#but remember his first thing to her is to say never speak of this

[mim16s]

Survival in Game

Cho Hyun-ju x Autistic!Fem!Reader

•I'm not autistic, but I have a brother and a cousin who are, so I used my experience living with them to write this character. English is not my first language, but I tried my best to write this without spelling errors. This is my first story on this app, so I hope it is good.

This wasn’t what you wanted for your life. Honestly, you didn’t even understand how you had gotten to this point. All you wanted was to take care of your mother, to repay all the effort she had put into you. And you knew how hard it had been for her.

She got pregnant young and raised you on her own, with no support system. Your father? Well, you never knew him. He disappeared as soon as he found out about the pregnancy. Your grandparents, embarrassed that she had gotten pregnant so young and without even getting married, abandoned her too. That’s how your mother faced the world alone, with you in her arms.

And things got even harder. You knew that being autistic made everything more challenging for her. As a child, you didn’t speak, and your first words came only after many therapy sessions, which were expensive. But she never gave up. You remembered seeing her come home, exhausted after a long day of work, but always with a smile.

— Mom is fine. You’re everything I need to have strength, — she would say, trying to hide her exhaustion.

But you knew the truth. You knew how much she fought, how she struggled to meet all your needs, to make sure you never lacked anything. Everything fell apart when she got sick. You were 19. The illness took all her strength, and she could no longer work. That’s when the weight of the world fell on you. You had to find a job, but no matter how hard you tried, no one wanted to give you a chance. When they saw you weren’t neurotypical, they wouldn’t give you a chance.

Life became a daily struggle. You survived doing small jobs here and there, while some kind neighbors helped with food baskets. But the money was never enough, and the debts started piling up. Your mother’s treatments were expensive, and with each unpaid bill, the despair grew.Then he appeared. The man in the suit.He appeared out of nowhere, as if fate had sent him. With a piercing look, holding a briefcase in his hand. He stopped in front of you while you were resting in one of the subway chairs, with a smile that made you just as uncomfortable as it did curious.

— Looks like you need an opportunity, don’t you?—You hesitated, unsure of what to respond. He seemed to know exactly who you were and what you were going through.

— I want to propose something to you.

And that’s when you got a card with geometric symbols and a phone number. You stared at it, your heart racing without fully understanding it.

---

And now, here you were: in a strange hall, surrounded by people you didn’t know, in a place you had never seen before, wearing clothes you didn’t even remember putting on, and the fabric itched. You weren’t the only one confused. Perplexed looks crossed the room, and nervous whispers filled the air.

Then they appeared: masked soldiers, wearing uniforms that seemed more threatening than functional. You couldn’t help but shrink back, a heavy feeling that something was terribly wrong.They began to speak, explaining what was happening.

— Excuse me! — A voice echoed. Your eyes followed the sound until they landed on a beautiful woman, who seemed just as indignant as she was confident. — They said it would just be some games, but you kidnapped us. And you still want me to believe this?

— We apologize, — one of the masked soldiers replied, the voice distorted by some sort of modifier. — It was a necessary measure to ensure the confidentiality of the games we are organizing.

Questions started popping up from all sides, but the answers provided no comfort, only more tension. You wanted to understand better, but it was hard to follow. The questions, the sounds around you, the smell of sweat and fear in the hall, everything was pulling you in different directions. You began to rock back and forth slightly, trying to focus. It was something that always helped. But the discomfort persisted.

---

You were led to a large open field, surrounded by high fences and cameras that seemed to record every movement. It was announced that the first game would begin soon. When a desperate man screamed that, if anyone was eliminated, they would die, a chill ran down your spine. It couldn’t be true... right? But when the game began, the illusion of safety shattered. The sharp sound of a gunshot cut through the air. Your eyes widened, shock paralyzing you. That sound — loud, deafening to your sensitive hearing — seemed to hammer in your head. You instinctively wanted to cover your ears to block out that deafening noise, but you felt someone hold your hands firmly, preventing any sudden movements.

— Don’t move, it’s dangerous. — The voice came from behind. It was the beautiful woman from before. There was something in the firmness of her tone that managed to cut through your panic, bringing some calm.

— My ears hurt, — you murmured, your voice trembling.

— I know. But you have to hold on. Just a little longer.

Chaos spread around you. People were screaming, some running in desperation, while others were falling to the sound of new gunshots. You felt terror take hold, a heavy knot in your throat. Your legs felt like stone.

— If you don't cross the line in time, they'll still kill you! Look at the doll's eyes! They're cameras that scan for motion! But it's not able to detect you if you're behind something! — screamed one of the players, his voice desperate. — So if you short, line up behind someone who's taller than you!

Your body wouldn’t respond. You were frozen, the noise and the fear trapping you in place.The beautiful woman stopped in front of you, blocking your view of the rest of the field.

— Keep going. — Her voice was urgent, yet gentle. — You need to keep going. Don’t worry, I’ll stay in front of you. Just follow me, okay?

You couldn’t verbalize, but when the music started again, you followed her. Each step behind her felt like an eternity, but she kept her promise, protecting you as you moved forward.

After the game ended, everyone was taken back to the room. The atmosphere was heavy, filled with fear and despair. Lost looks, uncertain steps — everyone seemed terrified, and you were no different.Sitting on one of the beds, you rocked back and forth, an automatic motion, a desperate attempt to find comfort. But it didn’t help. Your breathing was uneven, the sounds around you seemed amplified, and all you wanted was to leave. Your mind raced in circles, always returning to the same question: Why me? You just wanted to help your mother. Everything you did was for her, and now you were trapped here, too scared to do anything.Then the voice of the masked soldiers echoed through the room, imposing order, the man from before who said he had already participated in this game proposed the vote.At first, the idea of voting seemed like an escape. A chance to get out of that terrible situation.

But then they revealed the amount of money accumulated by the people who had died. The sum gleamed in a giant safe suspended in the room. The shine of the money seemed to hypnotize some. Murmurs started to arise. Many were considering staying. You felt a tightness in your chest.

When the vote began, the sound of buttons being pressed was like a constant drum in your ears. You watched the people go to the ballot box, one by one, pressing their votes. Some hesitated, others went with determination.When it was your turn, your hands trembled as you walked up to the ballot box. The panel blinked in front of you: a circle to stay and an “X” to leave. You could barely see properly, your vision blurred by the tears at the corners of your eyes.Your finger pressed the “X.” You wanted to leave, go home. You needed your mother as much as she needed you. But when the final vote was recorded and the numbers were revealed, your heart sank.The majority had chosen to stay.Panic took over you again. Your fingers began to tremble uncontrollably, and you went back to your bed, feeling your whole body tighten. Your mind was in chaos. The rocking movement returned, but this time even more intense, as if your body was trying to compensate for the avalanche of emotions.You felt helpless. You wanted to scream, to cry, but all you could do was try to hold onto the little control you still had.

The terror was greater than anything you had ever felt before. And, even worse, it was just the beginning

Part 2:

[whiteheartlight]

Nuju becomes profoundly Deaf during the Visorak arc. he remembers being completely dazed afterwards, just staring at his siblings while they checked him over and tried to talk to him. he couldn't hear a word they said. maybe an explosion went off close to his head, or as @toaskello mentioned, the Zivon caused a long-term effect somehow. but the damage is done by the time Vakama is reuniting with them (this could even contribute to his guilt and leaving them, depending on the timeline)

a skilled medical mechanic could fix this if they had access to equipment and new parts for the audio receptors designed for Nuju's one-of-only-six model, but they don't have those things. on the ship back towards Mata Nui, while his siblings worry about how to help fix it, he's already accepted his new situation. if it had to happen to anyone, well, he's the best person for the job. he starts bastardizing his own version of sign language days in, and he rarely explains anything to the others in writing, so they're just expected to follow along as best they can and learn what he's saying. Nokama could help, but she wants her brothers to learn what he's saying too, and even she has some confusion as the language develops. there is a lot of guessing and comparing notes in those first few months. Nuju seems to take some pleasure in watching them continually fail to pick up on things that are clear to him. it becomes a way for him to remember the past, a testimony to the things they went through. they did not walk away without scars.

on the island, Nuju recalls that Matoro used to speak some sign language, and he takes him on as his translator. there's nothing official about the sign language they speak, but it works for them. gets more and more complex as the years go on, until they've invented their own complete language. the other Turaga and Kopaka understand most of what he signs, but not all. Matoro understands it all. he also relays what others are saying to Nuju. they form a strong bond over it.

by the time they rejoin other societies, Nuju is not interested in having his audio receptors fixed. now, it's a way to remember Matoro too. and a part of who he is.

Vakama blames himself for this sometimes, even though it was not his fault, just for the situation that they were all in. but come on, there are upsides too. for instance, he never has to hear Matau's voice again

[beeshoesometimesdraws]

❤️ x 🌒

give the not so angry dorito some comfort (*´ω｀*)

Warmth

(V4 Eclipse)

———————————————————————————

It settles inside him again as he sits in the dark of Foxy’s room, purple lights setting the walls aglow. A once unfamiliar turned more and more familiar feeling.

It seeps into his chest like oil in the tank of a car. Warm and filling in a way that sparks…something deep inside of him. Something that makes him rush to cut off the whirring rumbles that purr to life in his chest (a sound he vehemently dismissed as the sputter of some inner engine when Ballora pointed it out). Something that overrode the logical side and made him listen to other parts of himself that he rarely had before. It was as frightening as it was strangely enjoyable— this…something.

The drone of the television had long since faded to black silence. Eclipse could barely remember what had been playing on it before— some anime Monty had convinced everyone to watch for movie night— he thinks it was about exorcists but he’s not entirely sure. Jake and Andy and even Andrew had seemed to enjoy it though.

Speaking of…

Eclipse looked down as he felt a shift against him. An endo body cloaked in black curled against his lap like a cat, arms folded under their head. Tucked against his right side was the ghostly visage of Andrew— the touch of the kid’s phantom body against his felt fuzzy and barely there, like the static buzz from the screen of an old television. It was odd but not unpleasant.

Eclipse could feel it as he watched the two—technically three, actually—sleep peacefully. That warm feeling burrowed itself into his chest and spread itself over his body like a blanket soft as down. He only vaguely recalled having this feeling before in his previous lives (never in his third but there was a flicker of that something hidden somewhere in the recollection of his second and first). This life was the most he had ever felt it, though this life was also his first experience of many different things— things that before he would never have thought himself capable of experiencing.

Eclipse is broken from his train of thought by the quiet clearing of a throat. Looking up, he is greeted by Puppet’s smile. It is the kind of curled, crescent-eyed smile that he has come to associate with her more playful moods— or rather, a display of mirth typically aimed at him.

“What?” He grumbled out in a low voice.

“Nothing, Nothing.” Puppet waved her spindly hand dismissively. There was a small pause and then she continued, disregarding what she had just said, “I’ve just…never seen your rays do that before.”

Eclipse blinked slowly, brows furrowing, “Do what?”

“Spin.” She made a circular motion in the air with her finger, “Actually, I haven’t seen your rays move much at all. Sunshine’s do all the time, but not yours.”

Only then did Eclipse became acutely aware of the slow, circling motion of his rays. Quickly, he locked them back into place, “Tch, it’s not important.”

Puppet’s pinprick eyes twinkled with…something, hands cupped around her face like an enraptured child, “Come on, dude, it was kinda cool.”

Eclipse’s eyes narrowed and she raised her hands placatingly.

“Alright, alright.” She paused before a cheshire smile creeped slowly onto her plastic lips, “You’re such a softie, you know that?”

“Go fuck yourself.” He hissed, though the usual flash of annoyance was barely there now.

Puppet only laughed softly and stood from her seat in one of the smaller chairs, heading over to the door lit by Foxy’s Roxanne’s purple insignia, “We’re gonna be playing some games, maybe watching some more movies and stuff in the theater if you wanna join later.”

Eclipse grunted but didn’t say anything.

His gaze trailed back to the his kids sleeping soundly against him. Andrew shifted, curling closer— the soft, staticky feeling mingling with the strange warmth filling his chest that Eclipse was not privy to. There was a quiet click as his rays unlocked— something he didn’t acknowledge as the slow, circling motion began again. Just like he didn’t acknowledge the quiet rumbling that had started up in his chest.

“Oh, by the way– Eclipse?” He looked up to see her smile once again. But this one was different— softer around the edges, “For what it’s worth, you’re pretty good at the whole dad thing.”

———————————————————————————

[letmereedusyou]

i'm not yours - part 3

summary: continuation of the story - You and Daryl are (were?) best friends. He is dating Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart. Will it ever go back to normal?

warnings: rough language, verbal fighting, mentions of sex

part 1 | part 2 |

The sun was scorching hot and you felt like you skin was melting. The sweat stains on your top were the proof of just how uncomfortable today's weather was. Skin cancer guaranteed, you thought to yourself jokingly, looking at gentle freckles all over your shoulders. Every single muscle of your body hurt from the hike, but you keep pushing on, determined to make to the cabin that was on the cliff of the mountain.

Oh, yes - the hike. You were approached and asked to go on a scavenging run with Daryl. As much as you hated the idea of being so close to him in complete silence for hours on end, you also thought it would be a good idea to start a conversation with him, maybe explain yourself or just say sorry. So, here you are, on the hike up the hill with Daryl again and the tension between you was so uncomfortable it made your skin itch (although you weren't sure if it was that or the sweat). You kept glancing at him from time to time, but his gaze was fixed at the top of hill.

He was wearing his signature angel wing vest over a black buttoned shirt with the sleeves torn off for more comfort sun. Two of the buttons were undone and showing his chest hair. His black pants had a few holes in them but completed the all-black look he always went for. His boots were worn off, with Beth's red and black laces around them. He always said it was to remember her and you thought it was really sweet of him.

Your whole journey up the hill was quiet, only the footsteps and heavy breathing from both of you, and occasional walker growl.

The cabin stands out against the wild backdrop, its wooden walls weathered and sturdy, exuding an air of rustic charm. The pitched roof glistens under the afternoon sun. From your vantage point, you can see the large windows on both levels, offering a glimpse into the cosy interior. A wooden deck wraps around the cabin, providing a perfect spot to take in the breathtaking views of the surrounding peaks and valleys.

For a moment, you pause, taking it all in. The sight of the cabin, a beacon of comfort and respite, fills you with a sense of accomplishment and anticipation. After the challenges of the climb, the thought of resting in that cabin, sipping a hot drink by the fire, feels like the ultimate reward.

Daryl, on the other hand, doesn't even stop. He keeps pushing on, with no regard that you are not following him. He was never one to observe beautiful things, to get lost in them or admire them in any way. He always had his rational head on his shoulders. You sigh and run towards the cabin, catching up to him. You both get inside the cabin, banging on the walls gently to seek out any walkers that may be stuck in here. When you find there isn't any, you put your weapons down.

"I'll take this floor, you can take upstairs," he suddenly says, the first words he's spoken to you in weeks. You shoot him a surprised look, but quickly regain composure.

"Okay," you say, not really knowing how to react and you quickly make your way upstairs.

You couldn't ignore how your heart thumped in your chest when he finally opened his mouth to speak to you. It felt a bit surreal, strange, like you forgot how his voice sounds. You've heard him speak around Alexandria, of course, but you forgot how it sounded when it was directed to you. Even though, this time, it was cold and distant, you were still happy that he did speak. There was a glimmer, a tiny flame of hope inside of you that believed that not all was lost.

When you finally get upstairs, you go through every cupboard and every nook and cranny there was to make sure you're not missing anything. You find a few cans of stashed food, a bottle of alcohol and a small first aid kit in the bathroom. That was quite a bit, especially in the times you were living in, and taking that you're probably not the first people who found this cabin. You liked to believe that whoever was staying here or stumbled upon this place, was gracious enough to leave some supplies for the next person.

You were just about to leave one of the bedroom when you catch a glimpse of a box. You stop and turn curiously towards it, stepping closer. It was a small, wooden box with initials "P.N." engraved on top. You grazed the letters with your fingers, wondering who this could've belonged to, wondering about the name and if they're still alive. Once you open the box, you see a few things - a hairbrush with a silver handle, a cassette tape and a pink notebook. Journal, you immediately thought and hesitated while reaching for it. You felt like maybe you were invading someone's privacy, even in the zombie filled, no-actual-toilets-peeing-in-the-woods type of world, but eventually you decided to read it.

You take the cassette tape in hand first and read the label. "80s hits" and you smile, before you choose to stuff it into your pocket. Then, you take out the notebook with the same initials written on the front cover, and you sit down on the bed, the spring squeak under your weight. You open the notebook a couple pages in and read:

September 21th, 1991

Dear Diary,

Tom and I had sex! For the first time! I can't believe it. Me and Tom? I thought it would never happen... Tom is so popular, and every girl at school wants him and yet, he is here with me and parents, at the cabin for the weekend! With me!!! OMG, it's like a dream. My mum and dad went to the nearest town for some supplies and we stayed in. WE HAD SEX IN MY PARENTS BED! Tom said it was amazing. I think so too... I hope we can do it a lot more from now on!

You read some more pages and you find out that they, indeed, had more sex over the months of their relationship, in many places, including school broom closet, under the bleachers and in Tom's car. Then, they've broken up because Tom cheated on her. The little bastard thought it was okay to have two girlfriend at the same time.

"You done with searching?" he asks gruffly, looking at you, and you jump in your place, not realising he was there. Your stupid grin that you probably had on your face for the entire time you were reading falters a little and you nod.

"Yeah. Yeah, done," you manage to say, scrambling up to your feet and put the journal back in the box, closing it with a bang.

"What's that?" he asks, frowning. You follow his gaze to your jeans pocket where you stashed away the cassette.

"Some of the best hits from the 80s," you say, trying to make a conversation, just like ones you had before you told him you loved him and ruined everything. "I thought we could listen to it in the car on our way back."

"That's what you spent your time doing? Reading someone's diary and searching for cassettes?" he asks, crossing his arms on his chest. You could tell by the accusatory tone of his voice that he wasn't happy.

"No," you say scowling at him. "I've got supplies. Had some time to spare. Saw the box..."

"Spare me the details, would ya," he cuts in. "I guess, I shouldn't be surprised. It's not the first time you've decided to mess with something that isn't yours. You're not taking the cassette. Put it away and let's go."

You blank him for a minute as you are taken back straight to that look he gave you when you confessed. That look still stopping your heart and sending a sinking feeling through your entire being. GOD! ‚Kinda hard to give a chance to someone who has everything you want.’ That stupid sentence that started all this. Me admitting that Leah had everything you wanted and him pointing out that you have messed up by stomping my boots on something that wasn’t mine to have to begin with… Almost as you think it, you are snapped back to reality by him closing the distance between you with a deep guttural growl.

He scowls at you, causing you take a hesitant step back as you see a lingering deep hatred below the surface of his eyes.

"Excuse me?" you ask, surprised at what he's just said and how he clearly remembered what you said weeks ago. Your heart aches a little, the weight of the words crush onto you again. There was so much annoyance behind the words, that it took you aback a little. You look at him, the wrinkle between your eyebrows deepens.

"Ya heard me. Put it down."

"No."

