes caught the outstretched hand at the wrist. Again you apologised, taking in his features. You felt guilty, but after all, it was just a pen. “That’s my pen,” he stated.

“I know, I just need to borrow it for two seconds,”

Bucky thought you were pretty, same as he did when you wrote him up earlier. He felt bad for thinking that, considering his soulmate could quite possibly be very close. He complied anyway, watching you take the pen and glide it across your skin. four words, ‘i’m in the dormitory’.

He watched it happen, the exact moment the ballpoint touched your skin. The skin of his soulmate. Every letter shook his core, tears threatening to burst from his eyes. A hard stopped your movements.

“Y/N?” he asked, reaching to pull up the sleeve that had fallen to cover his hands.

Confusion plagued your features, a pair of furrowed brows turning to face the soldier. “Yes?” you questioned, not quite catching on.

In one swift movement, he took his pen back, quickly gliding it over his skin. He didn’t have long to think, desperately wanting to write something cool that would impress you. But, he also just wanted to let you know. He wrote a simple statement.

Nice you meet you.

[unfioreapezzi]

[vvalliu]

[midnightmayhem13]

hi midnight!! 💜💜 I love ur hcs and I was hoping (if u have the time) u’d write something for Dress, who’s wearing the dress and who’s taking it off 👀 reader or one of the ladies + if u want cause I love a flustered woman 😍 how they’d react to helping you get dress whether they’re helping zip up the dress or putting a necklace on for u

Dress

love this idea enjoy❕🩶 ladies helping w a dress or necklace

carol danvers

carol isn't very used to seeing people in such fancy clothes. other than maybe royal alien she's never been around such elegancy. but when she see yours putting on the most beautiful dress she's probably ever seen, her jaw drop. big bold captain danvers will turn into a pile of mush. she feels as if she's standing before a goddess when shes watching you get ready for a gala. when you ask her to help you zip up your dress she's gets nervy omg. she'll respond with a breathy "y-yeah" and she's so gentle with the zipper and you. she knows how strong she is so she doesn't want to break the fragile zipper. she make sure non of the fabric gets caught too. she'll be very focused. when she's done she'll wrap her arms around you and tell you how beautiful you look.

sharon carter

sharon buys you jewelry because she got the money and she loves showing you off. and when she sees you get ready for a date or a night out she literally almost drools. she craves you and your body and your moans. but she also cant help but think you look absolutely beautiful. she'll watch you change (she's a lil perv) and just smirk until you huff and ask for her help. she'll get up from her spot where she was watching you from behind, and let out a chuckles and "of course baby" she'll kiss your kick while she does it and leaves hickies as if to mark you as her own. and sharon can't wait to rip the dress off of you later that night.

darcy lewis

when she sees you wearing a dress darcy's gonna be all over you bro. she's gonna be like "you're so hot babe" and she'll definitely hold you tight nd be like "alllllll mine" and smirk. if you ask for help she'd be so excited to be up close as if you were a celebrity, to her you are. and like if you give her affection while you're dressed so beautifully she gets so flustered. she'll hold your face and attack you with kisses saying how hot and gorgeous you look. she also cannot help but smack your ass while being behind you. then she turns you around and fixes your necklace or adjusting your neck line.

nebula

nebula watches you like a hawk. she'd deff get a little jealous. in the sense that you're just gonna go out looking like that?? so beautiful for no reason my god. and if you ask for help she'll be glad you asked her. and omg she'd struggle doing it, especially hooking a necklace bc of her metal fingers. she'd be letting out frustrated little grunts and huffs. she'll definitely mumbles some things like how you should stay with her all night, and that people are gonna be looking at you when you're hers. and while she'll be a little grumpy, she'll smile when you peck her lips and promise her to let her have to tonight.

maria hill

maria might be distracted you while you're getting ready, but when she turns to face the goddess of her girlfriend, her jaw will drop and she'll do a double take. she'll rush over to you and just stare. like a pervy teenager. she actually offer help just so she can be close to you. and if you ask for help with your dress she zip it down instead. she'll kiss your back and shoulders until you collect yourself enough to tell her to actually help. she'll hesitantly zip it up and whisper sweet nothings into your ear. then maria turns you around and makes out with you really passionately, ruining your lipstick in the process.

kate bishop

she'll try to be like all respectful and not look at you when you're putting on you're dress but she'll turn around just wanting a peek. then katie gets super flustered and turns super red. she'll definitely turning mush. when you ask her for help zipping up your dress she's be nervous for no reason. smelling your sweet scent and hearing you're soft breaths makes her so happy. she just feels like she's living her dream and she couldn't be happier. she'll keep repeating praises too. just lost in the thought of you. you're beauty makes katie go mush.

a/n yalls request are so fire and i'm getting to all of them but HERE YOU GO BABIES also i'm going to be trying to pump out a lot of writing rn

[semiweirdshipper]

Killers who give the most kisses. Non-binary reader insert. Made for those who love fluff.