He looked like he was about to roll his eyes and put his own hand in the pocket of your jeans and take it out but he doesn't. You can see it in your eyes - he was not happy. In fact, it felt like he was getting a bit angry at you for some reason. You didn't understand why and frankly, you couldn't care less. All you know is that you are taking the cassette with you.

He takes a step towards you, but then he shakes his head ever so slightly and his frown grows deeper.

"We are here for supplies. Not for fun,” he grits his teeth, his jaw clenching. „Not for you to pick some silly, little cassettes and have jolly old time in the car.”

„I am sure you’d say the same thing to Leah if she was here with you instead of me” you say sarcastically, your eyes never leaving his. And then you try to imitate his voice. „No, Leah, we can’t, we’re supposed to be… oh, god, Leah…” you make the noises of kissing, some moaning and grunting. „…all while her hand is in your pants.”

He looks like he’s surprised for a long minute, maybe because he wasn’t expecting you to say anything like that. You knew exactly what they were doing on their ‚supply runs’ together. Everybody did. No one is stupid enough to believe that they haven’t done anything but searching for supplies. You could even admit to yourself that you thought about fucking him in the places you went to for supply runs, so there was no reason for you to believe him and Leah weren’t. Then, his eyes darkened with anger.

„You should learn to shut the fuck up.”

"What? Did I struck a nerve, bitch boy?" the words came out of your mouth, cold and cutting. You were looking at Daryl, whose eyes were now wide open and scanning you like he didn't recognise you.

„What the fuck is wrong with you?” he shakes his head in disbelief and finally takes a step back, freeing your personal space.

„Apparently everything,” you say. „Apparently, I am just supposed to accept Leah, be friendly with her, after it took you the whole of three seconds to begin to like her!”

„Just shut it before you say something you’re not supposed to.”

„Like what? Like I hate Leah?! Because, spoiler alert, I do. So fucking much!”

„I swear to God…” he seethes through his teeth and then takes a deep breath, his shoulders slump a little, before he speaks in much calmer voice. „Put the cassette back. It’s not yours.”

„Oh, please…” you scoff, rolling your eyes. „You only are so adamant for me to put the cassette back, because you’re pissed at me for falling in love with you. There is no other reason for it. Which is fair. I know it wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to love you like this. When I first met you, I never thought that you’d be someone who I will ache for, whose name bring me a nostalgic pain and yet here we are!”

„Goddamnit!” he roars at you before putting his hands inside your jeans pocket, takes the cassette out and then throw it on the ground. His big boot stomps on it hard and the cassette cracks under his weight. Somehow, it was a great metaphor for how your heart felt. Stomped, broken, torn apart, in pieces. „You and me? Never gonna happen. Get that inside your tiny little head and stop fucking bothering me.”

You open your mouth to say something else but he already started walking away from you, slamming the doors on his way out. Your fists clench almost as hard as your heart does. You knew that this friendship is ruined, especially now after this argument, and there is no saving it. It's done, folded in a little envelope and sent away into the flames of despair and hurt. You knew Daryl well enough to know he's never been able to process emotions, especially love. And now, knowing that his best friend is in love with him, it probably only adds to his confusion.

You decide to descend from the mountain and head back to Alexandria. You couldn't see Daryl anywhere and once you reach the truck, you see the keys, that were usually in Daryl's pocket, are now in the ignition. You took that as a sign to just get the hell out of here. You had no idea where he was, but next to you was probably the last place he wanted to be.

Turning the key, you let the engine roar to life. The drive was long and the silence was deafening.

A/N: part 4 coming soon! 🖤

[thievinghippo]

First line/page WIP meme

Tagged by @aldisobey and figured why not? This fic is called 'a tangled funeral pyre' and will focus on the consequences of Rook attempting the lichdom rites forty years after the events of the game. This first section is a flashback

Tagging anyone else who wants to join in! I would love to see the cool stuff you're all writing! :D

#

“She’s keeping something from me.”

“Emmrich…”

Emmrich can only drop his head at the disappointment he hears in Myrna’s voice. Which is the last thing he wants to hear during their monthly tea. For almost twenty years now, since the defeat of the elven gods, they’ve met for tea in Myrna’s apartments in the upper levels of the Necropolis.

“Rook is allowed secrets, of course,” Emmrich says, staring at his hands. It’s not as if he doesn’t have any secrets himself. They are not his, though, but those of the Necropolis. Things that only the liches are allowed to know. “But in almost twenty years, she’s never deliberately hid something from me.”

The last few days… Her aura is different, somehow. There’s a nervousness he hasn’t seen from her before, not even before Teardrop Island. Something is clearly worrying her and the fact that she hasn’t confided in him breaks the heart he no longer has. All he wants is to be a source of comfort to her for the mortal years she has left.

“Have you considered inquiring about the change?” Myrna asks. She takes a sip of tea then places it down carefully on the saucer. “I will admit, I did sense some sort of distraction within Rook when we went to the theatre the other night.”

“And it was such a good production of The Tyrant of Minrathous,” Emmrich muses, thinking about the one of the many plays, songs, and novels that have been created about their adventures defeating the elven gods all those years ago.

“Speaking of that night, did I notice correctly that you’ve aged your glamour slightly?”

Emmrich tightens his grip on his cup of tea. While he hasn’t drank anything since lichdom, if the cup is hot enough, he can actually feel the warmth in his bones. Somehow, that warmth is a small comfort that he’s treasured, considering he’s lost so many others.

“Only five or so years. Rook believes that I should just let her catch up to my glamour. Maybe someday.” A day he refuses to let himself think about. He never allows himself to dwell on the fact that each day is one less he has with her.

“Why not have your glamour match her age? Truly, I was surprised you did not when you first crafted one.”

“Oh I very much considered doing just that,” Emmrich says, thinking back to those nights when he debated on his glamour, even when so many other pressing duties awaited. “If I recall, I believe I decided on changing my age would be cheating.”

Myrna simply tilts her head and takes another sip of team. “Cheating?”

If Emmrich still had an eyebrow to raise, he would raise one now. “My dear Myrna, I know Vorgoth would have mentioned the conversations we had about my insecurity regarding my age and my relationship with Rook.”

To her credit, she nods instead of trying to deny it. Vorgoth really is the worst gossip in all of the Necropolis. “I might remember hearing a thing or two.”

It’s that moment Emmrich senses something deep within the Necropolis. A sudden tremor that only a lich would have the ability to sense. He places his teacup onto the table and focuses. He looks to the beating pulse of the Necropolis itself and feels a pull.

“Myrna, please accept my apologies, but I am being called to a pressing matter.” 

Emmrich stands and focuses his energy, trying to see exactly where he is meant to go. The uncreatively named Lich Hall, down in the deepest recesses of the Necropolis. Where only the four unliving lich lords have access.

Four lich lords and any member of the Mourn Watch who has discovered the first step of the journey to lichdom.

Suddenly he can look back at Rook’s aura with perfect clarity.

[aleksa-sims]

RL Story

Because I was angry at N., I did not accompany him to his family today. Instead I met Sandra, to spend his money -we're going shopping! 🤷‍♀️😬 S. told me, that she is having a hard time finding a new job. Before going on maternity leave, she worked in a dental surgery.  She’s a dentist’s assistant. Just like Bianca!! I thought I’d ask B. for a favor, so she can help S. get a job at her dentist.

While I told Sandra about Bianca, she started interrupting me.

Sandra: Did you have plans to see Alex today?? Or-

Me: Alex?... No!

Sandra: Don’t you see him? That’s Alex coming at us!

Me: You’re damn right! That’s him! ... Oh, there he is.... Hi, Alex, nice to see you, it's been ages, dude! 😬😳

Alex: Huh?... Holy shit! LEXI! 😦... Sorry I-... I have to go! I-, I gotta run! I can’t talk to you. Bye!

Sandra: 🤣🤣 Haha .. wtf???

Me: IDK?? 😄😄 Do I smell or something? 🤣 He’s literally running away from me. 🤷‍♀️

Sandra: He can’t talk to you? ?.. Either he’s on some heavy shit, or Daniel has something to do with it?

Me: Alex doesn't do drugs! And Daniel didn’t seem to be mad at me, when I saw him 3 weeks ago.... Agh, whatever! Now let’s go spend Nico’s money. 🤭😈

Sandra: Didn’t you say you wanted to spend his money?

Me: That’s what I’m doing! 🤨

Sandra: You buy, him clothes, but what about you? And actually you’re doing him a favor. He should go shopping himself, you’re not his servant.

Me: Nico would never go shopping voluntarily. Besides, I want my boyfriend to look good, yk? Tbh, N.'s no style at all! He doesn’t give a shit about it. If it were up to him, he would prefer to walk around in shorts 24/7. All the stuff he has, I got and chose for him.

Sandra: But who used to buy his clothes before he met you? I mean, he still managed to look handsome, as far as I remember.

Me: He, is handsome, but his style/taste sucks, S.! 🤷‍♀️

Sandra: Anyway. What should I give my bf for Christmas?.. My ex, I always got the same thing.

Me: Let me guess! You gave him a black suit. 😄😄

Sandra: Ha-ha! 🤨😒.... Well, I admit it. At first I found his black suits somehow.... interesting, but he was overdoing it.

In the end she found a gift for Dario (don’t worry, it wasn’t a black suit, her "suit guy" is past & still in jail!). I also bought some things for myself and Lucas. Well, and for Nico. 😒 Speaking of my Baby, Lucas was with Nico today. They went to N.'s Dad and to Melanie. Without me! I didn't want to! But I was so worried about my little one. He had never been alone with Nico before. So I expected the worst. Let’s see how their trip was today? But before I went home, I met Bianca, to give her Sandra’s documents. B. will hand over Sandra’s application to her boss with a personal recommendation. Hope it works for S.!!

Previous/Next

[brummiereader]

@mischievouslittlecreature ahh I've finally reached the first chapter of the next act 😍!

The phone booth that stood before them looked terribly out of place, red and man-made and screaming from within as the phone tucked inside its guts rang out. I would have quoted the entire first part because I adored how you described the scene. You fully immersed me in one of the best cinematic scenes of the series. So well that I swear I could see it playing out in front of my eyes. I particularly loved your description of the lone phone booth (this has inspired a new change in theme for my page 😂😍). And you're so right with your observations, one I made when I first watched this scene too. What the hell is it doing there 😂?? It's completely out of place. I don't think I've ever seen a phone booth randomly dumped like that in the middle of no where as a kid growing up in the UK 😅.

Wraith’s hooves clomped against the hard ground, snorts and quiet whinnies sounding from his nose. Ahh, I also really loved this description of Wraith 😍. And with the wind currently battering everything outside where I am, this whole scene was just perfectionist to read ❤️.

That was how things were these days, for the most part. Lizzie may have begrudgingly given her blessing for Tommy to remain seeing Lucy behind closed doors despite his marriage to her, but that did not mean she was particularly happy about it. This made me scoff so loudly! "Blessing"🙄. Lizzie came second! The day she finally realises her place in this arrangement, I will scream with joy! I'm kinda relieved the initial beginnings of this "marriage" are over. I know Lizzie's still kicking her feet about things, but it's a fair amount of years since the last act, so I'm hoping 🤞🏼 that she's at least done with her attempts to seduce Tommy (remembers "you're my property" scene 😳).

I'm gutted to read about Lucy and Charlie's strained relationship 😭. I can see how it could have easily happened with Lucy always away from work, but it's still heartbreaking to see how bad things have become in the household.

Oh, she was going to disembowel Michael fucking Gray. Please do, Lucy! And start with that moustache first. Maybe plucking out each hair one by one 😂.

“I won’t be on my own. I’m never on my own.” Tommy pulled himself into the saddle. “Lucy,” arghhh, I squealed at this 😍! I loved the double meaning to this. Instead of him referring to Grace like he does in the series, he's referring to Lucy 🥰. They really are joined at the hip!

Gosh, another heartbreaking scene for both Tommy and Lucy as they see their lover 😔. I continue to love how you make them descend into these darker moments together. They share so much pain, and instead of dealing with it separately, they always go through it together. Part of me believes they do because they're the same person, that deals with thing in the same way. And another part of me believes it's because they couldn't possibly do it without the other. Like the saying "a problem shared is a problem halved". They're so codependent on each other, and where some people might think that's not a healthy trait to have in a relationship, for Tommy and Lucy it's the only way for them to survive 😭❤️.

Lucy did not speak much during the meeting, though she almost jumped across the conference table to throttle Linda at multiple points. The image of Lucy lunging over the table at Linda in my mind was both epic and hilarious 😂!

Oooh the tension was thick during the Garrison scene. I know Ada is only looking out for her younger brother, but it made me a little nervous how she and Lizzie seemed to gang up. I really hope this isn't the start of something, because she was so understanding of Tommy and Lucy's relationship in the previous part 😬.

She stood, muttering, “I can’t be bothered with this shit,” loud enough for everyone to hear, before storming out the door. Ahh, good ol'Lizzie, always there to make things even more awkward. Even in the series, I never got the impression that Lizzie was really in, in, with what the family was up to. So when I read this part, i was as shocked as Lucy at her outburst and so perfectly worded "cunty" behaviour!

Great chapter, Lily! Can't wait to read more 😍.

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Devastating news from Michael in America leads Tommy and Lucy to congregate with ghosts.

Word Count: 6,213

Warnings: Drug use, polyamory, animal death, and references to pregnancy.

Notes: This chapter is a little heavy on exposition, so sorry in advance for that. But there's a bit of a time jump between this and the previous part, so I wanted to make sure everyone was caught up on the dynamics between the characters before we really hit the ground running.

Previous Part • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 1: Gathering Storm

The wind howled over the barren hills, pushing white wisps of mist across the landscape. There was hardly a tree in sight, and what little browned or yellowed grass there was trembled against the cold breeze. The phone booth that stood before them looked terribly out of place, red and man-made and screaming from within as the phone tucked inside its guts rang out. 

Wraith’s hooves clomped against the hard ground, snorts and quiet whinnies sounding from his nose. His sides flexed against Lucy’s legs with each movement, betraying the powerful muscle encased under his deep black pelt. 

Tommy eased him to a stop beside the phone booth and dismounted, handing her the reins. Lucy turned her head to look out at the wasteland of dirt and rolling hills around them as he ducked into the booth to pick up the still shrieking phone. Wind tugged lightly at her red curls and kissed icily at her freckled cheeks. Wraith snorted, shifting from foot to foot, dipping his enormous head, black mane twisting in the breeze. Lucy gave him a gentle pat to quell his impatience, watching the dark silhouette of Tommy’s body through the glass panes of the phone booth. Condensation beaded on the transparent material, leaving it blurry. 

They had been out living on the land for a few days. Sleeping in vardos, eating what they were able to catch or forage, and languishing in the fresh air that was free from the smoke and soot of the city. Lizzie and the kids were with them, as was Johnny Dogs and some of his kin. All of whom were lingering back at the camp while she and Tommy went to take the prearranged phone call. It was nice. A much needed break of the usual insanity of their lives. 

Well, it had been nice. All the way up until that business with Dangerous. 

Lucy swallowed hard, adjusting her grip on Wraith’s reins. Poor, sweet, wild horse. Tommy had been nearly despondent when it became clear they would have to put him down. He had insisted on doing the deed alone, and when he came to her after it was done, there was a shakiness in his hands that only she knew him well enough to notice, and his eyes were unsteady and clouded over with grief and something dark and despairing. 

The wind picked up a little, and the walls of the phone booth creaked and rattled. A foreboding death whistle sounded across the hills. Lucy shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the lay of her peaked cap on her head, trying to pull it down to protect her ears from the cold. 

Tommy emerged from the booth a moment later, eyes sweeping across the muddied hills, taking in the gray clouds gathering in the sky. He looked tired, the face under the shadow of his cap drawn in and layered with stress. 

“Everything alright?” she asked when he approached, scooting back in the saddle so that he could climb into the space in front of her on the stallion.  

“Yeah. Arthur got a letter from the Angels of Retribution. They said that they hadn’t even heard of us, so I told Finn to send Aberama and Isiah to introduce themselves. But to stay out of it himself.” 

“Good.” Isiah and Aberama were two of their soldiers that she trusted the most. Aberama had proven himself to be an invaluable asset. Shaped by experience, calculation, and ruthlessness. And Isiah…well, Isiah had been trained by her personally. “Ready to head back?”

Tommy took hold of the reins, sighing and looking out at the vast landscape around them. They could disappear out here, if they wanted to. Never to be seen again. “Yeah,” he said, in a voice that indicated the exact opposite. Lucy wrapped both arms around his waist, pressing her front to his back, holding onto him for both stability and comfort. He lowered one of his big palms to rest on top of hers where they clasped against his stomach, thumb rubbing her knuckles before taking hold of the reins. He snapped them once and drove his heels into Wraith’s sides, and the massive black stallion took off in a ferocious, booming gallop across the field.

They rode back the long way, neither of them saying anything as the wind whipped at their clothes. Lucy didn’t mind; she could sense that Tommy needed the time to think.  

By the time they picked their way to the ridge overlooking where they had made camp, the wind had died down somewhat. Good thing, too. The cold was making her shoulders begin to ache with the pains that so often plagued them.

Looking down, she could see the little figures of Johnny and his boys moving amongst the wagons. They had dug a huge hole in the time that they’d been gone, a small mountain of dirt piled up next to it. The little lake shimmered in the sunlight. A dog barked. 

Tommy brought Wraith to a stop, staring with his eyes fixed not on the hole Johnny and his men had dug, but the body wrapped in canvas next to it. Lucy gave him a small squeeze around the middle. Near the wagons, by where a table and chairs had been erected, she could see the tall, elegantly dressed figure of Lizzie looking up at them. Beside her, a smaller figure, hard to make out at this distance, but probably Ruby, turned her head to stare at the ridge. 

In front of her, Tommy shifted, reaching into his pocket and procuring a small brown bottle, uncorking it. 

“Can I have some?” she asked, after he took a small swig. He passed it back to her silently. The drug burned slightly as it entered her mouth and coated her throat. She was mindful not to drink too much; she was small, and it wouldn’t take a lot to have her flying high as a kite if she wasn’t careful. Handing back the vial to Tommy, he slid the cork back into place and pocketed it. 

More and more often, they found themselves swigging from that little bottle.

Tommy nudged Wraith into moving again, and they started to follow the path descending the ridge, heading into the camp. 

Once they arrived, Tommy dismounted first to be immediately greeted by Ruby running to him. He stooped, beckoning her to him and scooping her into his arms. Lizzie was right behind her daughter, moving to walk by Tommy’s side as he carried Ruby over to where the wagons were stationed. She gave a thin, barely perceptual smile to Lucy as she passed by the horse. 

That was how things were these days, for the most part. Lizzie may have begrudgingly given her blessing for Tommy to remain seeing Lucy behind closed doors despite his marriage to her, but that did not mean she was particularly happy about it.  

It was no secret that Tommy and Lizzie had problems. Lucy lived at Arrow House with them; she had a front row seat to all the shouting matches and bitter resentment that had plagued their marriage. 

She had done her best not to get involved. Tommy and Lizzie’s relationship was their business, and she doubted that Lizzie would respond well to her meddling in it. But it was hard, with her proclivity to want to fix things for people, to not try to repair their strained union. 

Things between her and Lizzie were…tumultuous. They’d had their share of rough patches here and there in the years since she and Tommy got married. Incidents like Lizzie asking Lucy to move rooms. It had been shortly after Lizzie and Ruby moved into Arrow House. Lizzie had wanted Ruby to have the room closest to the master bedroom should she need her in the middle of the night. Lucy hadn’t minded. Of course, she had assumed that Lizzie would have her moved to one of the unoccupied rooms further down the hall, not to the opposite end of the house. In a drafty, overlooked room. The drafts went unfixed for nearly a month, despite her bringing them up to Lizzie multiple times. It was only after Tommy took notice of them that they were finally dealt with. 

Over time she’d grown used to Lizzie’s bursts of jealousy-induced passive aggression, even though it still always stung. Despite her attempts to not let it bother her. In the end, she really felt quite sorry for her, and massively guilty for the role she had undeniably played in amplifying her misery. 

She should have put a stop to it all earlier, back when Lizzie was still a prostitute that she and Tommy frequented when looking for a bit of variety in their sex life. And especially after he had made Lizzie his secretary. And yet they still continued to intermediately sleep with her. That had been a mistake, and not just because of the pregnancy. It had led Lizzie on, and that hadn’t been fair.

And then they’d gone and made things even worse when Tommy married Lizzie.

They had not been dishonest about the arrangement that would come with the marriage. Tommy had not married Lizzie for love, but for convenience. Having an illegitimate child could hurt his image as a politician. And he needed a wife. Someone to run the house and care for the children while he was gone. And to help project the image of a traditional family to his constituents. Marrying her was the right, respectable thing for him to do. Lizzie would enjoy all the benefits of being Mrs. Shelby, but Tommy and Lucy would be continuing their relationship. They had all been clear on that. Lizzie had said that she was okay with that.  

But Lizzie had always been in love with Tommy. Lucy had seen it in her eyes, years ago. And their current actions had done nothing but fan the flames of hope that Lizzie carried in her heart that someday, Tommy would love her the way that she wanted him to. Lucy sometimes wondered if Lizzie thought that if she wanted it badly enough, she’d be able to change him into the man that she wanted him to be.  

Tommy had tried. Sort of. Lucy had seen it during the first year of his marriage to Lizzie. He had tried so hard to play the role of if not a loving and attentive husband, than at the very least a present and dutiful one. But as time went on and the mask slipped, he had ultimately given up the charade, resigning himself to a life with a wife who he didn’t love. 

And then the bitterness and resentment came. There were days where things were better. Lucy could sit by the fire, giggling and playing cards or chess with Lizzie after the kids had gone to bed. But then there were days where even the smallest thing set Lizzie off, spewing cruel words at her or Tommy who, true to his nature, gave just as good as he got.  

In all honesty, Arrow House was no longer the refuge that it had once been. She and Tommy were now relegated to quick and brief touches and kisses in the darkest corners of the house or else they risked Lizzie’s ire. Not that work was much different, as anything outside of strictly professional behavior could risk blowing up everything they had worked so hard to build these past few years. There was the apartment they had in London for when they worked too late to justify driving back to Birmingham, but often when they went there they were both too exhausted to do much more than sleep. It was with a bit of a startle that Lucy realized that she could not remember the last time they had done anything even remotely romantic outside of quick, almost mindless fucks.  

One of Johnny’s boys came over to lead Wraith away by the reins, and Lucy remained securely seated in the saddle, resting a hand on the back of the irritable horse’s neck. Even after so many years, he didn’t take too kindly to strangers, and there was always a risk when someone unfamiliar tried to approach him that he would try to bite or kick. But with her still astride him, he behaved himself, letting Johnny’s boy guide him towards one of the wagons. 

“I’ll do that,” she said to the man, dismounting with ease and taking the rope he was about to use to tie Wraith to the side of the vardo. He nodded respectfully, handing it over and walking around her to go help Johnny and his men haul the carcass of Dangerous into the grave they’d dug.  

She’d just finished looping the rope into place, giving Wraith a companionable pat on the flank when she heard Charlie’s voice raise in an angry cry from where he, Tommy, Lizzie, and Ruby were all gathered at a nearby wagon,

“No! It’s what you do! Shoot horses, shoot people. Everybody says!” He stood, turned, and disappeared back into the wagon, stomping his little feet in a way that was eerily similar to his father. 

Tommy winced, shoulders drawing in, expression locking down in a way that Lucy recognized as him working very hard not to let the hurt he was feeling show too obviously on his face. Straightening, he fetched a cigarette from his case and went to the hole where Dangerous’s body lay. After a moment’s hesitation, Ruby followed him. 

“What happened?” Lucy asked in a quiet voice, going to stand by Lizzie, slipping off her gloves to tuck them away in her pocket.

“Charlie heard Johnny say in Rokka that Tommy shot the horse.”

“Oh.”

“He doesn’t understand that it was out of mercy. And he won’t listen to anyone who tries to explain it to him.”

Lucy sighed, pulling out and lighting a cigarette. “Well, at least we know he’s been paying attention when learning his languages.”

“Maybe you could try talking to him…”

She flicked ash down onto the grass. “He doesn’t really listen to me all that much these days.”

Lizzie looked down and away. Lucy thought she might’ve seen a flicker of guilt in her eyes. 

There was a time when she and Charlie were close. She had known him since before he was born. And even prior to Grace’s death, she had been a second mother to him. Something both Tommy and Grace encouraged. Her lovers had wanted their son to see her as another parent, and so that was the position she had taken up in his life. Or at least tried to. 

But things had shifted in the past few years. Some of it could be chalked up to just the boy growing up and that typical Shelby willfulness finally making itself known. She didn’t think, for all her faults and all the strife between them, that Lizzie had purposefully driven a wedge between her and Charlie. But working with Tommy in London meant that she wasn’t home as much, and with Lizzie always at Arrow House and functioning more often as his mother than Lucy was, things had changed. Slowly, they drifted apart. And now he hardly spoke to her. He called Lizzie Mum, but not her. Never her.

Lucy could not fault him for growing more partial to Lizzie. After all, she was the one who was always there, to help him with his schoolwork, attend his extracurriculars, mind that he ate his vegetables at dinner, and kiss his scraped knees when he fell playing in the garden. It made sense that he would grow closer to her, and that he would side with her when he saw just how much distress the arrangement between his three parents brought her. In his eyes, Lucy had to figure that she appeared to be the primary source of his mother’s pain. 

Maybe she was. 

Perhaps that was why she gave up so easily without a fight, letting him drift away from her with no protest. A way to try to atone for the agony she had caused Lizzie. She may have Lizzie’s husband, but Lizzie had her child. 

She loved Charlie. She only ever wanted what was best for him, and right now, that was Lizzie. She would take care of him, offer him the closest thing to a normal, stable life that was possible for him to have.

It was better for him, this way. He deserved a better mother than the broken fragments that was all Lucy had to offer. 

Despite her understanding of her boy’s–no, not hers, not anymore–changed emotions towards her, it hurt like a knife to the chest. She had loved him from the moment she first held him, had rocked him to sleep hundreds of times when he was a baby, had watched him grow up into the precocious little boy he was now. He was her baby. Or at least the closest she would ever have to one. 

Of Tommy’s two children, Ruby was surprisingly the one who was warmer towards her these days. But then again, Ruby was sweet with everyone.   

Turning her gaze back over to where Tommy stood by the unfilled grave with his daughter, she examined the lines of sorrow standing out starkly on his face as he gazed at the dead horse in the hole. She dropped her cigarette to the ground, grinding it under her heel, about to go to him when the growl of an approaching engine caught her attention. Her head turned, hand half raising to dip inside her coat to where her revolver sat in its holster tucked securely against her ribs, before she recognized it as Arthur’s car. 

By the grave, Tommy had also noticed the car, ushering Ruby over towards Lizzie and moving to meet Arthur when he shut off the engine and jumped out of the driver’s seat. He had a newspaper in his hand. 

Lucy moved to stand at Tommy’s side, craning her head around his shoulder to peer at the newspaper’s headline when Arthur handed it over. 

BILLIONS LOST IN WALL STREET CRASH, it read, in huge black letters. Behind them, she could hear the scrape of shovels and the dull thud of dirt being dumped back into the hole. 

Despite the headline, her stomach did not drop with horror. They had known that this was coming. Tommy had already instructed Michael to sell before the numbers of the stocks and shares collapsed, so they would be–generally speaking–unaffected. 

It wasn’t until Arthur started speaking, explaining how Michael had ignored their advice in favor of that of a broker and held on, that her guts began to turn with outrage and dismay. Michael had held on. And taken them all down with him.

She exhaled roughly, taking a step back, slowly shaking her head. Oh, no. Oh, fucking no.

How much had they lost? Just trying to do the calculations in her head for a ballpark number made her temples start to hurt. 

Oh, she was going to disembowel Michael fucking Gray.

Incompetent, arrogant, backstabbing fool. They should never have forgiven him for that shit he pulled during the vendetta. Banishment had been too kind a punishment for him.  

“That idiot,” she seethed, looking to Tommy. “I’m going to kill him.”

The expression on his face said that he may very well let her. He started to tread back and forth, rubbing at his eyes, mumbling in a way she knew was more to himself than to any of them. His teeth were grinding together, jaw jumping under his skin. It did not take long before he was shouting, pacing the ground like an angry jaguar and raging.

“What do I have to do to make people fucking listen to me!?” he screamed into the wind, a hand going to clasp over his mouth as he paced a few more times then stilled, eyes staring with his mind spinning behind them. 

And then he was jumping into action, sounding off orders to both Lizzie and Arthur with a snap of his fingers. He did not need to give Lucy her directions, she already knew them, reaching into her pocket to procure her leather gloves and slide them over her hands, gesturing to one of Johnny’s men to get Wraith where he was tied up. 

“I need to do some thinking,” Tommy announced as he headed towards the horse with Arthur on his heels. 

“Oh. Oh, you do that best on your own, don’t you, eh?” Arthur challenged, agitated. 

“I won’t be on my own. I’m never on my own.” Tommy pulled himself into the saddle. “Lucy,” he said, and she was already there, reaching up to take his outstretched hand, the strength in his arm helping to leverage her up onto Wraith’s back behind him. He gave one last set of instructions to Lizzie, and a final parting word to Arthur, and then he was driving Wraith into a gallop deeper into the hills. This time, they did not head up to the top of the ridge, but instead towards the trees, Wraith’s canter slowing as they entered the dense thicket of foliage, the wilderness seemingly opening up, and swallowing them whole. 

∗ ∗ ∗  

“Do you want me to kill him?”

They were seated on a log in front of the dancing flames of the fire Tommy had ignited shortly after darkness fell over the forest. Lucy had her head on his shoulder, leaning against his side to soak in the warmth that radiated from his body.

“Hm,” Tommy hummed, fingertips stroking where they rested on her upper arm, cheek turning against the top of her head. She had to bite back a smile at the clear consideration in his voice. “Not yet. Not until we know what really happened.”

“He’s a snake.”

“He’s an idiot. But that doesn’t mean this was a purposeful betrayal.”

“Yeah,” she agreed with a sigh, adjusting her head on him. Tommy picked at a sprig of mint held in his gloved hands, pulling off a few of the green leaves and popping them into his mouth. Wraith snorted from where he was tied to a nearby tree. “I still don’t trust him.”  

Tommy tossed the remainder of the sprig away. “Me neither.”

Before them, the fire popped and crackled. Lucy grabbed a few bits of kindling that they’d collected to feed into the flames. 

“I hate to add more onto your plate, but I got a message from Ada’s doctor earlier.” Every day since they’d been out in the country, she went to the red phone booth to take messages from Frances, Isiah, and their other various informants. “She’s pregnant.”

Tommy sighed deeply, but didn’t appear surprised. “Younger’s?”

“The doctor didn’t know, but I would assume so. Who else could it be? Not that it affects things all that much. I just thought you should know. So you don’t get blindsided by it later.”

“Thank you.”

They fell into companionable silence again. He had been quiet since they took off into the woods, busy in his head working on all the new problems Michael had just created for them. Lucy offered suggestions and insights when prompted, but otherwise just let him be, knowing after so many years together that her presence at his side was all he needed while he strategized. 

He shifted, reaching into his pocket to once more procure the little bottle of dope he kept tucked away there. Uncorking it, he handed it over to her first. Lucy took it gratefully, the glass cold against her fingers as she brought it to her lips and tilted her head back to take a swig. Almost immediately, she felt her mind begin to loosen, the corners of her eyesight growing fuzzy. 

She handed the bottle back to Tommy. There wasn’t much left; and he downed the remainder of the drug, tossing the empty bottle into the fire uncaringly. His arm went around her once more, the solid strength of it holding her to his side. Lucy snuggled in close, grateful for the comfort and heat, hoping that she could offer the same to him. 

Her eyes closed, and together, they waited for the ghost. 

She did not need to open her eyes to know once she had arrived. She could sense the way that the air around them seemed to shift, the weight of another presence appearing across the fire from them heavy despite her lack of a corporeal body.

Tommy spoke to her a little, and she responded in her gentle Irish lilt. Lucy could hear the smile on her face. The love in her voice.  

Quick as she appeared in front of them, she was suddenly behind them, her arms encircling them. Solid and real, though they shouldn’t have been. Her body was nothing but ash, spreading into the wind, and yet she was there, holding them as though she had never left. 

“All this time…” Tommy murmured, reaching to hold onto the ghost tighter. 

“I know. Our love still remains,” Grace said. Lucy felt tears squeeze from her eyes to roll down her cheeks. Grace’s hand petted the back of her head. 

She had been coming to them both more and more often lately. They had each seen her on rare occasions before, but now it was a regular occurrence. Probably because of the dope. 

Shared hallucinations, or real? It didn’t really matter. She was there. She was speaking to them and holding them. Things were as they once were, before she and their only real chance at happiness was ripped away from them. 

She was gone as quickly as she arrived, leaving nothing but cold air where she once stood over them. Lucy snatched at the empty space where her hand had been settled on her dead lover’s waist, lips trembling. Instead she latched onto Tommy, feeling him maneuver her so that her head was in his lap. He hugged her tighter, face bowing to bury in her hair, and there in the dark, she felt through their bond the true heavy weight of his despair crashing down onto them both, and the dampness of his salty tears dripping onto her scalp to seep into her skin. 

∗ ∗ ∗

By morning, they had a plan mapped out. Not a particularly desirable or moralistic one, but then again, few of their strategies ever really were. 

It would sustain them until the current financial crisis was over, at the very least.

The first meeting on the subject was held at the Shelbys’ office in Birmingham. The long table in the conference room was already occupied by Polly, Ada, Arthur, Linda, Lizzie, and Leon Greene when Lucy and Tommy arrived. Lucy raised an eyebrow at the tension she felt already crackling in the air and shared a look with Tommy as she sat down in the chair to the right of his.

The meeting went over well enough, despite Linda’s snobbish remarks and attempts to undercut Tommy at every turn. She’d been getting worse, ever since Arthur became chairman of the board. Like she thought that it was her husband who ought to be king, instead of Tommy. 

The idea made Lucy want to roll her eyes so hard in her head that they were at risk of popping out. She loved Arthur to pieces, she really did. But he was not suited to the position of leading the empire Tommy had built. 

Lucy did not speak much during the meeting, though she almost jumped across the conference table to throttle Linda at multiple points. Instead, she relegated herself to the sidelines, watching and listening quietly, as she so often did. Examining the faces of those seated around the table as Tommy explained their current financial situation, and his proposal for what they were to do to try to mitigate it.

At the end of the meeting, all of them–except for Linda who had already stormed out–voted unanimously to go forward with Tommy’s plan. 

Not that there had ever been any doubt that they would. 

The next meeting was for family only. They left Mr. Greene back at the office while the rest of them stepped out into the smoky air of Small Heath, heading for the Garrison. They entered the pub to rapturous cheers and applause, people immediately swarming around Tommy, eager to shake his hand and thank him for the work he’d been doing. 

Lucy watched him work the room, effortlessly charming each person who approached him. By the time he raised his voice to address the entire population residing in the pub, he had them all in the palm of his hand. He probably could have told them all to walk into the canal and they would have done so without question. 

His request that they move into the saloon bar attached to the pub, albeit with the incentive of a promise of free drinks, was met with more cheers, the patrons hurrying towards the doors. Ada, Polly, and Lizzie all went to convene in one of the booths while Tommy leaned his shoulder against a nearby pillar, and Arthur went to sit in a chair at a table next to the booth. Lucy moved to close the doors leading into the saloon bar once all the patrons were packed inside, flicking the lock into place. Then she pulled up a chair between Arthur and Tommy, shedding her coat to lay over the back of it before sitting. 

The meeting started off with Ada drawing a bullet from the depths of her handbag and setting it down on the table in front of her. Followed by an announcement that not only had Finn disobeyed them about staying out of the hit they’d ordered in Chinatown, and as a result ended up on Ada’s couch with a bullet in his arm, but he’d also completely spilled his guts to her as far as the details of what he’d been doing there. 

Fucking kid needed a lesson in how to keep his damn mouth shut. 

But the damage had been done, and Ada and Lizzie were both well and truly furious about the whole thing.

“Oh, Tommy, sweetheart,” Lizzie shook her head. Lucy raised her eyebrows at the term of endearment. “I listen to you. I listen to you when you tell me no more sport for anyone named Shelby. I listen to you when you make me promises.”

Lucy looked down at her hands, unconsciously playing with the plain golden rings that encircled several of her fingers. Guilt twisted inside her like a snake, writhing and squirming. How many of those promises had Tommy broken, in the years since they’d been married?

How many times had it been her fault when he did? 

He tried to explain why he’d sent their boys into Chinatown, but that only seemed to fan the flames of Lizzie and Ada’s mounting anger. 

“Jesus Christ, Tommy!” Lizzie snarled, slamming her hand down on the leather material lining the bench of the booth. 

“I think that you both are overreacting a little here,” Lucy decided to finally speak. “It’s not that big of a deal. And it’s not that different from the type of thing we used to do all the bloody time. Finn’s fine, an asshole pimp is dead, and we’re about to make a hefty hunk of cash for carrying out the hit.” 

“It was a particular opportunity.” Lucy started a little when, of all people, Polly chimed in. Polly, who hated her. Who had never accepted her. And yet, who had just spoken up in agreement with her. 

Lizzie’s eyes darted between her, Lucy, and Tommy. Something dawned on her face, and then her features hardened into a deadly expression that Lucy had become all too familiar with.

“But you told Polly and Lucy,” was all she said in response to the additional explanation that Tommy tried to give her, her voice cold as ice. And despite Polly, Arthur, and Tommy all starting to speak with further details and justifications for the whole thing, all it took was one look at Lizzie’s face and Lucy knew not a single word was actually getting through to her. She was too focused on that one detail: that her husband had told his lover and his aunt information that she believed herself to be entitled to know instead. 

She would be chewing on that for the remainder of the week. Probably even longer. 