(Killers include: Bubba Sawyer. Jeffrey Hawk. Herman Carter. Evan MacMillan. Michael Myers. Max Thompson. Sally Smithson. Carmina Mora).

...

Bubba

Without a doubt, Bubba gives the most kisses. Any time, anywhere, it does not matter. He is always peppering you with kisses.

Oh, you just got back from talking to a friend? Smooch! You've been gone so long (y/n), he missed you. Smooch, smooch, smooch. (Literally, you were only gone for five minutes).

Snoozing? Kiss! You look so cute when you're asleep. He simply can't resist. Even sleeping you deserved all the love and attention he could give. While you're lying there snoozing, he'll lean over and plant gentle kisses all over your hands, arms, chest and face. He loves you so much.

Are you hurt? Oh, prepare for the ultimate overload of kisses. Whether it be a bad day you were suffering, a traumatic event or even if you simply stubbed your toe, Bubba is there to drown you with kisses. There's no escape. You're hurt. He needs to kiss all the sadness and pain away!

Bubba kisses you for pretty much every single reason imaginable. Are you laughing? Kiss! Are you reading? Kiss! Are you eating? Kiss, kiss, kiss! Are you on the toilet? Quick kiss! He can't help it. You make him so happy and he loves you so much, you deserve all the kisses.

Jeffrey

Jeffrey has kind of an oral fixation meaning he loves using his mouth, especially on you. Not a single inch of your body has been spared of his lips. He was always fondling you, pulling you close and kissing whichever area he pleased.

Jeffrey's kisses are more wet and thorough whenever you're alone, so that way he can taste you, enjoy you, make you feel good. He loves your soft skin, loves feeling it beneath his lips and hands. You were his treasure, and he worshipped you like a God.

Due to his shameless variety of kinks, Jeffrey ultimately enjoys kissing the weirdest places on your body like your back, feet, knees and... armpits. Yeah, he was kind of strange, but it just meant that he wasn't afraid to love every inch of you he possibly could. You're his beloved treasure, remember?

While in public, Jeffrey simply liked to pull you close and hold one of your hands to his lips. The smell and taste of your smooth skin comforted him, and he enjoyed layering kisses all over your beautiful fingers. If he was feeling bold, he would even kiss your ears and face to tease you and make you flustered.

It didn't matter who saw. Jeffrey's kisses are a statement of his love and appreciation for you.

Herman

Herman is probably the most romantic kisser there is. He loves taking his time with you, holding you close and pressing your mouths together, kissing slow and passionately.

Kissing Herman could some times last a while. Words could not describe how much he loved tasting you, drawing out the tender moments and making them last. He never used his teeth much, instead preferring to worship your skin with utmost care.

Neck kisses. Herman loves giving you neck kisses. He'll honestly kiss any part of your body you want him to, but your neck was his favorite- it was just so vulnerable and brought out the most gorgeous, succulent reactions from you. Gosh, you were so beautiful to him.

Your hands. Almost every single time you and Herman meet or depart, he always pressed a kiss to your hand. If you two are sitting close, some times he'll lift your hand, press it to his lips and hold it there for a while. Shh, just let him cherish you.

Herman's kisses are the definition of love, passion and appreciation. Not an hour will go by that you aren't kissed by him.

Evan

Due to the harsh conditions he grew up in, Evan isn't very prone to kissing much, but he loves it when you kiss him. Your soft, gentle lips on his mutilated body always made him feel as if he were in heaven, and it was because of that feeling that he fought to return the favor.

It took time and practice, but Evan eventually learned how to kiss you on the lips. He also learned how and where to kiss your body. And the best part? Evan was a fast learner, and when he learned things, he learned how to do them right.

Within weeks he went from being an amateur kisser with no skills to a practical God, kissing you wherever you wanted to be kissed and lavishing your beautiful skin. Some times he would use his teeth- if only to see you gasp and tremble in delight of course.

His favorite area to kiss is your face. You've been so patient with him, and you're so gorgeous and kind and dependable. Your smile lit up his dark world like a beacon. And if your kisses could make him feel as wonderful as they did, then he would always be kissing you back twice as much.

Michael

Talk about a five-star hickey designer. This man has no limitations when it came down to marking what was his. Does Michael love to kiss you? Ha, just look at the light red marks all over your body. Kinda goes without saying, you know?

Michael is the type of person who likes everyone else to know that you belong to him, and what better way to make a statement than to ravish you with deep, passionate kisses? And that was only a fraction of the reason why he kissed you so feverishly all the time.