“Lizzie, you need to understand–” Tommy started, but didn’t get very far. 

“That you tell Lucy and Polly, but not me.” Her jaw was clenched in a way that Lucy knew meant she was fighting very hard to keep the venom she wanted to spit at them from spewing out. Probably the only reason why it hadn’t already was because they were amongst others. If they’d been in private, she’d have told them both exactly what she thought of them. 

As if they didn’t know already. 

Tommy’s further attempts to smooth things over went about as well as Lucy expected. Once Lizzie got into one of her moods, she could be impossible to reason with. It was better to just leave her alone until it passed. 

“Lizzie, if Finn had listened to me, you wouldn’t have known. When we go home, I’ll explain,” Tommy tried. Lucy cringed, already knowing that was the wrong thing to say even before Lizzie scoffed and started to gather up her things. 

She stood, muttering, “I can’t be bothered with this shit,” loud enough for everyone to hear, before storming out the door. Lucy rolled her eyes. All this whining and complaining about not being kept in the loop on things, and yet every time she did have the opportunity to be involved, she acted as if it was the last thing she was actually interested in doing.  

Fuck, she was not looking forward to dealing with her and the earful she was sure they were due to get when they got home. Maybe it would be better for them to stay away for a few days to let Lizzie cool off. They could sleep over at their apartment in London instead of going home to Arrow House. 

It didn’t take long for Ada to follow Lizzie in storming out. Lucy watched her go, rubbing at one of her temples to try to stave off the headache she felt coming on. Jesus Christ, what was with all the cunty attitude today?

Tommy came to sit down in the vacant chair next to Lucy, leaning forward as Polly urged him to go easy on Ada on account of her pregnancy. It wasn’t all that surprising that Polly knew. Even if Ada hadn’t told her yet, Polly always knew when someone was pregnant. 

In fact, the only one left at that table who didn’t know was Arthur, who almost choked on his whiskey at the revelation.   

Polly left not long after that, though not before all but confirming to them that Ben Younger was the father of Ada’s baby. Lucy shared another knowing look with Tommy as he stood and slid into the booth, occupying the spot near the window where Polly had been a moment ago. Lucy shimmied in next to him, the red leather creaking a little under her as she got situated at his side. Arthur poured three glasses of whiskey, passing two of them across the table to her and Tommy.

Lucy sipped quietly at her drink while the brothers examined and discussed the bullet that had been ripped out of Finn’s arm. 

“Let me see,” she held out her hand for the bullet when Arthur asked about the writing on it. She squinted at the tiny characters carved into the metal. “Hm. My Chinese isn’t fantastic, but I think this one just says ‘death.’” She handed it back to Arthur.   

“Angels of Retribution?” he asked Tommy. 

“Yeah,” he kept turning his gaze out the window. Outside, Lucy could hear the sounds of horse’s hooves clomping against the cobbles and children chattering. She inched a little closer to him, until their sides just barely brushed. It was only them and Arthur; no need to try too hard to hide their relationship. 

“No one fucking listens to me,” Tommy lamented softly, leaning back with his head tilted towards the ceiling. Lucy nudged him companionably. 

“I do.”

He shot her a soft look, hand smoothing down the back of her head, leaning forward to kiss her hairline. His unspoken gratitude hummed between them warmly. He gave her a gentle tap on the back to let her know it was time to go after taking the bullet from Arthur and pocketing it. Lucy slipped out of the booth, going to grab her coat and tug it back on, wincing at a slight twinge in her shoulders as she did. 

“See you later, Arthur,” she said in goodbye to the eldest Shelby brother where he was still sat in the booth. Tommy gave him a pat on the shoulder, telling him to let the patrons in the saloon bar come back in if they wanted, and then led the way outside, into the smoke and soot of Small Heath. 

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[cruise-in-your-glow-bus]

Thomas tried his best but never forget the first thing he did was tell Ellen to stop talking about her darkness

[ramayantika]

Okay but the life of the legendary Shovana Narayan altered my brain chemistry, a superb academic record hold, a maestro in kathak and then also a civil services officer with a long distance marriage and motherhood

If she could do this in the 50s and 60s, wtf is stopping me from doing so, when I have never wanted just one thing to define me

[vivianvaldemar]

AS FAR as evenings in this damned place went, she had definitely had worse ones. Less interesting, less reflective & introspective - & inspective. She did not miss the cold glare of a tragedy worn warrior, but her own temper matches his - & is at times less easy to control. She lacks the training of a warrior, the brutality of the Illyrian camp & their Blood Rite, but, ah! Did she not have a rite of her own? Did she not walk upon mountains & mountains of flesh & gore, of corpses & wails?

she had walked upon the soil with feet that made the earth bleed back, walking through marshes of blood & despair until she was graciously given a place to call her home?

As if Prythian had ever been her home. As if her making was similar to a charmed dream upon the field of poppies & daisies & pegasi dancing on rainbows. As if her nature had been anything other than filled with hatred & violence & darkness itself.

She merely smiles to him, allowing the molten ore others called eyes to turn metallic, pale & misty, full of Cauldron's smoke & it's cold, icy voice.

"The Dead me would stomach nothing of this place. The Dead me should have never been here in the first place. But, alas - " she pauses with a shrug, "those choices were not my own. The Dead me had long since had her existence ended & changed. Perhaps you would not have been able to stomach things I had to see."

but, she wouldn't argue about it.

"I am the cautionary tale, though to which kind it remains to be seen." Vivian responds with a laugh, a soft one, taking a drag of the cigarette seemingly forgotten - the ember nearly singeing her pale fingers.

Discarding the butt of it to the pocket realm that led to the Dawn quarter's room, she summoned another cigarette & lit it, listening to the Illyrian fae speak.

"I had been something else & look where it got me. A half wraith, half madman serving a lord she cares little of." she chuckled, head tilted to the side. The eeriness ebbed, only by a fragment, as they conversed. Often, she would allow herself the full power of the Cauldron's kiss to manifest through her - allow the fae to see why making mortals into immortals was forbidden. Not because of an ancient treaty no one really remembered or remembered to care about - but, because it was deadly. it amplified.

her hatred had been multiplied by a thousand-fold.

"If we are all sides of the same stone, than what are we? A lover & a hater?" she snorted in amusement, but she understood the point.

Looking at things from that angle, she could see his reasoning, but that was the whole point of the debate, was it not? To see one's opinion & accept it - though not necessarily agree with it. They seemed to have agreed about their free will to some extent. Her rage refused to allow her to be a marionette, for she had been one, a lovesick one, & look where it had gotten her. Was her lover to blame, was she to blame, or was the Cauldron the one that wanted her Made?

she couldn't say for sure but... she would bet on the Cauldron. it liked her too much.

"You speak of mortal hermits, Illyrian." Vivian noticed with a grin on her lips, "The fae are not that magnanimous. I am not that magnanimous. My Making has been filled with the essence of hatred, of all things that prowl the dark. How am I suppose to be anything but such? Had I been a creature of light, it would've drowned me, or Made me a priestess. Instead, it turned me into this." she said, allowing the molten ore back to her gaze, the silver paleness glowing against the darkening sky.

"A hefty reward for what it made me endure."

𝔟𝔬𝔶. the condescension earns her a fleeting, cold glare, but he does not hold onto the flicker of violence in him that rears its beastly head at it; it was perhaps the only aspect of his cultivated nature that he found useful: patience. unflappability. vyros was a glacial mountain that would not be felled by his own whims nor those of others. he was an island fortress, impenetrable.

❝ you've no stomach for what i've seen. ❞ he speaks of blood-soaked battlefields, a stillborn sister, a wretched, weak mother, the flails of a mad father, the horrors of the blood rite, the unanswered calls of his distant, punished heart. ❝ you give me no credit, and you hear what you want to hear in the words i say: that which feeds your ragged, vengeful ego. you might be a vessel for the power of the cauldron, but you are a thrall to its call just like the rest of us. to think otherwise makes you a fool. ❞ he levels eyes burning amber on her. ❝ and you are no fool. you were made, just as you were meant to be, just as i was. ❞

vyros lifts a leg up onto the balcony's railing and leans his weight against it. he turns his eyes out over the newfound court shadowed by nightfall. ❝ i'm no more excited by the topics we discuss than you are, ❞ he answers, turning back to her once his survey is done. ❝ but you like to pick at things like i do, a vulture to the carrion spirit of this blighted and beautiful realm. ❞ there's a love for all of faekind in him, and a deeply-rooted disappointment that grows as the hours pass, as the chaos continues its reign.

❝ and you pick at your own remains, the story of your making that you tell with morbid glee. we are all transfixed with our own histories, forever stuck between wanting to level it all with one fell swoop or wallow in the visceral hollows that gave us life. this paralysis keeps us churning as we always have, allegiance and hatred, fear and love, malice and forgiveness. they are two sides of the same stone. the mother and the dark one, the sun and the moon. we exist on this dualistic plane. we both love and hate it, and so it never changes. we trust the sun will rise in the east, that our dreams will be shattered, that hope is fleeting, that death will come. and we fear that which threatens these truths. we cling to them and rail against what challenges them. are you only the essence of your own cautionary tale? or do you have it in you to be something else? ❞

her story is one he's heard from others, told on their fearful whispers. her making is not something he takes lightly — in truth, when he heard of her story, he mourned for what it meant for her and for them all. it is, however, shocking to meet her in the flesh, to trade words with the rage that was given life at the tale's tragic end.

he chuckles and shakes his head away from the back-handed compliment, but he's not offended.

❝ you misunderstand me. how can you look at the machinations of our world, how everything goes along in its predictably endless spirals and cycles, and think that we have true will? the will necessary to change our world? we are reactionary beings, programmed by events that befall us, by our history and environment. the most any of us can ever hope for is a fleeting moment of true lucid awareness. true will is not given freely. it is earned through practice, through meditation and reflection, through impeccability and recapitulation. who have you met that is willing to cast aside and forgive all they are? to give up the rage, the envy? desire and hope? ❞

[nethereasypeasy]

Some fluffy head canons I have about the Baldurs Babes

mainly at camp :)

Gale stops tav to lace their boots, sarcastically tutting as he does it.

Karlach holds her hands round someones bowl and cups to warm them if they cool down too much. (Mama K microwave™)

Jaheira and Halsin share nightcaps and chat about the tadpole team. Mainly laughing at their comparative lack of experience - always ends on a 'they're good eggs tho' vibe.

Astarion and Shadowheart rate people's hair to eachother as an injoke, tav hears them mumbling numbers behind them whenever they speak to someone.

Lae'zel asks Gale to explain and pronounce things when no one is around because the 'annoying wizard' won't make fun, he's too eager to teach.

Jaheira has the best bedtime stories but they get Karlach hyped up and she asks a lot of questions till Astarion begs her to be quiet. Wyll takes mental notes for his own storytelling.

Karlach will force a game of 'I Spy' any time there is silence on the road.

Wyll is very good at little random gifts, he just remembers anything someone mentions to him. He's also low-key emotional if you return that kindness, 'you remembered?! 😭'

Halsin stops, kneels and whispers as he points and shows tav interesting plants or animals he spots when walking. 'look there's the mother and her babies' type shit. (He is camp dad(dy) ok)

Wyll teaches Lae'zel fencing. She's too keen though and tries to pin him down. She is not as graceful... But she has fun... chk!

Gale keeps a tiny portrait of Tara on him, you can't tell me modern au Gale's phone wouldn't be full of cat pics.

Astarion watches over the camp at night, he acts like he 'might as well/ I'm the only one lurking in the dark around HERE darlings' but sometimes he secretly gets a little teary looking at his first real friends all together.

Shadowheart writes moody poetry. She would tell Gale but she doesn't care for his taste... Or his possible critiques. If he ever did find her journal though he would be VERY enthused.

Astarion and tav will play with people's wardrobes when looting. Tav loves a funny hat and Astarion will do impressions of who he thinks would wear such god's awful attire.

Gale and Wyll play chess together after dinner some nights. They both say progressively cheesy lines when they take pieces, which is its own game itself at this point.

Halsin would quietly sing or hum to owlbear baby and scratch at night. Little lullabies and he'd probably tuck them in too. OR he'd be big daddy bear and snuggle up, especially when owlbear is scared and misses his mum.

The gang have played 'never have I ever' ONE time and ONE time only. It was a messy night.

... Jaheira was 100% last man standing.

[fishofthewoods]

I see a lot of people clowning on the people of Pelican Town for not repairing the community center themselves or clowning on Lewis for embezzling and. like. Those criticisms aren't entirely unfair. But I think instead of coming at it from a perspective of "why can't the townspeople do this" we should be asking "why and how can the farmer do this?"

Like. Think about it. The farmer arrives in Stardew Valley on the first day of spring. By the first day they're obviously different. By day five the spirits of the forest who haven't been seen by the townsfolk in years or generations are speaking to them. By the second week they've developed a rapport with the wizard that lives outside town.

In the spring they go foraging and find more than even Linus, who's spent so many years learning the ways of the valley. Maybe he knows, when he sees them walking back home. Maybe he looks at them and understands that they're different, chosen somehow.

In the summer they fish in the lakes and the ocean for hours on end, catching fish that even Willy's only ever heard of, fish that he thought were the stuff of legend. They pull up giants from the deep and mutated monstrosities from the sewers.

In the fall, their crops grow incredibly immense; pumpkins twice as tall as a person, big enough that someone could live inside. The farmer cuts it down with an axe without even batting an eye. Does Lewis wonder, when he checks the collection bin that night and finds it full to the brim with pumpkin flesh? What does he think? Does he even leave the money? Does he have the funds to pay the farmer millions of dollars for the massive amounts of wine they sell? Or is it someone--something--else entirely?

In the winter, the farmer delves into the mines. No one in Pelican Town has been down there in decades. No one in living memory has been to the bottom. The farmer gets there within the season. They return to the surface with stories of dwarven ruins and shadow people, stories they only tell to Vincent and Jas, whose retellings will be dismissed by the adults as flights of fancy. People walking by the entrance to the mines sometimes hear the farmer in there, speaking in a language no one can understand. Something speaks back.

The farmer speaks to the the wizard. They speak to the spirit of a bear inside a centuries-old stone. They speak to the shadow people and the dwarves, ancient enemies, and they try to mend the rift. They speak to the Junimos, ancient spirits of the forest and the river and the mountain. They taste the nectar of the stardrops and speak to the valley itself. They change Pelican Town, and they change the valley. Things are waking up.

And what does Evelyn think? She's the oldest person in the valley; she was here when the farmer's grandfather was young. (How old *is* she, anyway? She never seems to age. She doesn't remember the year she was born.) Does she see the farmer and think of their grandfather? Does she try to remember if he was like this too, strange and wild and given the gifts of the forest?

And does their grandfather haunt the valley? He haunts the farm, still there even after his death; his body died somewhere else, but his spirit could never stay away for long. Does Abigail, using her ouija board on a stormy night, almost drop the planchette when she realizes it's moving on its own? Does Shane, walking to work long before anyone else leaves their house, catch glimpses of a wispy figure floating through the town? Does the farmer know their grandfather came back to the place they both love so much?

Mr. Qi takes interest in the farmer. He's different, too; in a different way, maybe, but the principles are the same. They're both exceptional, and no matter what Qi says about it being hard work and dedication, they both know the truth: the world bends around the both of them, changing to fit their needs. Most people aren't visited by fairies or witches. Most people don't have meteorites crash in their yard. Most people couldn't chop down trees all day without a break or speak to bears and mice and frogs.

The farmer is different. The rules of the world don't work for them the way they work for everyone else. The farmer goes fishing and finds the stuff of fairy tales. The farmer goes mining and fights shadow beasts and flying snakes. The farmer looks at paths the townspeople walk every day and finds buried in the dirt relics of lost civilizations.

The farmer is a violent, irrepressible miracle, chosen by the valley and destined to return to it someday. Even if they'd never received the letter, they would've come home.

They always come home eventually.

[inazuman]

itoshi sae x f!reader tags: afab reader with she/her pronouns, jealous!sae, oliver aiku causes drama, oral f!receiving, hand around throat but not really choking wc: 1.6k

There are very few events you go to with Sae, few that he bothers to attend himself at all. It’s the first thing Oliver notices about you, that out of all the partners to his colleagues, you’re the one he’s seen the least of.

The second thing he notices is that even when you’re there, Sae barely speaks a word to you.

He wouldn’t think you minded if he wasn’t really looking. You’re kind and sweet as you make your rounds to the other players and their partners, much better at small talk and remembering things about people (how’s the new dog? Giving you any trouble? A new house! Let me know your address so we can send you a gift.) than Sae has ever been in his experience. But you’re careful to always keep Sae in your line of sight, like you’re always looking to him for something. Approval, or attention, or something that’s sort of like both.

Sae has his back to you, clearly begrudgingly involved in a conversation with Shidou’s arm resting on his shoulder. This is the first thing Oliver makes sure of before he approaches you when you’re alone at the bar.

“It’s been so long,” he comments as he slides in next to you. He makes it sound casual, smiles sweetly, and you respond so easily in turn.

“Aiku-san! It has, hasn’t it?” you immediately perk up at him, and it’s something he can’t help but find quite adoring. You’re quick to ask him about his life, and he lets you play for a bit until he decides he wants to pay it no mind.

“Sae doesn’t really stay with you at these things, does he?”

His voice almost sounds full of pity, it shocks you with how direct it is.

“Ah! Well- we spend a lot of time together, so it makes sense that he wants to spend time with his friends at these things. They’re a crowd! So he’s busy with them, you know?”

You smile nervously, and it’s that little feeling again that gets to Oliver – like you’re waiting for a validating response.

He could give that to you. But you’d have to give him something first.

Oliver taps the rim of his glass, condensation running down. “Mm. And is he busy a lot?”

“I…”

It’s at this moment that you begin to realize how close he is to you. In the hesitation, he cups one side of your face with his hand, your jaw in his palm and his fingers grazing over your cheek. You’re frozen, staring at him in shock. You’ve been Sae’s for so long, when’s the last time anyone has had the nerve to put their hands on you? His hand moves down to your neck-

Sae is quick to replace Oliver’s hand, wrapping his hand around your neck fully, gently and yet without the constraint or tentativeness Oliver had. You can feel the warm of his body behind you as he pulls you in, so close you can smell his cologne.

He’s got his characteristic neutral, nonchalant face on, save for one quirked eyebrow in Oliver's direction. But Oliver knows, he’s seen Sae on the field-

This is Sae when he’s pissed.

 “Happy to have you join us.” Oliver smiles, but this time it’s something a little more wicked. He knew he would come fetch you at some point, but he didn’t think it’d be this fast, that he’d notice this soon.

“You think this is some type of game?” If Sae was a lesser man, the sentence would’ve been spat in Oliver's face. It’s a near thing.

“Ha? Women are never a game.” Oliver pushes his weight off the counter, walks past Sae with a shrug. “Just didn’t think you liked her that much.”

Sae clicks his teeth, looking like he swallowed something unpleasant. He squeezes your neck a little tighter.

“Let’s go. I’m sick of this.”

~

“Sae-san, I-”

“Quiet.”

It’s not said aggressively, not like a command, but he still watches the way you go silent immediately in the elevator down. Even though you want so desperately to say something, to make things right. You are good to him. He knows it too.

“Oliver likes to mess around,” he sighs, one hand rifling through his hair, an air of exasperation. You don’t entirely get it, but it’s as close to it’s not your fault as it gets with him.

It’s in the silence of the car, darkness illuminated only by headlights and traffic lights, that Sae finally allows you to speak.

“Do you think I don’t like you enough?”

Your eyes go wide immediately, your hands waving in front of you. “W-well, it’s not- I know you’re really busy! And you barely go to these events, so you should spend time with your friends.”

You’re too nervous to notice it, but he watches, listens to you with full intent. His finger taps against the steering wheel.

When he parks and gets out the car, you don’t wait for him to open the door for you. Something in that irritates him, makes him frown. He throws his keys into the bowl in the entryway with a jangle, and when you turn around from taking your shoes off, he’s already in your space.

His hands are on your waist, pressing you against the wall. You try to protest but he silences it with his lips on yours, his hands on the back of your thighs and hoisting you up. Your purse falls somewhere on the ground. But you don’t care. You can’t care, because Sae is hot and heavy against your mouth and between your legs. He presses you into the wall further, grips your thighs tighter, holds you up easily with one arm as he wraps one hand around your neck and kisses the remaining exposed skin.

It's only for a moment before his hand moves back down to roam under your dress, pulling your panties down fervently, the way the fabric sticks to your slick already is something he doesn’t fail to notice. Makes him wonder if he really has been neglecting you.

He tucks them in his pocket and then he’s falling to his knees. You think you whisper his name but you can’t tell over the shuffling. Your feet never touch the ground, he lifts you until your legs are resting over his shoulders, holds you up like this. You try to tell him, “Sae, we’re gonna fall,” (he wouldn’t drop you, don’t you know?) but he doesn’t say a single goddamn thing. Just bunches your dress up and presses his mouth to your cunt.

The broken moan you let out is nothing short of song to him. There’s nothing to stabilize you except for grasping his hair in your hands. You’re a little scared, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t reprimand you. If anything, he presses deeper into your cunt. Swipes his tongue up from bottom to top. Makes you sob with the way he zig-zags his tongue up your slit all the way to your clit. He’s always like this – a tease, in control. He holds your arousal in his hands and on his tongue and he knows how and when to make you drip, in a way that ensures only he’s able to drink.

It's sickening, the way he makes your mind fog immediately, makes nothing exist but him in this moment. He does it a few more times before he relents. This is meant to be a reward, after all. An apology, maybe. He presses his tongue to your clit and kitten licks a few times. Envelops the bud in his mouth and swipes over and over, grips your plush thighs tight. You don’t know how long he does it because you feel like you can’t breathe, breath coming short, gasps that are like drowning. He watches you through it, your chest rising and falling, your hands shaking in his hair.And then he speeds up and your core tightens and your body comes crashing, first up, and then down. He holds you steady against the wall as you whine, your hot cum drooling into his mouth that he swallows up willingly, tight core finally relieving.

You heave as you come to your senses, nails scratching at the nape of Sae’s hair as he laps your oversensitive cunt, making you jolt. He licks you clean before he lets up, taking a deep breath. He kisses each side of your inner thighs, and then once more on your clit for good measure, smiling as he hears your broken whine once again.

He finally lets up. Holds you tight so you don’t slump to the ground. He kisses you deeply, lets you taste yourself on his tongue, makes out with you until you’re out of air.

Don’t think I don’t like you. He wants to tell you, but instead he wraps you in his arms, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Why don’t you go shower first and get in bed, and I’ll meet you there?” His voice is gentle, actions soft, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

You look up at him doe-eyed. “Don’t you wanna-?”

“Mm. Later. You go first, okay?”

You’re too wobbly and wrung out to protest, so you go when he gently leads you both to the bedroom.

The words get stuck in his throat as he closes the bathroom door for you. I really do love you.  

He hopes you might already know.

author's note: sorry to make oliver a bit of a villain in this LMAO in his head he’s just tryna save you from what looks like a failing relationship! if anything he’s your knight in shining armor <3 too bad that didn’t work out how he wanted it to hm

[bisexualiteaa]

actually dying for a cooper howard x vaultie!reader smut where they have some slow burn longing steaminess, but coop thinks she’s too good for him UNTIL she comes in contact with a sex pollen-esque chem and he finally gives in to save her 🥵 please work your magic and elaborate however you want

A Flame in Your Heart

Cooper Howard x Fem Reader (SMUT!!)

CW: NSFW like absolutely filthy y’all, you’ve been warned. 💀 unprotected sex, irradiated cream pie, p in v, p0rn w/ plot, slow burn, flirting, cursing, perverted thoughts, dub-con (because of chem usage though consent is asked and given!) rough sex, dirty talk, choking, praise kink, degradation, squirting, mention of fingering, FEELINGS!! Slight deviation from TV series, possible grammar/spelling mistakes, cooper starts off mean but slowly warms up to reader

AN: I absolutely LOVED this request! I was up all night writing down all my ideas and spent all this morning perfecting it, and this has to be my longest one yet! I thank you for your patience anon and my lovely readers as I finally post this! Hope you enjoy and that I have done your ask justice! ❤️

Life outside of the vault was difficult to say the least. You felt hunger and dehydration in ways you’d never experienced before, going out of your way to do desperate things you would normally never do in order to get said food and water. The heat was unbearable, every stretch of land you walked across had a danger lurking around every corner, and worst of all, you’d never felt so alone. You weren’t sure what it was about you, maybe it was because you were new to the surface, maybe it was your nearly perfect skin, but everyone seemed to stare or glare at you when you would walk through. It wasn’t until you’d passed through Filly, meeting Ma June that you realized people didn’t take kindly to people like you. “Vaulties” she called them, an audible disdain in her tone, making you look down to remember you were in your blue and gold Vault-Tec suit. “I’ll be going then, have a nice day!” You said skiddishly, offering her a kind smile before turning and exiting the shop. You just wanted to make friends, why was that so hard up here? So when your eyes set on a man clad in classic Wild West cowboy clothes, watching smoke settle after a stand off, you weren’t sure why but you knew that was who you needed on your side in this world. Before you knew it, your feet were already moving and mouth speaking to him, grabbing his attention.

“I ain’t no charity case sweetheart, I don’t take on strays” The ghoul spoke, his southern drawl making him even more memorable than the marred texture of his skin. You looked to the dog that trailed not far behind him as he walked, changing its pace to keep up with the man. “The dog there with you tells me otherwise” you quipped. “Ain’t my dog” he responded harshly as he continued walking. “I can make it worth your while!” You yelled, making him stop in his tracks for a moment, a scary sight at first before you worked up the nerve to come closer once he turned back to you. “And how you suppose you’d do that?” He asked, and at first you didn’t know what to say, the words leaving your mouth before you could really think of a good enough reason. Did nobody like company anymore these days? “Well…I can be your scavenger! Pretty good at collecting stuff” you offered, shaking your bag and making things rattle around inside to prove it, making him give a huff of a chuckle. “‘f I wanted a pack mule I’d‘ve found a brahman” he shot you down. “Okay, then I can be good company to talk to!” You offered. “They make radios for when I want to listen to someone yack” he shut down once again. “I’m a good cook! Even with shitty supplies, I can make a stew that’d put a smile even on the meanest son of a gun’s face” you said, hopeful that he’d at least take you for something, but you had a feeling he’d probably turn you down again. “Iguana on a stick’s just fine” he said, though he had to admit the stew sounded good. Reminded him of home before all this wasteland bullshit. “Oh, umm…” you said awkwardly, your tone growing quiet and my how it put a sad look in your eyes. The evil part of him liked it, seeing your sweet innocent face all downturned but the part that was still human deep down, the part that hardly ever saw the light of day anymore, had half a mind to let you.

“Got a lotta nerve walkin’ up t’ me, girly. If you somehow been lucky enough that you ain’t met dangerous yet, you’re lookin’ at someone who could put you down before you’d even mutter your last words” he threatened, motioning to the double barreled shotgun in his hands. “I know, I saw it first hand. You hold yourself well, I envy that. I’m new to all of this and just really want someone who can help me hold my own the same way” you explained. “Look, I know I don’t look like much but please just give me a chance” you begged, looking up at him with a fighting spirit in your eyes that he had to admit, he was pretty impressed in seeing in a vaultie. “You help me, I help you, however that ends up being” you offered, standing strong on this and damn if he didn’t see a little bit of himself in you at that. He gave a sigh, tilting his head down before shaking it, not believing himself for the words he was about to say. “Alright, but the minute you start draggin’ you’re out, got me?” He said, and he hated the way his cold heart seemed to pump a little faster upon seeing your eyes light up with joy and a smile stretch to your face. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” You said, opening your arms up to hug him but being met with the barrel of his gun poking your stomach to keep space between you. “I don’t do hugs” he spoke gruffly, making you back up enough to where he’d drop the gun back to his side. “R-Right…sorry” you apologized, embarrassment washing over you but still glad to finally have someone in your company. “C’mon, I ain’t got all day now” he said, motioning you to start walking, so you joined him.

Your travels with him certainly weren’t at all what you were expecting them to be. From being used as bait, to being tied up with rope most of the time you’d traveled together, or being sent in as his scavenger, you weren’t prepared for a lot of the reality you faced with being up on the surface. Most nights made you question why you’d ever left the comfort of the vault, why you’d abandoned a trusty food supply, regulated temperatures, a safe place to sleep that wasn’t riddled with radroaches or had the likely hood of waking up to a raider with a knife at your throat for no reason. Then you would remember the experiment in your vault, why you left that awful place for arguably a worse reality on the surface but at least you had freedom. Out here you were free to say what you want, do what you want, consume what you want so long as you could defend yourself incase that supply wasn’t unclaimed. You’d gotten pretty handy with a gun in the most recent weeks. Cooper, you learned one night was his name, using empty glass bottles as targets to help teach you accuracy and how to hit things from a longer range. In exchange, you came a little more useful than he had first thought. You had some useful stuff on you for trade like chems, ammo and food, were a good extra bag to hold stuff in, and you were a better cook than you’d talked about. Sure you had a tendency to talk too much, and you weren’t great with a gun, but you were getting there.

“Might I suggest takin’ them clothes instead of wearin’ that suit?” He said, making you look at him weird for suggesting you strip a dead raider of their clothes. “Why would I do that…?” You asked, genuinely confused and not sure what he was implying either, he was a hard man to predict. “Because, people see that shit and get real mad. People up here don’t like vaulties or the ones that run ‘em” he said and it made sense, it helped you understand why you kept getting evil glares each time someone would look at you or talk to you. You figured he knew best, so you took the shirt and pants from one of the female raiders, tucking them into your bag to change into at a better time. He gave a chuckle watching you do so, apologizing to the dead body profusely as you took their clothes and whatever valuables they had on them for the betterment of your own survival. You were still so naive, part of him was hoping he could slowly start to break and corrupt your way of thinking, but that was a thought for another time.

Before you knew it, night finally began to fall. The sun setting across the horizon gave the air less of a hot, harsh bite as the temperature began to cool rapidly across the sands of the Mojave. All you managed to grab was a pair of beat up, old jeans and a tank top, so as soon as the sun set, the chill set in. As you both set up camp for the night just outside of an abandoned rest stop, you started a fire to cook some of that stew you talked about being good at. He had to admit, it was pretty damn good, likely the best thing he’s had since before the bombs went off. Though even the kindling fire couldn’t manage to chase the chill away, watching you run your hands up and down your arms to try and warm up some by it. He felt a slight pang in his heart, watching you shiver like that, how your eyes lit up by the blaze of the fire and your hair seemed to be tousled just right. You were pretty, too pretty to be trekking this wasteland, and certainly too pretty to be trekking it with him of all people as your company. Even he had a heart still, as cold as it was, so out of kindness he shrugged his duster from his shoulders, draping it around you. You looked at the fabric pooled around you, pulling it over you better before looking to him as he sat down across from you again. “Ain’t no use if the cold gets ya” he said, making you smile appreciatively at him as you realized what he did. “Thank you” you replied, a slight blush fanning to your cheeks as the chattering of your teeth finally died down and you grew warmer. It smelled like him, sure it had splatters of old dried blood and was rather worn, but it had that gunpowder and smoke smell to it that you associated with him. “Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya” he replied, trying to sound cold but it didn’t come off that way, making you chuckle. “What do I owe you?” You asked, making him fall silent for a moment as he pondered the answer to your question. He looked you over for a second before tipping his hat down to cover his face a bit, the signal that he was about to try and get some sleep. “Just keep watch for a bit, I’ll be up in a few hours” he responded, and while it wasn’t what you were expecting, you’d take it.

He was startled awake a couple hours later when he heard a commotion, you yelling at someone telling them to back off that this place had been claimed. The raider you were up against didn’t seem to like that very much, claiming that wasn’t how it worked up here. The altercation took a turn for the worst when the man reached for his gun but you were quick to fire and kill him before he could let out a shot. A shaky feeling set in your hands and a horrified expression across your face at the realization that you just killed someone. Cooper, who was certainly wide awake now, was rather impressed by your quick timing and precision, coming up behind you to lay a gloved hand to your shoulder. “Well would ya look at that, looks like them lessons been payin’ off after all. How’s it feel?” He asked, looking down at you as you stared at the gun in your hands. “He was yelling at me but…he was aiming at you. I don’t really know what came over me, I didn’t like that he was going to shoot you so I just…I killed him” you said, recounting the encounter to him as if he hadn’t seen it himself. He didn’t really know what to think in that moment as you explained how your mind worked, he was proud for sure at your show of improvement with a gun, yet also touched at the same time. No one ever really looked out for him since he started his bounty hunting, he was a well hated man by many but you defended him without really any reason to. You’d just learned his name not but two weeks ago, and before that he was dragging you around with rope yet you still defended him, had you two really gotten closer in the time that’s passed since? He wasn’t sure, but it was something he could mull over while you were sleeping. “Get some rest vaultie, sun’ll be up soon” he said, knowing you likely wouldn’t get much sleep with the adrenaline still coursing through you, but it was at least worth a try, you two had a long day ahead of you.

When you woke up that next morning, things felt a little different between you two. You weren’t some annoying little dog following him anymore, you were an equal. He no longer looked at you and treated you like you were lower than him as you both set out across the wastelands, he had respect for you. Hell, he even started talking with you now when you were out traveling which was almost unbelievable. You learned through those conversations that he used to be an actor in Wild West themed films, explaining his outfit, and that he was married before the bombs dropped. You of course told him bits and pieces about yourself in exchange, after all it only felt fair but it was also nice to just finally talk to someone after all this time.

When night time fell again you two sat enjoying a meal by the fire together, only rather than across from each other, he sat next to you, making a blush come to your face as you’d smiled sweetly at him. “Glad to know I don’t have germs anymore” you said jokingly, making him chuckle. “Give an old man some credit. It ain’t exactly all peaches and marmalade out here darlin’, even cute can be deadly” he said, the nickname and him calling you cute sending a deeper blush to your cheeks despite knowing it’s just how he spoke. Whether it was the lack of contact with other people for so long, or just his charm you couldn’t quite tell, but it always seemed to have an effect on you. “Just teasin’ you, I get it. I’d tie me up and use me for bait too if I’d been doing this as long as you have. It’s a shit hole out here” you said, making him look at you as you dropped the first curse word he’s ever heard from you. “Well I’ll be damned, either I’m a bad influence or you’re finally growin’ outta that naive shell there, vaultie” Cooper replied, making you laugh as you saw a smirk stretch to his thin, marred lips, the first one you’d seen in a while that wasn’t brought on by drugs, chems or that first sip of a good bottle of alcohol. “Probably both” you quipped, making him chuckle. “Yeah, probably. Been told I ain’t easy to stomach” he said, making you hum. “You’re alright in my book, Coop” you replied with a sweet, genuine smile that matched your tone and was that butterflies you felt in your stomach? Did you just call him Coop? No ones called him that in ages, why did it make his heart start to flutter a bit? “You ain’t so bad yourself, vaultie” he responded, still affording you that small smile before turning back to his food. “Keep making food this good and I just might have to keep you around” he joked, making you giggle and break the slightly tense silence. “It’s not much but I certainly try. I’ll definitely make sure to stay good at it, I like traveling with you” you said, unintentionally coming off flirtatious and fuck there it goes again, that feeling in his chest and his stomach like he needed to hit his inhaler but he felt great. What were you doing to him?

“Hey, if it isn’t too much can I ask you a sort of…personal question?” You asked, holding the beat up bowl in your hands as you looked over at him. This was normally the part where he would say no, absolutely not, he wasn’t here to be questioned on his personal matters. Yet, with you, it was different. Ever since last night he hasn’t been so on edge with you, it was like he’d warmed up to you. “Depends on what you’re askin’ there, sweetheart” he said, the nickname once again making you blush. “Do you…miss them? Your wife and daughter?” You asked, not sure if it was a good subject or good question to ask but after finding out, you were genuinely curious. He looked down at his bowl again, thinking of the proper response to your question. The old him would have been defensive, told you it was none of your business, but now? He wasn’t sure. “Ain’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about ‘em. About the way I ran out on ‘em when them bombs dropped” he answered, making you give him a sad look as genuine guilt filled his tone. This was the most honest and open he’s been with you this whole time. “I feel guilty. Not sure if I feel guilty for runnin’ out and leavin’ ‘em behind or guilty for the way I ran out, been tryin’ t’ figure that out for quite a while now and I still ain’t sure” he added, and you sympathized with that. Everyone has regrets, things they’ve done in the past that they aren’t proud of, people up here were no different in that aspect. “Well, in the short time I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve come to understand that everything you do has a valid reason behind it. So even if you feel it was a shitty thing to do, you obviously had a reason for doing so. No one can blame you for trusting your gut, and I don’t think you should blame yourself for doing so” you responded, your hand falling to his as a comforting gesture, your words ringing in his head almost as if you’d opened something in his mind, something he’d never really gave himself to think about before. He looked down at your hand that rested on his, noticing the way you didn’t flinch away from him like others did, the way you were brave enough to walk up to him, talk to him, *trust* him when he made it very clear that you shouldn’t. It was smaller than his, softer for sure, but warm all the same, then he looked up to see that caring look in your eyes and smile on your face that told him that you cared. “Guess you’re right, still wonder sometimes if it was the right choice to make” he replied. “I understand. Everyone has regrets, we all look at the past and hold at least something that we’ve done before in regret, it’s what makes us human” you said, making him give a huff as a chuckle. “You got anybody?” He asked, making you look down as you moved your feet along the dirt. “An ex-husband, but not anyone I really care about, no. My parents passed a few years before the bombings and he and I split up when I caught him cheating on me with some other woman in the vault..” you explained, not sure why it hurt you to tell the tale still, but you felt it was only fair considering what you’d asked of him to share. “Sorry t’ hear that” Cooper said, making you chuckle weakly, a somber look coming to your face that made his heart wrench. “I haven’t exactly been in love since, and considering he and I split up just a little over ten years ago, really says something I guess, huh?” You asked, trying to laugh to bring up the mood, knowing you sounded pathetic. “He was the fool, not you darlin’. He was the one skippin’ out on one hell of a woman” Cooper said, making you look to him and blush a bit as you gave a chuckle at his response.