The biggest reason Michael loved marking your skin so much was because of the noises and expressions you made. You were practically a saint, beautiful and delicate. Whenever he sucked on a spot that made you gasp, he was always filled with immediate satisfaction.

Safety and reassurance was another big reason. Whenever Michael needed comfort, he would lie on top of you and kiss your neck, chest and wrists- all the places where he could feel your beloved heartbeat. You were his love, his life, and he needed you always.

And when he kissed your lips, he was reminded that there was someone in this world who saw him as more than just a monster. You'd probably never know it, but Michael's kisses meant more than you could ever imagine.

Max

Whenever you first introduced him to the gentle, sweet, overwhelmingly loving luxury of kisses, Max was helpless against giving you his own form of kisses in return. Because his mouth can't shut all the way without discomfort, Max opt to pulling you close and pressing either his nose or chin gently where he wanted to kiss.

Get used to the pleasant sounds of soft growls, because Max always wanted to be kissing you. His favorite thing? You sitting on his lap with his arms wrapped around you so that he could lean his crooked mouth against the side of your head in what he considered a long lasting kiss.

Max isn't like most people. He's not perfect, and there are traditional things he can't do, but that doesn't stop him from doing what he can.

Occasionally, despite the pain, he'll close his lips together and give you little pecks on the mouth. Anything to show you how much he loved you. Whenever you smiled at him in pride and joy and praised him, he became instant mash-potatoes in your arms. More love please?

Max may not be the best kisser, but he's definitely the best at proving just how much he was willing to be the best he could ever be for you. Because he loved you. And, kisses or not, he would never stop loving you.

Sally

Oh, Sally loves giving you kisses all the time. Try leaving the room without a kiss and she'll either grumble or give you sad puppy eyes. Come on, Sal, really? You were literally just going to turn the lamp on.

Your cheeks are her favorite things to kiss. They're just so soft and warm, and she loved cuddling against you and pressing her lips there, holding you close and breathing in your comforting scent. Ah, you're so amazing, (y/n), she loved you so much.

When it comes down to kissing other, more intimate body parts, Sally is a little bit on the shy side, timid and uncertain of herself. What if she embarrasses you? Or what if you don't enjoy it? You've learned that the easiest fix for the solution is turning the lights off.

She's too shy to kiss in public, but when you're in a dark room by yourselves, she's much, much more open. Honestly, you're in for a world of treats. Sally may be sweet, but behind the curtains she's quite the hungry devil. Prepare yourself.

Sally has her insecurities, but around you she's willing to fight them in order of showing just how much she loved you.

Carmina

What's worse than not having a tongue? Not having a tongue to apologize.

Carmina is a special case. She loves kisses, and she especially loves kissing you, but there were dilemmas some times. Like when her mouth dripped ink- who wants to be kissed by that? No, you can't convince her it's okay. She's too embarrassed and ashamed.

So what does she do in replace of her real kisses? She summons sweet, friendly crows to kiss you for her. One by one they land on your arms and gently peck your nose, ears and chin, cawing softly in appreciation for they love you just as much as Carmina does.

When she is able to kiss you, she kisses your head, hands and chest. Because of her ink-arms, you had to support yourself, but it was no mind. As long as she got to love you she was happy.

Carmina loves it when you kiss her. Being basked in your gentle, loving attention made her feel normal, appreciated and worthy. She felt happiness and reassurance. Sure, some times she got down because of her mutilation, but you're understanding always helped her push through.

So... Accept these pecks of love and gratitude, *caw!*

[totallytonyavlogsyoutuber]

Bold and the Beautiful: HOPE FAINTING | STEFFY In Rampage | Security Iss...

[arcielee]

She Walks in Starlight

Summary: There is a promise made, a choice that will forever change the cosmos. Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count:  5210 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest.   Author’s Note: Thank you @aspen-carter for being my beta reader! She has been such an influence on my writing and I owe so much to her! Make sure to check out her stories. Artwork source. ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world, lēkia is brother, mandia is sister and kirimvose is thank you. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond​ @sirenofavalon​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @watercolorskyy​ @schniiipsel​ @aemondx​ @fan-goddess​  @babygirlyofthevale​ @hb8301​ @iiamthehybrid​ @deltamoon666​ @dahlias-and-marigolds​ @nina2697​ @fantasticpeaceharmony @silverwinged​ @melsunshine​​ @remus853 (bold means Tumblr has forsaken me and I could not tag you) Series:  Act I -  Act II - Act III

Mother you don't understand; I made Hades run to me. He saw my bones beneath And offered me half his kingdom. Do you really think I ate the fruit unwillingly? by a.davida jane

ACT III

It could be considered that immortality was both a blessing and a curse to the gods, for it allowed a leniency with their beingness which meant moments, their intimacy and their importance, would be muffled insignificance within their eternal stretch of existence. 