“Thanks” you replied appreciatively and with a smile before casting your gaze down to see your hands were still connected and it left you blushing harder with embarrassment, you’d been holding his hand this entire time without realizing it. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable if I have I-“ “relax vaultie” he cut you off, pushing your hand back down onto his to assure you that he was far from uncomfortable. “It’s…rather nice actually” he admitted, making you feel relieved but your heart fluttered in your chest from it. A thick tension soon began to set in between you both after that night, something of an unspoken, kindling romance beginning to develop. “Then there it can stay” you said, making him smile softly at you, tipping his hat at you as a silent thank you.

Months passed on like this, where you’d spend the days scavenging, picking the land for its resources you could find and hunting bounties by day, then spending your nights by a fire growing closer and closer with every passing day. Through your shared meals, jokes, deep conversations, and plenty of near death experiences, you started to notice your fondness of the ghoul you traveled with. The way you’d hang onto his words with that southern accent that seemed to pull at your heart strings, or the way you’d go out of your way to stand between him and a stray bullet. You’d helped him on more than one occasion in getting out of a sticky spot, or getting him the stuff he needed to keep from turning feral. In return, he started to notice he was feeling the same towards you. There was this sudden need to keep you safe, to do nicer things for you, to speak better towards you, even flirt with you at times. Some nights there’d be so much tension in the air, it’s a miracle you haven’t jumped each other yet. Though in his eyes, as much as his heart yearned for you, he knew you were too good for him. You’d been hurt before, and he had a reputation for hurting people, feeling undeserving of even just the sweet smiles and company you afford him even now. You didn’t need someone like him, you needed a good man, someone who didn’t kill for a living, someone who could treat you right, someone who didn’t look the way he did. You were soft and warm, he was rough and cold, though he supposed that’s where the term “opposites attract” came from. So even when he was a whole bottle deep, he was sure to hold his tongue to a certain point.

Some of those nights around the fire were spent sober, others not so much, and this night happened to be one of those nights spent under the influence. You two had stumbled across a mini-mart, doing your best to out run the radstorm that had been trailing you guys for hours, coming in just to find whatever supplies you could to make it through the next week and possibly hunker down for the night. So imagine your surprise when you seemed to have found the largest chem stache you’d both ever laid eyes on. “Coop! Come here, you gotta see this” you said, making him run towards you to make sure you weren’t hurt or in trouble. His nerves were eased once he saw you, fully intact. “Tell me I’m not seeing shit” you said, pointing to all of the supplies sitting in a box on the table, joined by other supplies around it. You both looked at each other in complete and utter disbelief, this would keep you stocked for months, maybe even a whole year if you conserved it well. “Well ain’t that just the prettiest fuckin’ sight” he said. There was no way a horde of chems this large and this valuable was just completely unprotected you reasoned, so you routed around the place, scoping out for any raiders, straggling traders or ferals who happened to still be around. It was as if heaven was shining down on you both as you found no one around, seemed like no one had been here for days. So you did the most logical thing anyone would do in this situation. Stuff each of your bags to the brim of drugs of all varieties! Seeing as you had food, chems and even some clean water and alcohol lying around, Cooper locked and barricaded the door shut, proposing it could be a good spot to sleep for the night. With a radstorm approaching, it was best to have a roof over your heads to keep out the rain and potential radiation sickness that came with it. “This is the closest fuckin’ thing to a slice of heaven I’ve seen in ages” he said, aside from you is what played in his mind but he couldn’t speak that out loud, no matter how much he wanted to. “You said it!” you replied, and it’s even better with you here you thought, but thought it best to keep it to yourself. He plopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up to rest on the small table that seemed to be in shambles, enjoying a tape that was playing on the TV that he was surprised to still see functioning. “Holy shit, this thing still works?” You asked, amazed to see working technology out in the wastelands, sitting next to him as you watched it with him. He gave a smirk at your reaction, thinking it was cute the way your eyes would light up when you got all excited over something. Deep down it made him want to give you everything you laid eyes on like that just to see it pointed towards him. “Guess so” he replied, enjoying your excitement only to see you turn and look his way, which was his signal to stop staring holes into you before he gets caught. “I dunno about you baby doll, but I ain’t about to spend tonight sober with this stache sittin’ here ‘n front of us” he said, making you laugh as he routed through all the different drugs and chems til he found what he was looking for.

In the process of searching through it all, a small metal box fell to the floor at your feet. It looked like a box of mentats only the design was different, instead of the characteristic green and white box was a red one covered with hearts labeled DN-Chem. You supposed the worst that could happen was turn into the man sitting next to you, which you figured wasn’t the worst fate to succumb to all things considered, so you went against all better judgement and said fuck it, popping two of the mentat like chems and chasing it with the vodka he’d found to wait for it to take effect. “The hell is DN?” He asked, looking at the box, wondering what it was you took. “Don’t know, guess we’ll find out here soon because I took two” you said, taking another sip from the bottle of vodka he passed your way, and he gave a chuckle as you handed it back to him. “You come a mighty long way, little lady” he commented before setting the metal pill box down. He took the bottle from you, taking a swig, then placing one of the small viles into his inhaler before taking a hit of it then lying back, breathing a sigh of relief as it and the alcohol entered his system like the perfect remedy to any ailment. As about a half an hour rolled by, you waited for the high to set in but it never came, instead you were just getting hot, like really hot. There weren’t any windows open, and it was night time so you shouldn’t be this uncomfortably hot for how it was but you felt like you were on fire. “Shit, it’s hot as hell in here…” you complained, shaking off your jacket that you’d picked off of some raider a few weeks back, making him look to you curiously. “Lightweight” he quipped, making you chuckle. “Accept I don’t feel anything, I just feel hot” you said, making him hum with intrigue before turning back to the TV. “Give it some time, you’re new to all this. ‘m sure your body is wonderin’ what the hell you just put in it” he said, and he had a good point, maybe it was just a side effect of not doing them so often compared to his every day use.

As time went on, you began to notice the way your eyes couldn’t help but be glued to him, more specifically glued to the way his legs were now spread as he sat back. You wondered to yourself what he looked like beneath all that cowboy get up, what his reaction would be like to see you getting on your knees for him and slotting yourself between his spread legs. You shook your head to try and rid yourself of such inappropriate thoughts, but what you couldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried was the feeling of arousal beginning to pool in your panties. Sure he flirted with you every now and again, but you doubt he felt towards you the same way you did for him. To him you were sure you were likely more akin to a pet than a friend, useful and nice to have around, but not anything further. At least so you thought. You’d rather hoped you were wrong in assuming so, that maybe he saw you the same way you saw him. You bit your lip as you tried bouncing your leg to relieve the ache between your thighs, a light pink dusting your face and neck even up to the tips of your ears, but nothing worked. Even as you closed your eyes, all you could picture was you laid out on the couch beneath him, or bent over it with him behind you, or you riding him on it. “Been awful quiet. You doin’ alright over there, sweetheart?” Cooper asked you, and the audible whimper you let out from the nickname left you completely embarrassed. You clasped a hand over your mouth, god you were horrified but he gave a grin and a chuckle in response. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me all the sudden. I feel so…weird?” you said, unsure if that was really the proper word to explain it but it was the only way you could really word it off the top of your head with how much your brain felt as if it was turning to mush. “Ya took some chems, it’s gonna feel a bit fuzzy” he said, trying to assure you that feeling a little funny was normal, but this? This didn’t feel normal, not even for a chem high. You tried your best to swallow harshly, doing everything you could to try and relieve the dry ache you felt in your throat at the moment upon looking at him. You grabbed the bottle of vodka, taking a few sips but even that couldn’t grant you bliss from it. The throbbing in your core was driving you absolutely insane. You swore up and down that it was like you could feel your heartbeat in your chest, stomach, and in your cunt all at the same time. “No, this is different…I don’t think what I took was a normal chem, Coop…” you said, trying not to panic at the effects that were setting in but god you felt like you were absolutely feral. He turned to look at you, watching as you clamped your thighs together and the red that fell over your face. “I feel like an animal in heat” you said bluntly, making him go into a near coughing fit as you took him off guard. However that piqued his interest enough to pick up the little metal box again to see what it was you took. “I ain’t ever heard of a chem that does that, was that DN shit the only stuff you took?” He asked, growing slightly concerned for you and whether he had a possible horde of laced chems, or just an extremely horny woman on his hands. Speaking of hands, you were lost in thought staring at them, at the way they gripped the couch like you wanted him to grip your thighs, at the way they looked in those leather gloves he always wore. You wondered how it would feel wrapped around your throat, or how it would feel if his fingers were buried deep inside of you. Shit. This was getting out of control.

“Hey, ya with me still?” He asked, snapping to try and get your attention back on the matter at hand, making you shake your head yes as you broke from your perverted thoughts. “Is that DN shit the only thing you took?” He asked again, making you shake your head yes once more, because you knew damn well your voice was going to betray you the moment you tried to speak. That had to be it, it was the only thing that was different out of it all and the only thing he’d never heard of before. He knew it wasn’t the vodka either because he was drinking it with you, so if it was affecting you, it would have affected him and it hadn’t.

It took him a minute to put two and two together before he finally realized the abbreviations stood for Date Night, reading the instructions and effects on the inside of the tin’s lid. “Shit..” he said as he read it, realizing this was a hand made thing thrown into the bunch by whoever was running this place. “Did you read the lid before you popped them pills?” He asked, making you go wide eyed. As if this couldn’t get any fucking worse, this shit show could have been avoided had you just read the inside of the lid. “There was instructions?? Oh my god…what the fuck did I take?” You asked, concerned for yourself and the tone he had while reading it. “Somethin’ that the creator of it called Date Night. Looks like it’s a…well looks like it’s a handmade sex chem” he said, making you cover your face with your hands out of sheer embarrassment, you’d never wanted to die out in a radstorm more than you did right now. “Please tell me you’re fucking joking, cooper…” you whined, watching him read it more. “How much of it did you take?” He asked, almost scared to know and you were scared to know why. “Two?” You replied, making him whistle at that as he read it. “Fuckin’ hell sugar..” he said through a chuckle, and that nickname made a shiver run through you, sending electric bolts straight to your throbbing cunt. You did your best to bite back the whimper. “You’re only s’possed take one, and with you bein’ new t’ all this, I wouldn’t have taken more than half” he said, making you just wish you could just dig a hole and die in it already. “Fuck me…wait, shit! N-Not literally fuck me I- well I mean I’d like if you did but…FUCK! Forgive me Cooper, I’m so sorry, I can hardly think straight” you said, making him chuckle. “Well sweetheart, I think you and I both know there’s only one good fix for this situation” he said, making you whimper pathetically at the thought, your thighs squeezing together even more as you tried to fight to stay sane. Your eyes cast downwards to his lap once more, seeing the tent forming in his pants, clearly you weren’t the only one all worked up here. “I don’t want to make you feel like you have to, Coop. I can run off and take care of myself if it makes you uncomfort-“ you rambled but before you could finish, his hand cupped the side of your face, pulling you in for a long awaited kiss. You moaned into it without meaning to, feeling the way your body immediately relaxed upon wrapping your arms around him with no hesitation as the sweet innocent kiss turned passionate and dirty rather quickly.

“I won’t lie t’ you, doin’ this with you has passed my mind more times than I’d care to admit, but I don’t wanna cross that line unless you really want this” he said, looking into your eyes and making sure that this was truly what you wanted, that you felt the same way he did. “Coop, I know I’m under the influence of whatever the fuck this drug is, but trust me when I say, I’d be just as good with it sober. Been thinking about it for probably just as long as you have, if I’m honest with you. I want this, I want you and right now I want you so fucking bad that I might lose my mind if you don’t fuck me” you answered bluntly, taking him by surprise at just the sheer amount of absolute filth that left your otherwise innocent mouth, making him chuckle at your use of curse words and how desperate you were for him. “That so sugar?” He asked with a grin, enjoying teasing you at your neediest moments, including now. “God yes, Cooper please..” you begged, nearly moaning in reply and he’d spent time mulling over it before, denying himself the chance but just as the chem stache was a pot of gold, he took this as one of the best opportunities being placed in his lap by whatever higher power existed out there, making him waste no time in kissing you once more. “Good, because I don’t think I’d be able to hold myself back once we’ve started” he said, and the idea made you moan. “Don’t want you to hold back, want all of you” you said, and your wish was his command.

By the time your brain could finally catch up with you again, your clothes were strewn out all around you, your tank top hanging over the back of the couch, your jeans thrown haphazardly on the arm rest behind you, his pants on the floor, his hat on the table and shirt and duster having fallen somewhere behind the couch. By now, you’d already cum on his fingers twice, and on his cock once, this was your fourth round and this shit still had you on fire. “Yes!! Oh fuck, Cooper!” you moaned as your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him as close to you as you could get, your fingers digging crescent shapes and puffy red lines into his back that unfortunately he knew wouldn’t stay long thanks to his ability to heal stupidly fast. “Doin’ so good for me, baby doll. Look so pretty like this for me, all splayed out like a needy little whore” he praised and degraded through his groans, making you moan and roll your eyes into the back of your head at the praise mixed with degradation as his cock was drilling deep inside you like tonight was all you guys had. “Yeah, you like that, huh sweet thing? Like it when I tell you how good it feels and call you names?” He asked, making you nod your head yes because there wasn’t a single thought in that brain of yours other than his name, which you spoke like a mantra. “Never knew such a sweet lil’ thing like you would be such a dirty little minx. Fuck…enough to make a man like me go feral, ya know that?” he said, making you giggle as you moved his free hand up to your throat, urging him to choke you, and he groaned at the sight. Your kiss swollen lips all puffy and shining with spit, your cheeks dusted a constant pink that grew darker anytime his cock brushed that spot deep inside that made you cling to him, your eyes half lidded, looking up at him like he was your savior. It made him absolutely rock hard knowing you’d pick him over anyone else in this god forsaken wasteland. “My, you are just a little freak, ain’t you? Oh we are gonna have fun together, you and me honey” he promised, squeezing your throat tight enough to restrict your airflow but not enough to hurt or cause any damage. Just enough to get that puddle of a brain of yours all fuzzy as you got closer to your fourth orgasm of the night. “Cooper…’m so close, so close please!!” You begged, feeling the heavy drag of his cock as he pounded into you, leaving you damn near screaming as it nudged your cervix and that spongy little bundle of nerves deep inside. “Go on honey, I gotchya. Let go for me, wanna see those pretty faces and hear those pretty noises you make” he said, angling his hips just right to hit that spot over and over again. “Oh fuck, oh fuck I’m gonna cum again, I-“ you warned before your moans rose in pitch as your walls clamped around him, gushing on his cock as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your body arched off the couch, stars filling your vision for a moment as you felt your release gush out and coat your inner thighs, screaming his name like it was your only chance at salvation. “Well ain’t I just the damn luckiest man in the wastelands right now, got me a pretty little vaultie and she’s a gusher” he said, making you whimper at his teasing but judging by the way he emptied himself inside you for the second time, you took it as a sign that he liked that about you. “Holy shit, I-I didn’t know I could do that” you said, thoroughly shocked with what your brain and body were doing as they almost seemed to almost be working against each other. “Do it again for me” he said, grabbing you and moving you both to where you were straddling him this time. His hands rested on your hips, helping guide you as you speared yourself on his dick with ease from how absolutely soaked you were, making you both throw your head back and moan. “Now that’s a damn good sight” he said, making you lean in to kiss him once more as his hands helped you start and keep a steady rhythm with your hips. It was definitely going to be a long night, but one you two have been needing for months, maybe even longer.

It’s a good thing ghouls have remarkable recovery time, because in order to finally get you sated and back to normal, you both had to spend all night going at it. Granted, it was aided by the mix of pent up sexual tension and pent up sexual frustration, but it was dawn before you both had gotten to a point where you could even *try* and fall sleep. First few times was on the couch between missionary, doggy and you riding him, next was you bent over it, with your pretty legs spread and ass in the air for him. Then, you used the arm rest of the couch as a pillow beneath your hips as he stood up while you laid out on the couch. He liked that one a lot for the way your tits would bounce with each and every forceful thrust into you, jolting your body. After that, it was done standing up with your back pressed against a wall, your legs and arms wrapped around him to keep him deep inside of you and fill you til he had nothing left to give you. From that point on, the rest of the night was all a hormone-hazed blur, but you knew well that he took care of you. You woke up unbelievably sore, your joints aching in places that you had no idea could even ache, a swollen, angry throb between your legs for the harsh, almost punishing treatment to your pussy followed by bruises, bite marks, scratch marks, hand prints etc. littered your skin as you woke up curled into Cooper’s side. You gave a gravelly groan as the sun shone in your eyes through the windows, making him chuckle at the way you were such a ray of sunshine except in the morning. Coming to learn that you absolutely *hated* mornings. Though you suppose you started to enjoy them more since traveling with him. “Mornin’ sunshine” he said coyly, making you groan disapprovingly at the way the sun was in your eyes, making you hold your hand up to cast a shadow on your face and grant you some relief. “Morning” you answered, your voice hoarse and half gone from sleep and all your activities that transpired the previous night. “Ain’t that a pretty sight” he said, turning and seeing you curled up to him, naked, your hair all messy from sleep and the hickeys and bite marks littering your skin, making you chuckle. “Last night was definitely something, can’t believe you’ve been holding all *that* out on me” you joked, making him give a dry laugh. “Could say the same thing about you, sugar. Had no idea that mind a yours could be so filthy. You’re a wild thing to party with, lil’ lady” he teased, sliding his arm around you to keep you close, making you hum as you lay soft, appreciative kisses to his collarbone and chest. “You’re fun too, and thank you for taking care of me last night. I’m sorry that it ended up happening the way that it did, I wanted to work up the courage and tell you some other way, I really did, but I guess life had other plans” you said making him chuckle as he saw you blush when he kissed your head. “Drunk words are sober thoughts they say, so I’d say I made out pretty good. But don’t sweat it, not sure how I deserved someone as good as you, but it’s good to know I ain’t as hard to stomach as most people say” he said, pulling you in for a soft, heartfelt kiss. “I think you are just perfect, Cooper” you said, your hand resting on his scarred chest as you looked at him with that gaze he swore he’d do anything to see pointed his way.

“You really wanna be my girl?” He asked softly, sounding shocked and with some self doubt still lacing his tone, but he had to be sure this was what you wanted outside of the drug’s effects. He cared for you deeply, in a way that he hasn’t felt in a very long time, but maybe you were just the right person for him to finally open his heart up to. His question made you giggle as your heart fluttered in your chest with excitement. “I absolutely do, I meant it when I said it last night, I mean it just as much now. I think we’ve danced around it for long enough, don’t you?” you replied, making him smile the most genuinely happy smile you’ve seen him wear since you’d met. “Just checkin’” he said, before laying a sweet kiss to your lips, wishing every morning could be like this one. Maybe it could, now that you were here with him.