Despite the structure built beneath, Aemond inevitably found himself lost with the monotony of death and the mediocre ache that accompanied it. This is why he allowed himself the annual endeavor of resurfacing and enjoying spring, solely for the reminder of the genesis of life and its beauty, a reminder of its importance. He cherished these moments, but its elation was fleeting and only coaxed him through the upcoming year. 

But on this night, on the mountainside beneath the heavens and the fiery comets that streaked above, this moment began to etch itself in intricate detailing within the mind of the king of the Underworld. This moment would be treasured, something he would cradle to his chest, next to the pinned snapdragon, as it would be a memory that was now forever embedded into his very essence. 

It began with the softness of her lips that felt so sinful, so right against his own, and the tentative touch of her tongue along the bottom of his lip. He hummed his pleasure and dared to indulge, moving his hand to gently take hold of the back of her neck, his fingers threading into her curls. She sighed sweetly and he deepened their kiss, with the languid motion of his tongue that allowed him to savor the taste of her mouth. 

Their kiss was unhurried, tender, and he took care to match with her rhythm, allowing her to explore at her own pace. 

Her hands fluttered to rest onto his chest and his skin rose from the warmth of her palms, her touch seemingly cementing him to the mountain. There was a tingling sensation of electricity in the tips of her fingers and he felt it pulsate throughout his being.

The intrusive thought flooded his mind, as he realized he could not recall the last time he had ever…

Kore was almost tactful with her touch, gentle with him in a way that was unfamiliar, but welcomed. She was careful to shift her weight and press against him, until he laid back onto the silver grass. She leaned forward and paused, looking at him with her smile aglow on her kiss-swollen lips. 

Aemond awed at her beauty, how her dark curls spilled forward with their subtle floral scent and how it lingered with her every touch, the reminder of the first day of spring. His eye drank the flush of pink at the tip of her nose and how it dusted her cheeks, and the soft rise and fall of her chest with her every breath. She leaned closer, her smile so sweet, and he felt the tickle of her tresses that spilled onto his chest, the enticing curl of her rose lips. 

And he faltered to the roared echo of his sister’s voice.

Do not damn her.

She saw his hesitation and withdrew, her expression sending a surge of torment through him. “Kore,” his tongue wet his lips, a nervous tick of the god of death. “I feel compelled to say that this is not owed to me. Please, I…” he gave a vague gesture towards the heavens and at this moment, it was as if the moon and the stars had blown out. “I wanted to do this for you.” 

I needed to do this for you.

Her brow quirked with the slight tilt of her head, processing his words. “Aemond,” and how she spoke his name would also be carried alongside that memory of their kiss. “I am not sure what you mean. I…” the rose color that flushed her cheekbones burned crimson when she confessed, “I want this.”

I want you, she did not say. 

He was aware of how her ichor thrummed with renewed vigor in his presence, how she was a golden beacon that called to him. His eye trailed the curves of her porcelain skin that peaked beneath her peplos, her nipples peaked beneath the thin folds at her chest and how the flush of her skin dipped between the valley of her breasts. 

Aemond could feel her eyes watchful of him, her expression curious but she remained quiet. He appreciated the silence, for anything spoken by her would shatter his resolve; he found there was comfort with their quiet and he was able to gather his words. 

He confessed to her the true cause of Baela and Rhaena’s sudden demise, explaining the cursed flower that had been placed by Aegon. 

The shadow of her sorrow flickered across her features, but it came and went like a mortal heartbeat; when he finished, she looked at him. “But why would he do this?” 

Because he knew all too well my complacency to just admire you from the shadows. “I promise to tell you one day,” he began, only then daring to meet with her somber gaze. “Please understand that mortal lives are expendable to him.”  

“Did you ask it of him?”

Aemond knew he would not lie to her, but felt relief at her question, “I would never do that to you.” 

She shifted, with her arms placed behind her and her palms against the earth, allowing her chest to arch as she looked up towards the night sky; her eyes followed the dust trail that her friends streaked amongst the stars that returned. 

“I would not hold you accountable for the actions of your brother,” her voice was soft and her stare remained above. “I know there is more you wish to tell me, so I wish to know, what is it that you want, Aïdōneús?”

He felt as if his seams began to split with the struggle to contain his desire. You, little goddess. Persephone, the goddess of spring and the goddess of nature. To him, she was intimately Kore. Irrevocably, unquestionably, he would forever await her beckon call as he only wanted to be placed at her side as long as eternity allowed. 

But instead, he only said, “I want you to return home, to sleep well and truly understand what a life in the Gō vys would be.” She turned her head to face him and he hummed a beat. “If you desire it, then return to me and I swear that my kingdom is yours,” a curl to his lips as he finished, “that I am yours.” 

He saw her fire, unbridled beneath her skin, but also saw how she swallowed it down to restrain it. Kore looked down to her lap, managing a curt nod before she pulled herself to her feet. “If this is what you ask of me, if this is what I must do to show you how I…” her words faltered, her jaw steeled, and he saw determination burn in her eyes when she offered her hand to help him to his feet. “I will do what you ask, Aemond.”

He stood up and she pressed close to him; Aemond wrapped his arms around her waist and there was comfort in the embrace, hope. They returned, wordless, to the edge and he was careful to set her down. 

As he pulled away, Kore caught his wrist and he looked at her, watching as she lifted his hand and pressed her lips against his open palm. “Aemond, I will come back to you,” she promised. 

That kiss rooted him to the earth and he remained there, admiring the grace of her motion as she left him, leaving behind the lingering floral fragrance and the glimmer of hope.  

+ + + + + + +

The hour was uncertain, but Kore saw that the moon began its descent into the curvature of the horizon, though the sun had not begun to crest in response. She flitted across the silver fields, her footfalls soft against the cool earth, but with enough pressure for the blossom of blood-red peonies to sprout beneath her every step. Her kiss-swollen lips pressed together with the taste of him, a melody hummed that was inspired with the emotion that was swelling within her chest. 

“You seem pleased, Kore.”

She halted her motion to see Jacaerys leaning against a tree, his arms folded in front of him and a small smile to his lips. Her mussed curls fell and rested on her shoulders and she swore she saw a glint of something hidden behind his dark eyes. “Mother wishes to see you,” he continued. “Now.” 

She followed him to the horticulture their mother crafted, where she groomed life during the winter months. It was her mortal endeavor, the glass casing bewitched to be able to hold the golden glow of sunlight throughout the night. 

Her brother stopped at its golden archway, holding his arm to almost present its entrance and she moved past him, towards where Rhaenyra was working. She saw her mother hunched over a clay pot, her silver hair braided back and her focus on the seedlings, packing fresh soil within. 

Rhaenyra paused as she heard her daughter approach and there was an unease that swelled around, the heat before a storm. 

You smell of death.

Her mother’s words were accusatory and malicious, and Kore, impassioned from the night, returned her fury. Their rage spilled and their words clashed violently, hurtled with intent. Rhaenyra was heartsore, angry, and unable to comprehend this infatuation that her daughter continued to kindle for the god of death. 

“You will wilt without the sun,” her mother cried. “Why would you do this to me?”

Kore choked on those words; she felt her heart break, shattering within and how the shards began to dig into her chest, her breath aching with her exhale. She prayed for reason to be found and dared to confess to her. 

“Mother, I love him.”

She spoke the words as if it was a simple truth, her factual tone spilled as though it was always this way and would always be. 

Rhaenyra was quiet and the unease from earlier returned to accompany the sickly silence between them. She watched her daughter and how she glowed with her bold proclamation, unaware of the repercussion that her words would have. 

In the darkness of her daughter’s eyes, beneath the passion that brimmed them, Rhaenyra had a thought, a memory recovered; it was something dear that she cradled to her chest. 

She remembered these eyes from before, how they belonged to Harwin and in this moment, she saw him looking at her once again. Rhaenyra recalled his embolden gait and gaze, how he had approached her one spring with an eagerness with his every step as he followed her. She had refused him, at first, for fear of how Daomon would react. 

Harwin was both stubborn and determined; he declared he would face any challenge, that his world had been shrouded in darkness whenever he left her side and that he only truly could enjoy spring as color returned with her. 

Rhaenyra remembered his large palms when they took her hand, calloused but gentle with his touch, and how held her palm to his chest as if it was the most precious thing. She had been careful to tuck away these memories, as their recovery also brought the cumbersome grief and pain knowing it was her love that had killed him.

She knew their love was damned and she did not want this same fate for her daughter.

Rhaenyra only then realized her daughter peering at her, as if she was trying to hear her thoughts. She saw that Kore was still burning with the conviction of her words and she knew that she would never recant, for it was Harwin’s stubbornness and determination that intertwined with the very ichor weaving within her veins. 

At that moment, Rhaenyra knew what must be done. 

The vines began to sprout from the ground, knocking over the clay pots and wrapping itself around her legs and arms. Falling to her knees, Kore cried out and saw her mother’s intention to leave her; a ferocity began to burn within, a fire to her dark eyes and she began to tear away at the green iron hold. With each one broken, two more came forward, staggering her steps forward as they coiled around her legs to halt her. 

Rhaenyra could not watch her relentless struggle or listen to her daughter’s screams. She walked to the golden archways and whispered to seal it. 

She, after all, truly knew what was best for her daughter. 