[wethotcrazy]

CAN'T CONTROL IT

pairing: Franco Colapinto x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 739

just something a little short and sweet for franco colapinto. also i think the can't control their mouth and can't control their face would suit him well?! idk bro

The F1 social media team had a new favorite hobby: catching YN's reactions to everything Franco Colapinto did.

It started during pre-season testing in Bahrain. Franco, fresh in his Williams racing suit, had spun on his installation lap – a rookie mistake that had the paddock chuckling. The TV director, whether by instinct or divine intervention, cut immediately to YN in the Alpine garage.

Her expression was poetry in motion: eyes rolling skyward, lips pressed together to suppress a smile, followed by a head shake that somehow conveyed both "I can't believe this" and "that's my idiot" in one fluid movement.

The clip went viral within hours.

"Have you seen this?" Franco bounded into the Alpine hospitality area, phone already extended. "'Every Time YN Dies Inside Watching Franco Colapinto: Testing Edition' – they even put sad violin music over your faces!"

YN didn't need to look. She'd already seen the compilation – a masterfully edited collection of her various reactions to Franco's testing adventures. Her personal favorite was the slow-motion zoom on her face when he'd described his first F1 car as "spicy."

"I'm starting to think you do these things on purpose," she muttered, but her treacherous face was already softening at his enthusiasm.

"Maybe I just like seeing your reactions," he winked, dropping into the seat beside her. "Remember in F3 when you said your face wasn't that expressive?"

"Remember in F2 when you said you'd learned to think before speaking?"

His laugh echoed through the hospitality area. "Some things never change, no?"

The Australian GP brought new material for the ever-growing collection of "YN Can't Control Her Face" content. As Alpine's reserve driver, she was in the garage when Franco scored his first F1 points – a remarkable P8 in a chaotic race.

His radio message was pure, unfiltered Franco: "P8! P8! YN, are you watching? Better than that time in F2 when you said I'd never score points because I was too busy talking!"

The cameras found her instantly: pride blooming across her features before she could school them into professional neutrality.

"Every time they show your face, the comments explode," Esteban teased later. "I think you've got more screen time than some of the actual drivers."

YN groaned. "Don't remind me. Someone made a TikTok trend out of my different 'Franco Reactions.'"

"At least you're not 'Can't Control His Mouth' Colapinto," Pierre chimed in. "Did you hear him in the press pen? He spent five minutes explaining how you once bet him he couldn't qualify top 10 without talking on team radio."

"Did he mention he lost that bet?"

"No, but your face when they asked you about it said everything."

Monaco was where things reached new heights. Franco, running in P6 during practice, had been providing commentary that somehow always circled back to YN:

"YN's watching, no? Tell her this is how you take the hairpin properly—" Franco spoke through team radio confidently before scraping through the hairpin.  "Ah. Maybe not like that."

The camera cuts to YN's perfect face-palm, followed by a head shake that somehow conveyed both "I knew it" and "why am I even surprised" in one swift motion.

The resulting clip went viral on Tiktok and became F1's most-watched social media post of the weekend.

"You know what I think?" Franco asked one evening, as they shared takeaway in the quiet of the paddock after everyone else had left. The cameras were finally off, but YN's face was as expressive as ever in the dim light.

"That's a dangerous start to any conversation with you."

He grinned, nudging her shoulder. "I think you like that I can't control my mouth."

"And what makes you say that?" she asked, trying and failing to keep her expression neutral.

"Because every time I talk about you, you make this face – like you're trying not to smile but can't help it. It's my favorite one."

"I do not have a special face for when you talk about me."

"Si, you do! You're making it right now!"

She threw a napkin at him, but her smile – soft and genuine and completely uncontrolled – gave her away.

The next day, during the drivers' briefing, Alex caught Franco staring at YN with an expression that mirrored all of hers – soft and fond and entirely unguarded.

The photo went viral with the caption: "Looks like neither of them can control anything anymore 💕"

[cherryheairt]

Hidden Truths pt.2

Cregan x wife!reader

named reader no description, from house Glover

masterlist

part 1

thank y'all so much for the kind words and eagerness to see this part. Please forgive me for not replying to all asks being sent to inbox, you'll understand with the chap lol. The pressure was so real I had planned to write other things between pt 1 and 2 but I dropped everything to do this between work and sleep lol

changed the og ending because so many people thought it would be more fitting and I agreed lol

anon pointed out my mistake on glover and bolton im so sorry for that confusion yall it is meant to be glover originally. i made too many mistakes im a mess rn

Ernest makes it to Cregan's solar first, Ron not far on his heels. Panting, the younger speaks up first when Cregan Stark shoots them a bewildered look whilst hunched over his oak desk.

"Was Lady Stark due for some business today, My Lord?" He asked, catching his breath as Cregan sat up in his seat, attention fully on the guards.

"Not any that I'm aware of. Where is my wife?" He asked, glancing outside of his small window to the blistering storm outside. There was no way she would be anywhere except her chambers—not after he caught her soothing Brandon to sleep. The sight had melted his heart immediately, glad to see his wife finally finding it in her to go see him, to give him a chance.

Though, he could not blame her, of course. He could still remember the day he brought the Stark babe home, and how he dreaded the meet throughout his months of journeying home to Winterfell.

Aelys had been on the forefront of his mind, even through the slimy politicking of King's Landing. The wait was only made ever longer by the fact that the party Cregan traveled North with had to wait until Brandon was old enough to travel, too. Moons went by painstakingly slow, and Cregan moved to load the carriage for the boy as soon as the Maester gave his word that Bran would not be suseptible to the outdoors during long durations on the road.

Cregan dismounted his grey mare, patting her on the neck in thanks before the stable boy guided her back to her designated place. With a tense sigh, he rolled his shoulders and opened the carriage door that held Brandon and his new wet nurse. Sara, his older sister, would join the family in a few short weeks while she continued her stay at the Blackwood's. He wished she was here to console his wife in the coming days. Gods know that he cannot, not when the news of his betrayal had to come from his own mouth. As he promised himself it should be. The sinner should say his own penance, no one else. A Stark is a slave to his oaths.

Thanking Greya kindly, Cregan picked up Bran in his arms. His onyx black curls shifted against the crook of his arm as he shifted the babe to be held better. The four moon-old babe fussed as he was removed from the woman's comforting hold. As if was, Cregan was more of a stranger to the young babe than his wet nurse was. Unfortunately, the Lord had not spent the amount of time with him as he knew he should have. The thoughts and guilt racked up in his mind and burned at the back of his throat every day, leaving Cregan to promise himself that in Winterfell he would spend more time with him.

Another promise for the list.

Cregan stepped through the courtyard's archway, holding his breath as he watched his beautiful wife standing by the Keep's doors, shivering but still insisting that she come out to meet her husband. Her smile was as lovely and bright as he remembered, a much more contented and relieved smile than she had sent him off to battle with. That day, she could hardly stifle her tears back as she hugged him 'goodbye'. He felt quite the same. Cregan would never leave for Southern business again, not in his lifetime. Once had been enough to last generations, though he was sure the Stark family would not go too long before being summoned again.

Her face shifted from joy to confusion in a matter of seconds. As Cregan continued straight towards her, Bran bundled up in so many wools and pelts that it entirely engulfed the babe. She lifted her skirts to step down to meet him. Originally, Cregan had wished to scoop her up in his arms and place a sweet kiss on her cold lips, but the bundle between them prevented such things. He could not greet her so sweetly and then present the bastard to her. Ripping the bandage off a fresh wound, Cregan would not be deceitful for longer than he had been during his moons of silence in the South.

"Husband," She smiled, reaching out to touch his chilled face, pink in the cheeks and ears from exposure. "You should come inside. A feast has been prepared for you—and your men, of course." She was antsy on her feet, eager to get inside to proper reunite with her husband, no bystanders gawking.

Speaking of bystanders—Cregan's entire party had separated and dispersed around the courtyard. They met their own wives, parents, or children as they laughed and conversed. Though, the loud and joyous clamor soon died down when whispers had been spread around by those who already knew of Cregan's boy. Wives that knew Aelys well stared in pity, clutching their shawls to their chests and shaking their heads quietly at their Lord.

He fought the urge to hang his head.

She had not yet seen the babe, only the cloth surrounding him.

"Cregan?" She whispered, tilting her head with concerned eyes. "What is wrong?" His sweet, sweet wife. Her first priority had been him over anything since the days of their honeymoon—the days she had confessed to be extremely anxious about during their courtship. She was a Northern woman herself, hardened and shaped like an ice sculpture but retaining her warm heart and spirit. Cregan had intimidated her greatly, according to her giggling confession, and she had feared he may be a cruel and selfish man since he could easily do as he wished to his Lady wife. He proved her wrong, apparently, getting to know his wife throughout their private honeymoon. They had a bond like no other, always at each other's side and filling in for the weaknesses of the other during their duties as leaders.

Cregan's brow furrowed deep, blinking away as he felt his nose start to sting.

Only then, when his glossy eyes met hers silently, did she glance down to the cloths. Slowly reaching up a shaky, gloved hand adjusted the pelts so she could peer past them. Gasping at the pale babe, Aelys' eyes sharply met his. A million thoughts raced through her head, clearly showing in her facial expressions. Not assuming the worst, as she probably should have done, Aelys asked, "has one of your men died? Is this babe an orphan?" Always so trusting of her Lord husband, something Cregan had admired and was eternally grateful for throughout their marriage.

"Aelys..." He cleared his throat when his voice came out much too quiet and hoarse. "This is my son." He declared to her, and to the onlooking crowd who did not bother hiding scandalized gasps.

Her eyes blinked in rapid succession, shaking her head lightly and smiling. "Don't jest, Cregan. We have no son."

His silence met her words. When he did not cave and admit to messing with his wife, Aelys shook her head more firmly. "No." She said, whispering. Her eyes clamped shut as she breathed in and out deeply, only opening to glance down at the babe, scrutinizing its appearing and comparing every freckle to Cregan's. "Don't do this to me, please. You would never do this to me." Her words were nearly lost to the air.

"It was one time, I swear it on my honor and Stark name." Cregan told her.

"On your name?" She harshly bit, stepping away from Cregan as if he had burned her. "Your honor? You swore on your honor the day we said our vows under the Weirwood tree. Under OUR Gods. Did that mean nothing to you? Did I—" She gasped out, covering her mouth with the back of her hand and clutching her stomach. A choking sob rippled through her, and Greya stepped forward to gingerly take Brandon from Cregan's grasp. His arms fell to his side, clenching as he stopped himself from holding his wife in comfort. She could find no solace in the man who hurt her so.

"I thought you wished to wait. You told me you wanted it, too. Was it just not me you wanted a family with?" She asked, cranking her neck up to look at her shameful husband.

"Aelys, I did—I do!" He started, stepping forward to wipe a hot tear from her cheek.

Flinching away from his touch, she looked up at him with the same mistrust and solemn acceptance that he found in a dying prey's eyes. Suddenly, Aelys looked to become aware of the crowd. Glancing around self-consciously, she straightened herself upright like the people expected of a Lady Stark. "The feast is growing cold. Enjoy it while it's warm." She loudly adressed the weary party and their families, who awkwardly moved to shuffle inside the dining hall. With a final glance past Cregan's shoulder to the wet nurse, Aelys was gone.

Seeing the shared glances of horror between the two, Cregan cleared his throat. "Where is my wife, boys?"

Ernest swallowed harshly, not daring to look him in the eye. "She—she said that she 'ad business in Winter Town. That you approved of it, I swear!"

Ron nodded so quickly that his head of curls messed about and framed his face further. The snow still on their heads and shoulders had now melted in the warmth of the Great Keep, reminding Cregan of the harsh weather the guards had to bear all day. They were trained and honed for such conditions, Aelys was not.

"Yes, Lord Stark! We couldn't disobey our Lady's words." He insisted.

"You think I'd make my wife go settle business in Winter Town during a blizzard?" He growled out, standing from his seat and storming between them to his doorway, where he turned on them and saw them both flinch in shock. "Which way did she go?"

"Uhm..." they shared another glance. "She said Winter Town, Lord Stark. What other way would she have gone?"

Cursing, Cregan grabbed Ice and lifted the great sword to his shoulder. He left without another word to anybody, knowing every second counted when it came to finding her. "Bloody fools." He scoffed to himself, mind turning and thinking of places she might head to.

Clearly, not Winter Town. She had no business there, not that he knew of, and although they had not been speaking these past moons he still oversaw all of her duties as Lady. Though, her reports of dealings and responsibilities was done through the Maester rather than her own mouth. A middleman, the poor elder had become. Cregan endured the silence without complaint, knowing his own actions brought it upon him.

His actions brought her further away from him than he perhaps estimated. He knew the babe would tear a rift in their relationship, and knew it would take a long time before they could even begin to mend it—but he never wanted it to go this far.

Back to her childhood home, to the Glovers in the Motte? Or, perhaps she found a secret lover that would meet her in the storm like a destined and tragic fairytale. He would not blame her for seeking love in another, though his never faded.

His quickened pace was only interrupted by Sara. "What is the rush for, brother?" The elder woman asked, dark brows furrowed with concern. Other the past four moons she had gained her strength back, looking the picture of health now that she was back home and recovering. Cregan could barely meet her gaze, looking between her and the doors ahead.

"My wife is gone." He told her honestly, shifting impaitiently in place. "I don't know where to, but I'm going to search for her."

Sara's dark eyes saddened, face scrunching up in grief. "This is my fault. I should have—"

Cregan stopped her immediately, taking her firmly by the shoulders and dipping his neck down to level himself. "No. It is mine alone. I made the choice to do this, I shall face the consequences of my actions."

"Cregan..." she sniffed, but did not allow tears to fall so easily.

"I'll be back." He promised. "With my wife."

Was she running away?

Cregan swung open the Great Keep's door, blinking staggardly at the wind gust that slammed into him. Not bothing to close it behind him, Cregan stormed to the stables and tacked his horse up. In a matter of minutes he was off and out of Winterfell's expansive walls.

His only option was to head towards Glover territory. It was a two days ride normally, but the storm would make it double or perhaps longer. She would not be far ahead, not even two hours ahead of Cregan and unknowing of how close he might be on her trail.

There were not even hoofprints left in her wake. The snow immediately covered all tracks and left only pristine fields of white powdery frost.

He would not know where she was until he spotted her amongst the white. Cobalt, her black stallion, was sure to stand out within close enough distance.

Until he did see her, he could only wait.

And it was exactly that; a waiting game. Cregan took only three days to reach the Deepwood Motte, faster than he anticipated. He was weary and exhausted, but still pumping with adrenaline and awake off sheer will. Here, in the safe walls of Harriston Glover's keep, his mare could finally have more than a few measly hours of rest, as well as food and water.

His fingers and toes burned with the edges of frostbite. Even in his thick protective gear, he was not entirely safe. The few, small fires that he built for himself in the cold nights gave him only a semblance of warmth. Each step felt like five as his vision blurred and weaned in and out. He steadied himself on a pole, waiting for his father-in-law to come downstairs to greet him. And, if luck be on his side, his Lady wife.

He owed more than an apology.

Harriston was a stern man, though not unreasonable. He loved his children and ensured they had only the best; education, caretakers, spouses. His eldest two children married long before Aelys was even of age to be wed, both men marrying Northern girls that they'd grown up with. When it came to his youngest and only girl, the man knew Lord Stark would be a most auspicious match. The Houses had long been friends and allies, and keeping the tradition of partnership thriving through marriage was no strange thing. He'd been even happier when Aelys wrote to him weekly, describing how enchanted she had been with her new husband and thanking him profusely for giving her a blessed match.

Now, the greyed man stood in front of Cregan with a deepset frown and a fierce look in his eyes. "Lord Stark. I thought you'd be busy in Winterfell."

Cregan cleared his throat, focusing on him intently. It made sense that the man was cross with him, especially after he assumed that Aelys had sent him a few lengthy letters telling of Cregan's infidelity. "I came to see my wife, and to bring her back home."

Harriston huffed a sarcastic laugh. "You send her back home, only to come yourself first?" He gestured around with his arms up.

Cregan tensed, "first? Is Aelys not already here?"

Lord Glover matched in his seriousness. "Aelys wrote to me three days ago, informing me that you had sent her here to be away from danger."

"I did not send her anywhere."

"You mean you do not know where my daughter is?" He asked, voice low and firm as he stepped closer. Though Harriston was a fine swordsman and a battle-worn fighter, Cregan did not fear the Lord's wrath, for he could easily best him in combat.

He did, however, have the brains to fear a furious father's vengeance.

His heart nearly beat out of his chest. "And she stated that she was on her way here?"

"I think I know what she said, boy." Lord Glover hissed. "Where is Aelys?"

"She must still be out there," Cregan murmured breathlessly, turning on his heel and running out of the fort's doors and back out to the stables. Cobalt was in none of them, confirmed to him that Lord Glover was not simply lying and hiding his wife away from him.

Cregan decided to take another horse—one well rested and ready to travel in the packed snow, unlike his own weary mare. Guiding it to the doors where Lord Glover had exited and looked at Cregan with a fear unlike the learned man usually expressed, he asked: Where are the kennels?"

When Aelys left to brave the storm alone, she had not anticipated the sheer unforgivable nature of it. Living in the North her whole life, she'd long grown used to cold weather and hunting for herself. Hunts often lasted days or weeks, being times of comraderie and companionship when out in the wilderness with your people. She had not been hunting in years, much less alone.

The snow had slowed her travel significantly and clouded her navigational judgment. North became South, and East became West after so long of walking. With the skies so darkened, it was even harder to tell the time of day. With every stop she made and every fire that burnt out too quickly for her to be fully warm, Aelys had grown desperate.

She found shelter in a half-conscious act to preserve her on life. Now, curled up with only her fur-lined dress and the pelt she had brought from Winterfell, she could not help but begin to accept that she would die in this cave.

Aelys thought of her life in a few curt thoughts.

She had only lived twenty and two years. She grew up with loving parents and two elder brothers who doted on her greatly. She married Lord Stark of Winterfell, someone who took her heart quicker than she'd ever thought possible. She would die here, alone and cold because of him.

She thought of all the things she had wanted from life. Not much, for a Lord's daughter. Aelys had always wanted love and gave love in return. Trusted perhaps too much and did not gain from it. She wished for children, eventually, and could never have them now. She wished to see the warm deserts of Dorne and the lush gardens of Old Town in her retirement.

Aelys Bolton would not see anything but the North, nothing but the cold snow and frost-tippes trees around. They had grown familiar and warm.

Warm.

She was so warm, now.

Aelys closed her eyes and fell asleep, dreaming of better days.

"You do not wish to return home to a babe in the nursery?" Aelys asked, voice low and humming as Cregan lay beneath her on their shared bed. Most men did, misliking the process of pregnacy but loving the outcome, for it could only serve to benefit them.

"We will have plenty of time for babes when I come back to you." He replied, brushing his lips over her the crown of her head. "What kind of husband would I be if I left you to deal with the struggles of pregnancy and birth all alone?"

"I won't be alone. Sara is staying, too. I will have a sister to keep me company and complain all my grievances about my missing husband to her." She said amusedly.