+ + + + + + +

Helaena was the queen of the gods, with a harmonious understanding with the sky and the stars above, a soral bond that gifted her a multiscient ability that allowed her to thrive with her role as the goddess of matrimony; she had an ability that both the mortals and the gods envied, which was her insight on what the future held. 

Yet, she did not gloat about this ability and only her brothers and sister were aware of her peculiar gift. This had been after the Titanomachy ended, how the cosmos seemed broken and Aegon’s insatiable want for control came to fruition. When he learned this of Helaena, he declared his love for her, but she was aware of his self-serving ambition and how he only wished to control her power. 

She also knew it was a power that came of its own volition, as well if she accepted his proposal and became queen of the cosmos, her role would best serve the realm with the puissance crowned upon her head. 

Helaena accepted and allowed her husband his freedoms, for the distasteful whispers which sung of his infidelities did not bother her, as her attention was needed elsewhere. 

The Moirai were intrigued by the queen. Before the war, they long grew bored of the insistent desperation and prying questions of the future, choosing to recluse themselves to the shadows of the Gō vys. They shed their physical form and became a fog that would roll over the realms when it served them, able to pour in and fit where it was needed, this sense of touch allowed them to see much more than the eyes they once had. 

It allowed them to be unnoticed, but Helaena was always aware of them, however they did not mind the company of the queen, solely because they understood that she also wished to be unseen, unbothered. The king of the Underworld allowed her free rein to come and go, which allowed her to slip away to visit with Vhagar, to have a moment alone to remove her crown and a moment alone to find the clairvoyance she needed before she returned above. 

Here, she was able to see things with clarity, with an understanding that not even the Moirair would dare question. 

They would often speak, she would ask them questions and they would chide in return on how fate was fickle. Helaena disagreed, for her visions were resounding, nestling into her consciousness and replay until they would come to pass. 

The queen had one particular vision that lingered in the back of her mind; it showed her dear brother, Aemond, and a queenly presence, devoted, at his side. Together, they were destined to share a happiness that would stretch into eternity, with a love destined, fated to remain even after men would long forget them all. 

This vision, like all, was a hint at first, but it grew with its details, becoming vivid and consuming with the start of the most recent spring season. On this morning, when Helaena awoke, she found her mind was empty; there was no replay or even an echo of the apparition that was a consistent comfort in the last few years. 

Helaena dressed and left, descending into the shadow, in search of the fog. 

Vhagar greeted her, as they often did, and she paused to take a moment and pet each head with care. They traveled together, with Vhagar as her escort, and they went deep until the fog rolled in, swirling around and engulfing them. 

She could hear their whispered words. Today you come with a question only. 

“I do,” she admitted out loud. “I wish to understand why the vision of Aïdōneús has left me.”

Fate is fickle… it began, but she stopped them. 

“I know your mantra,” and her eyes began to water, not from emotion but from the thickening haze that washed over her. “And you are aware that I see things differently, consistently, and this gift allows me a deep understanding of compatibility. But today, I awoke and it was gone and now I come to understand why.” 

It is gone because something hides the golden glow. 

She sighed her annoyance, as they would not give more than their ominous echo; she waved her hands to push through the fog and their chuckle that echoed around. Helaena returned to the castle that loomed in the center, with Vhagar padding softly behind, still watchful. 

Inside the throne room, she felt the sickening sorrow, a somber aura that matched the dark stones of the castle walls. She saw the arched windows that led to the terrace, allowing the artificial lighting to seep into the room. Helaena found her brother, his lean frame stooped and rested against the ornate balustrade, his gaze looking out; his witch remained at his side, her own worry for her king etched into her expression.  

“Lēkia,” she called to him.

Aemond pushed himself upright, turning to face her with the ghost of a smile on his sharp features. “Helaena,” there was a hint of relief with how he spoke her name, an almost desperation to see her in this moment. “Have you come to visit the Moirai?” 

“I already have and they are unhelpful, as always,” she smiled, watching as Vhagar moved past her and nudged his palm with one of its heads.

Aemond was devoted to pet each with care, with a smile that did not reach his eye. Her brow furrowed and her question perched beneath her chin.

What has happened?

But instead, her eyes spotted the snapdragon fastened to him, the glittering glow that emitted from the bewitched petals. She saw it and she knew its magic. “That is lovely,” and she gestured to her chest to mirror where he had it pinned. 

Aemond seemed to wilt at the reminder, his gaze looked down and his slender finger touched it as if it was the most precious thing within his possession. “It was a gift,” his voice rasped and it took strength for him to meet again with her lilac eyes. 

“Who gifted this to you?”

Aemond and his stoicism was something he propped as a shield, but their years together allowed her an awareness of his mannerisms and she was able to see the flicker of pain that danced across his features, the subtle bob of his neck when he managed to answer her. “It was Persephone.” 

Helaena looked to Alys and the same recognition played across her own face, washing away the concern. “It is very lovely,” she offered and she looked at the witch, her lips pursed into a thin line, before she excused herself abruptly; she ran the shores of the Styx, following the pathway that curled upwards to the mortal realm. 

There was a certainty to her visions and she now knew that Aemond was fated for a great love; she knew where it began and her mind was able to recall and replay it within, her purposeful steps that brought her towards Rhaenyra’s gardens, towards the glow of the horticulture centered. She knew if she could find Rhaenyra, she could beg an audience with Persephone, to get clarification as to what had happened… 

Rhaenyra was nowhere to be found and instead she spotted the goddess of spring; her earthly glow was replaced with a fire, an anger that thrummed beneath her alabaster skin. Her eyes held a determination, a darkness with her stare, but they brightened when she spotted the queen. 

Helaena stopped and her lilac eyes flitted over the structure, sizing the binding spell and understanding the power propelled a shield. 

She now understood the words of the Moirai. It is gone because something hides the golden glow. 

The goddess of spring watched her, standing in front of one of the glass panes and Helaena could see the beginning cracks that splintered. She smiled at her, now understanding what her brother saw, the undeniable strength that brimmed beneath Persephone. 

The queen moved forward and the goddess mirrored her movement, her lips moving but she was muted in her gilded cage. 

Helaena pressed a finger to her lips and then touched her ear; Persephone stopped and watched as her lilac eyes traced the edges of the pane before she brought her palms together, a soft whisper and a glow that emitted from between. She then pressed her hands against the glass and Persephone, again, mirrored the action, resting her palms on the other side, closing her eyes to focus. 

The queen of the gods marveled at the strength, the vibration from the little goddess; it pulsated through and the light brightened and seeped into the cracks, spreading throughout the glass. She held her breath and watched the shards break apart, turning into petals and falling softly on the ground around them.  

The goddess of spring opened her eyes, free. Her dark curls were wild and the darkness lifted from her eyes when she smiled. “Kirimvose.”

Helaena folded her hands in front, returning the smile. “He is waiting for you.” 

She glowed with her words and moved, gone in an instant. The vision returned, a welcomed warmth that flowed through her, and Helaena was able to see Aemond, with the peace he long sought for, that he had fought for, and the queenly presence, devoted at his side. 

+ + + + + + +

Aemond had returned before dusk even hinted at the day’s end. He remained in the shadows, accompanied with the eagerness that vibrated within, but the emotion was tucked beneath his aristocratic demure. He waited and watched as the sun dipped away and was replaced by the moon, as full as the night before, returning with its silver light. He waited as the world rotated, replaying the echo of her sweet words.

Aemond, I will come back to you.

But she did not come.

Instead, he saw his sister and with her was his answer, apparent in her eyes before she spoke a word; he saw the pity that framed her eyes and it made his skin crawl. 

“I’m sorry, lēkia,” and he felt her genuine remorse. “She said it was too painful to see you again.” Rhaenyra could not meet with his steady gaze. “You must understand this, right? That this is how it was meant to be?” 

He felt a resounding sadness that was suffocating, a grief that bore into him and ached his bones, his every fiber that was required for him to exist within the cosmos. His stoicism remained and he hummed his understanding, the nod of his head that weighed heavily on his broad shoulders. “I understand, mandia,” he managed to say and he made the silent vow that he would never again resurface. “I only wish the best for her. Truly.” 

She dared meet with his sapphire stone and lavender eye; there was an emotion he saw play behind her eyes, but Rhaenyra remained quiet, her lips pressed into a thin line and she turned away from him. Aemond watched as she returned to her gardens before he retreated to the Underworld, greeted with the cold embrace of the darkness that engulfed the realm below. 

His kingdom was deathly quiet, as the dead did not converse and the screams of his grandsire were muffled within his hold of Tartarus. His gleam of felicity had been ripped away and he felt raw, a dulled ache within his chest and its constant threat to fracture through his bones. 

Aemond returned his attention to the repetitive work his realm required, unwilling to break away and allow a lull for the grief to return, as it simmered beneath. 

He would hear the concerned whine of Vhagar and Alys would visit, her soft words spilling from her painted lips. “My king, I beg you, please eat.”  

These days seem to mold together, without differentiation, without significance. Often, he would be perched out on the terrace that stemmed from the throne room, his gaze watchful but empty. Sometimes Alys would join him, his quiet companion other than her request for him to eat or to drink. On this day, she perked when she saw the streak of gold from his sister as she slipped away within his kingdom, a privilege he only allowed to her. 

Eventually, she arrived to greet him, as she often would; Aemond loved his sister dearly, but found himself too heartsore to offer much. He noticed an exchanged look between Alys and Helaena, but they parted without a word and the witch goddess then focused on him. 