Cregan paused in his rhythmic stoking of her spine. "Sara has asked to come, my heart."

She paused, too, lifting her head from his chest and squinting at him. "Sara can come down to King's Landing with you, but I cannot?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "She will be staying at the Blackwood's residence at Raventree Hall, not King's Landing. I would never endanger either of you by bringing you to the capitol. She has been offered guest housing by her friend, Alysanne Blackwood, during my time down there."

She huffed, conceding to his words and dropping her head back down, listening again to his ever-steady heartbeat. "Must be nice to see the Riverlands." She said lightly. "I hear they have fields of flowers growing year-round."

"And the permanent smell of fish and mildew." Cregan added with a snort. "You're not missing anything, I swear it to you. Sara and I will be gone for a short period of time. I intend to leave as soon as things are settled and put to rest."

Aelys hummed her quiet acknowledgment. There was no argument to be had, not when Cregan was set to leave in the morning. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." She said cheekily, though there was plenty truth to the statement. Alone, she would serve as political head to Winterfell and the temporary 'Warden' while Cregan was missing in action. She had her advisors, consisting of Cregan's trusted councilmen, but the hole that she knew would sink itself into her heart already wore her into her.

Cregan laughed at her words, nodding. "Aye, my love, you will do perfectly. I'm sorry to leave you alone for so long, but I have no doubt you'll do great." He said proudly, kissing her nose. She scrunched it up at the ticklish feeling, allowing a girlish giggle to leave her throat.

"Don't be gone too long, husband. Your wife needs you here." She said, tilting her head up to meet his lips.

"I would never dream of it."

The moons passed by with no reprieve for Aelys. As Winterfell's sole head, her days were busy from dawn til dusk. Letters were exchanged sporadically with her husband while he helped Aegon iii ascend to his place on the iron throne.

Until, one day, his letters ceased. It had already been a full year without Cregan Stark, and Aelys was beginning to grow used to the lack of her husband and sister by her side. Routine had grown to be instinct for her, breezing through her duties like she'd done them all her life. The only thing missing was her lover.

Concerned, Aelys checked in with the resident Maester to ensure Cregan's wellbeing.

When he paused, lips pursed and hands clutching at his cane with a stress unlike the calm elder, he rasped out his own fears. "I, too, have received no word from Lord Stark. Though, no news has come of us death in the capitol, so he must simply be occupied."

Occupied at the end of the war? When Aegon had already been named King and all the men put to trial were either declared guilty or innocent? The brunt of the work was over and done with—told by Cregan himself.

So why was he silent for an entire moon?

It was another fortnite before the Stark wrote back to her. The letter was curt and brief.

My dearest Aelys,

Forgive my abrupt silence these past weeks. Please know that you have been on my mind throughout this entire time.

Sara has grown sick in Raventree Hall, and has not been able to travel with the host of men I have sent back home to the North. We will stay behind for another few moons while she is in recovery. I will return to you soon.

With love,

Cregan Stark.

It was shorter than his other letters by many paragraphs, pages even. Cregan left out no details when describing his miserable times in the capitol. Aelys found herself much enjoying his theatrical melodramatic retelling and was rendered bemused by this letter. Still, she continued to lead with no pause for breaks.

Three more moons later, and Cregan wrote that he was mere days away from Winterfell. Without Sara Snow, unfortunately, as she was still not entirely recovered, but his party could be postponed no longer.

Aelys rushed around Winterfell's Keep in a flurry of excitement. She ordered every room to be cleaned spotless, for rations to be saved for days until a feast could be made for their arrival, for hearths to be extra tended to, and for the courtyard to be prepared to clear the way for the host.

Finally, the days of busy bodies floating around the Great Keep came to a stop. The feast was warm and ready at all available tables. The hearths were warm and ready for sleepy heads to rest within the rooms. The tubs were filled with scalding hot water that would warm by the time they were used. Lady Stark stood for hours at the Great Keep's entry stairs in the courtyard.

She wanted to be there exactly when he walked through the archway. Despite the cold biting at her nose, the Lady stood resiliant and tall.

It was nearly in the afternoon when Cregan's party arrived. He came through first, leading as head of the host as any Lord should. A wheelhouse followed, surrounded by a small league of soliders all around it. She bounced on her heels slightly, seeing Cregan dismount from his ride. Though she found herself bemused and slightly hurt when he glanced at her and made his way towards the wheelhouse instead. Had Sara recovered enough to join and perhaps wanted to surprise her good sister? She hoped so, for she had missed her greatly. After growing up with only brothers, Aelys found a best friend and sister in Sara Snow. The whispers about Lady Stark befriending the bastard of Winterfell followed her around like a dark shadow, but she never paid them any mind.

Bastardry had never bothered Aelys before. Not even when she was a woman of noble birth and was taught that bastards were born inherently lustful, evil, and made of sin.

She waited patiently at the top of the steps for Cregan to fetch Sara.

To her surprise, he only pulled out of the carriage with a bundle of clothes in his arms. Pelts and blankets, it seemed. A plainly-dressed woman from the South stepped out after him but stayed trailing behind. A maid of some sort, though she had no clue as to why a Southern maid would need to follow Cregan back to Winterfell.

As he strided towards her, a strange and unhappy look on his face, she forced her anxiety back down her throat and raced to meet him. "Husband," she greeted with a smile. "You should come inside. A feast has been prepared for you—and your men, of course." Reaching out to caress his face and simultaneously brush flecks of snow from his loose hair, she couldn't help but stop to admire her husband's handsome features. It had felt like an eternity that they were separated, and she had begun to forget the full details of his frame. Forgot his scent in the room and his side of the bed. Nearly forgot the warmth that he provided simply from standing nearby.

The very warmth he is giving to her now, in the chilly courtyard.

His eyes appeared to gloss, his nose and cheeks pinking even more so than they had already grown in the biting air. Glancing over Cregan, she assessed quickly for signs of fatigue or illness.

"Cregan?" she asked gently. "What is wrong?" She prayed he did not catch whatever Sara had caught, or hid a wound under his mass of leathers and pelts.

When he shiftly lifted the bundle in his arms to gesture for her to look at it, she finally spared a look to the mysterious ball of cloth. She had completely forgotten about it until now, noticing the maid still behind Cregan a few yards back, head tilted down and looking at her slippers. Peeking over a fur pelt, Aelys gasped at the sight. A babe, only a few moons old by the looks of it. Her mind raced with possibilities. Why would Cregan bring a babe back instead of leaving it in more temperate climates like the Riverlands that he stayed in on the way up North?

"Has one of your men died?" She asked in a hushed tone, assuming first that one of his soldiers perhaps fathered a bastard babe before perishing in a battle or falling to sickness. "Is the babe an orphan?" Cregan did always have a soft spot for younglings, showcased clearly by his time spent personally training young squires of Winterfell. He had lost his own younger brother in their youth, and the hole had never filled from that loss of kin.

"Aelys..." he started, meeting her eyes with a soft and sympathetic look. "This is my son." Was said loud and clear for any listeners to hear.

A jest. Cregan had seldom liked to be humorous in front of crowds, or anyone but herself and Sara, but he must have been in good spirits today. Briefly glancing at the surrounding people, she found only pitiful looks from the women and severe looks from the men. Shaking her head, Aelys forced a smile onto her face and a shaky laugh. "Don't jest, Cregan. We have no son." She emphasized.

He only stared at her back. No words of comfort, no sudden burst of laughter among his men to tell her that the biggest prank in the world had been pulled on her. Just shameless silence.

He had declared her second best in front of all of Winterfell. Her people and his.

"No." She said firmly, shaking her head 'no'. She breathed in and out deeply, trying to clear her blurry eyes and woozy head. Glaring down at the false babe in his arms, she found many similarities that she wished she had not. The same straight brows that Cregan had, the same scattered freckles, the same pale skin. The only difference was the hair color—black as a midnight sky or dragonglass. The mother must be beautiful.

Moving her eyes to the maid behind Cregan, she found that the girl had a mousy blonde color to her tresses. She could not have possibly bore a black-haired babe. She felt sick, like she'd throw up and choke at the same time. "Don't do this to me. You'd never do this to me." She pleaded out, voice small and hoarse.

"It was one time. I swear it on my honor and Stark name." Cregan promised. But every word was like poison, filling her heart with a heavy black liquid and drowning her from the inside out.

"On your name?" She hissed out, uncaring of the onlookers for this one moment. She was allowed to be angry, callous, and spiteful, even. Any self-respecting woman would be. And she'd be damned if she wasn't. Any Stark woman ought to be when ruling over the entire North. Any Glover woman is.

"Your honor? You swore on your honor the day we said our vows under the Weirwood tree. Under OUR Gods! Did that mean nothing to you? Did I—?" Words spilled from her mouth before she can think properly. But she did not regret any of them, knowing she was in the right. Bile rose in her throat, pushing itself past the forced down emotions. She swiftly covered her mouth, stilling herself to prevent any more embarrassing. Subconsciously, she clutched at her empty stomach with her free hand, both mourning the fact that she'd have no children and thanking the Gods for not giving her any previously. A cry finally escaped her lips, watching the plain maid take the babe into her arms again as Cregan looked on helplessly to his wife.

Aelys found her voice again, though it was ragged and tired. "I thought you wished to wait. You told me you wanted it, too." He was a liar, the worst kind of man. "Was it just not me you wanted a family with?"

She'd rather be struck with his hand than his deceitful mouth. It would hurt much less.

"I did, Aelys—I do!" He pleaded, stepping forward to console her. His arms looked like steel traps in her louded mind.

She took a lengthy step back. She would not share his warmth, nor his love. Or his bed, his room, his damned dining room. His children. Not when he had shared it with another woman. Given her his love, his attention, his son.

She could not bear to keep herself calm any longer. Adressing the entire courtyard, who had made themselves the Stark's own personal peanut gallery, she spoke firmly. "The feast is growing cold. Enjoy it while it's warm." Without a second glance back at the Stark, Aelys excused herself to her chambers, where she emptied the contents of her stomach into the chamberpot until she could only dry-heave nothingness. These chambers had not been used since she arrived in Winterfell, instead choosing to sleep and stay in their marital ones. She would not step foot into those again unless she was dragged kicking and screaming.

Aelys awoke to strong arms lifting her from the stone floor. Groggily, she was stirred from her deep and preserving sleep. How long had she been traveling? How long had she been buried under those pelts? Time was a blur when she was in a near comatose state, dead to the world. Limbs were numbed and her body felt warm after so long in the cold weather.

"I've got you, sweet girl. We're going home." A familiar voice rung in the back of her head. Even the jolting movements of a horse trotting could not fully move her to consciousness as she fell back asleep.

When she fully gained her sense of mind, she could clearly hear the sound of two men arguing. The warmth of a hearth was next to her as she lifted heavy blankets and furs off of her body. Glancing around, Aelys found herself back right where it all started. In Cregan's room, formerly their marital chambers that she had long since moved out of. A large oil painting sat over the heart, depicting a newlywed image of her and Cregan. They both smiled brightly in the photo, much to Cregan's complaint that the painting did not make him look 'serious enough'. She only laughed and tipped the painter extra gold dragons for the accuracy.

She loved that painting more than any others they kept in the Great Keep. Now, the two faces looking down at her only served to remind her of the falsehood she lived every day while Cregan was absent. Taking care of Winterfell and the North all by herself, just to come back and be thanked by his uncouth mistakes.

Shakily standing up, she winced at the feeling coming back to her limbs. Wriggling all twenty of her toes and fingers, she ensured they still all had feeling. Miraculously, she did. The numbess still felt vaguely there, and her throat was extremely dry and achy. But at least she was alive. Even if it was back in Winterfell, she could attempt her return to the Motte as soon as the storm died down.

It had been a dreadful blizzard. Not a rare sight in the North, but usually none lasted so long. Aelys could not help but feel it was the Gods punish Cregan and Aelys for their marital spat. Something like this must be so futile and useless in their eyes and the eyes of the people of the realm, but to Aelys it was her world and her life. No one could help Aelys but herself. She'd leave these spoiled halls even if the Old Gods and the New wished otherwise. If Cregan didn't have to keep oaths, why should she?

Opening the large wooden door, Aelys found the source of the faint yelling. Her eyes widened at the sight of her father in front of Cregan, in all his gruff charm with his silver hair and beard. She hadn't seen him in nearly two years. She stayed at the archway under the door, simply listening in as the men shouted further down the hall. If either turned their heads, they would spot her eavesdropping.

"—cannot even keep her safe during Winter! Am I to expect her to stay safe during a wildling attack, or worse? Or will you be prioritizing the safety of your mistress?" Harriston shouted, veins nearly popping out from his forehead and neck in his fury. Snow still gathered on his pelt coat, meaning he had just arrived recently.

"It is my mistake that she was endangered out there—but I would never let such a thing happen again under my protection. This is her home, I cannot allow her to go back to the Dreadfort. She is a Stark." Cregan emphasized, though had a defensive raised tone.

"Was she a Stark when you bed a whore in King's Landing?"

"The situation is more complicated than that." He responded, clenching his jaw.

"Nothing could ever be more complicated than losing your wit at a brothel, Stark. There is no argument to be had. She is staying with her family, where she was intending." Harriston growled out, a tone of finality to his tone. As he swung on his feet to head down the hall, face set in a worried and seething anger, he finally spotted his daughter.

"Aelys!" He yelled in relief, rushing toward her and scooping her up into his thick arms. "We're going home immediately. We will wash our hands of the Starks once and for all."

"I will not allow that." Cregan spoke from behind. As Aelys hugged her father back just as tightly, it was a battle to keep her tears from flowing in his safe arms. She missed her father more than she knew.

Before Harristone could speak, Aelys nodded. "We will settle this." She said flatly. Her father hesitantly let her go, nodding once firmly after seeing the resolve in his daughter's eyes.

"Very well. I will wait in the dining hall for you." He sighed, walking away.

Aelys shivered in the loss of warmth again. In her bare feet and night gown, she felt the cold of the cobblestone walls and floors start to seep under her skin again. "Here," Cregan murmured, gently shifting his mass of brown wolf pelt over her shoulders and clicking the direwolf emblem into place.

She allowed it, though she did not thank him with words. She took a deep breath, looking him in the eyes. "I want to separate. Divorce, I mean." She said tiredly.

Cregan flinched, jaw ticking and heavily considering her words. "That is entirely my fault. It is in your right to ask that of me." He said, voice dimmed and not nearly half of his assuredness. "But please, hear me out."

"What could I possibly hear you out with?" She asked, exhaustion clear in her tone. She'd dealt with this situation long enough.

Cregan nudged the door back open, nodding for her to enter. Reluctantly, she led the way in and watched as he gently shut it behind them. "I swore an oath, nearly nine moons ago." Cregan started.

Her brows furrowed, bemused. "To whom?"

Guiltily, he looked down at her, looking much alike to a kicked pup. "My sister."

"To Sara? What ever for?" She grew frustrated, knowing he was beating around the bush.

Taking a deep breath, he told her everything. "Sara stayed with her friend Alysanne Blackwood in Raventree hall for the entire time I was aiding King Aegon. In that time—she fell pregnant."

Aelys' heart dropped to her stomach. The same sick feeling overtaking her. She did not say a word.

"Davos Blackwood and Sara had built a bond, much like we did." He said. "When she told Davos of the news, they both went to Lord Blackwood to plea to marry each other. He refused, not allowing his heir to marry a bastard."

"And you legitimized Brandon as your own in turn?" She hissed.

"Sara begged me to. She lived her life as a bastard—she did not wish the same for her own son. I swore to her that my nephew would never be allowed the same treatment. I knew Aegon would do it." He trailed.

"So you bring him home, and humiliate me instead? You didn't even tell me, your own wife! You chose Sara over me. She is your sister, I know, but she chose to be with Davos Blackwood." She could have taken a tea, or moved to Essos or Dorne where bastards were more accepted. There were other options, but neither Sara nor Cregan used them. "That is cruel, Cregan. It is heartless." She cried.

"I never wished to hurt you, I only wanted to protect her. It was my oath." Cregan pleaded, grabbing her hands in his.

She shivered again, though unknowing if it was in chill or her own anger. Part of her was happy that he never truly took another woman to bed—never picked another other her. Though he still hid the biggest secret in the world from her for moons. Allowed her to suffer in their shared home and withstand the pitious looks of the people and court.

"I can't trust you. Not ever again. You could not trust me with your own kin's truth, and punished me for it." She stated. She could not allow herself to cave in so easily, to fall back into his arms.

"I understand, sweet girl." He muttered, softly stroking the apple of her cheek almost mindlessly. "I will sign whatever the Maester's conjure up. You will be free to marry whoever you wish—someone who will not lie to you."

The Starks were known for their loyalty and devotedness to their oaths. If Cregan Stark had lied to his wife so easily, no lesser man could ever make her happy with faithfulness and loyalty. Aelys had accepted her life to be one of loneliness from the day Brandon was allowed into the home.

"I will stay in Deepwood Motte for the time being. From there, I will see where my path leads." She said vaguely, unknowing now of what her heart desired. "Wish Sara well for me." Aelys asked of him, leaving him behind as she wiped any straying tears from her face.

"I love you, Aelys." He said, calling softly after her.

"I know." She whispered to herself.

In the dining hall, Harriston awaited her arrival. Perking up when she entered, he knowingly took her into his arms. "I'm tired, father."

"Let's go home. Your mother has missed you dearly." He said, planting a fatherly kiss to her temple.

Aelys would not yet send word for a formal separation to the Citadel or to the King. For now, time apart was what she declared best for herself.

divider by - @issysh3ll

tags - @palomavz @emithefrog @karinalight @johnshelbywife @tojisrealwifey @baddielizzy @pearldaisy @brookiecookie @jessicar401 @hardkiddonut @littlelilly27-blog @nayaniasworld @just-mj-or-not @flaneurpastel @unsweetenedpeatea @blucesita09 @maxmegara @deeeeexx @masschotch @janniepark1997 @spongelistener @margaaaa30 @paracii @lovebabe18 @rey26 @damneddamsy @yunnifer @kenzcarson @glqmmywhqmmy @arizonadesert @blumin8 @its-your-girl-savy @dreamygirli3 @aemondloverr @zaranobiyuyu @nsr-15 @oxymakestheworldgoround @isansstuff @high-speed-r

so many tags dont work 🥲 will try to tell in comment sec

ending is ambiguous. Will she decide to divorce or eventually mend their relationship? Up to you!

might make an alt ending where he really is just a shitty guy but this had been my idea from the start (many guessed it and i could not reply to them because of it lmao)

sorry if those two scenes got repetitive, but I wanted to show the 'cregan bringing brandon home' from both of their more detailed perspectives. Cregan's shame and guilt and her humiliation and heartbreak.

so many people guessed so close (to the sara part at least) only saw Jace thoughts tho, but he's already dead long before Cregan's walk down to the South. Would have been much more dramatic, but I think Jace would never allow a child of his to be apart from him. Many people swayed me to lead them to separate instead of stick together, and it does make more sense to have her leave him in the end. Although he did not cheat he still lied and publicly humiliated her, even unintentionally, but he's a grown man who is smart enough to know consequences.