“I was unaware that Kore gifted you the snapdragon.” Her voice was sharp, clarifying.

The bewitched flower remained dutifully pinned, with the red glow of its petals as his only reminder that what he had felt had been real, that it had not just been a dream. “She did,” he replied and he looked down at it. 

“My king,” and Alys smiled, genuinely for the first time in a while. “Your grief blinds you more than your gemmed eye.” 

There was a flicker of annoyance that played across his face and she continued on, not allowing him to speak. “That is a spell and its blossom is bound by love.” 

His brow furrowed and he brought his gaze from the petals to focus on Alys, whose expression was as gleeful as the words she spoke. “My king, she loves you. I know this, as did your sister when she saw it. Kore loves you and it has been under your nose this whole damn time.” 

“You lie,” he hissed. “I was told she did not even wish to see me-”

“Was this from her lips?” She challenged him, squaring to face her king with a fearlessness to correct him, as always. “Persephone told you she did not love you?” Alys moved closer, one finger touching the snapdragon and it sparked, a crimson glimmer in the muted throne room. “I know this spell, Aïdōneús. She loves you as much as you love her!”

The grief that interlaced throughout his being seemed to unleash with her words, the torrid of the moments shared poured over him with a renewed ardor. He could not ignore it, this emotion was a curse that had its hold of him still. “Then where is she?”

As he spoke, he already knew the answer. The emotion he had been unable to pin in the moment of his shattering grief, the one that played in his sister’s lavender eyes. 

Guilt.

Aïdōneús was the god of death, the king of the Underworld. His ichor thrummed with bloodlust, a strength he channeled when he ended the Titanomachy with a ferocity that was unseen before or since. With his realization, the silver of his hair, the white tones of his skin glowed as he swelled with a black flame that framed his movements; Alys placed his crown on top of his head, iron and ruby glowing, and he tore from the Gō vys. 

When he surfaced, it splintered the edge and the nymphs cried and scampered away from the gods’ wrath. His fury brought him to his sister’s gardens and the greenery wilted from his rage. “Rhaenyra,” his low baritone growled from his chest.  

He noticed how Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey were watchful, perhaps unaware of their mother’s treachery, but unwilling to allow Aemond to kill her, as he looked capable of at this moment. But he did not wish to slay his sister, he wished to find Kore and bring her back, as she had promised him, as she wanted. 

And he should have never doubted that. 

Rhaenyra appeared, her eyes red rimmed and she scoffed at the swell of her brother. “You are too late,” her voice broke. “She is gone.”

“Skoriot gōntan ziry jikagon?” 

Where did she go?

She looked at him, her jaw tight when she said, “I believe you already know, lēkia.”

He was gone from the mortal realm, slipping beneath. He looked at the grey shores and recognized the silhouette of her footfalls that lead forward, with the petals of peonies that trailed her steps. 

Aemond followed, his emotions ravaged him raw and he thought of how he failed her, that he believed that she would not show and he swore he would spend their eternity to make amends… 

He continued to the Asphodel fields and he saw her golden glow, complemented with hues of pink that touched her porcelain complexion. She was sitting beneath the tree with one of Vhagar’s heads resting on her lap and her hand petting. The ears twitched and Vhagar pulled away to trot towards Aemond; her dark curls spilled when she turned to see what caught their attention. 

It was as if Kore blossomed at the sight of him, the flush of pink spread across her cheekbones with her smile. “Aemond,” she sighed, pushing to stand and face him. 

He wished to run to her, to wrap his arms around her with the solemn vow that he would never let her go; he ached to taste her lips, to shower her with affection and beg for her forgiveness. 

It was all reserved beneath and instead his arms crossed behind his back. “Little goddess, I had gone to rescue you.” 

She hummed at the pet name and her eyes glittered. 

“I arrived and learned you were already gone,” he finished, his expression almost sheepish with the confession. His gaze met with hers, “I had thought you would not return.” 

“I promised you that I would.”

Her tone did not scorn him, but she said it factual and he felt the returned burn of his disappointment that he had ever doubted she would. “Kore,” he took a tentative step towards her, drawn to her golden glow, a need to feel the silk of her skin once more. 

She remained stance beneath the tree, her smile reaching her eyes. “I did as you asked of me and I had time to make my decision,” and she reached above to pluck a pomegranate from a branch. He watched her hands palm it between and how her fingernails broke its skin. Her fingers scooped the seeds and he watched her bring them to her mouth, red lines of its juices that dribbled down her chin. “I do not wish for anyone to try and keep me from you again.” 

It was another moment that etched within his mind, the sight of his queen and the red juice that stained her chin and her smile, the same smile that allowed a glimpse of spring within the Gō vys. 

She then closed the space between them and he tilted his head to meet her lips with his own, savoring the bittersweet kiss.