#fic: rc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

secret-fungi · 5 months ago

Text

All those wretched things

rating: M

pairing vesper/ nova

words count: 4478

tws: self harm (kinda), emotional distress, mentions of religious abuse/ trauma, interalized homophobia/ racism(??? are witches a race??) nova hates herself.

summary: have u ever been so horny for someone it made u revaluate ur religious beliefs? nova has and now shes cryin abt it.

When Vesper came around she was greeted with the soft sound of someone snoring coming from the sofa, and upon investigation the woman found that the sight before her was quite amusing, the catcher laid stretched out on the sofa, hair all about, sticking her face in odd and random places, her familiar resting on the dip of her waist, a blanket over her, and the lamp in the corner of the room still on, casting shadows on the woman’s cheeks. Small signs of care laid all about, and for only a moment did she find herself wishing to catch a star, but the thing with stars is that they are so very far away, and in all the time it takes for them to reach us, it is already too late for some of them, if a star falls you can never catch it, no matter how hard you try or how far you reach into the sky the star has already fallen.

The small familiar stared at the woman stretching its limbs before settling back into the catcher as if asking her business with the sleeping witch, keen eyes watched her as she reached forward and pet the top of its head.

“Have you been guarding her?” she asked the familiar, her only response was a lazy blink, as if offended that she would ask such a thing, the poor thing hadn’t strayed too far from the catcher since her return, and whenever it did it would be rather anxious, rushing into wherever she was as if the familiar didn’t truly believe that she was safe.

“I know… me too.” she admitted, her eyes drifting to the witch below her letting her mind wander as she sat on the coffee table.

The catcher stirred, and in response her familiar made a soft noise as if to say it was okay, that they were still with her. And absentmindedly she wondered how many times throughout the night had the catcher asked for reassurance. As if responding to a command she hadn’t realized she had given, her hand reached out on its own to play with a strand of hair that had fallen in the catcher's face, gently tugging it from where it was stuck against her full lip before coaxing the knots from the strand as she watched the woman’s expression darken, her lips pulled into a small frown, tears wetting the catchers dark lashes, but they didn’t fully fall, as if aware of her presence they were stopped by her lashes, only small streaks escaped and fizzled out.

She was told that upon her return, the catcher didn’t like to be alone, and that no matter how late you came home she would be sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea in hand, often admitting that she couldn’t sleep, and if you stayed a while she would act as if you are a life preserver, and though she promised she would be right behind you, that she just had to wash her dishes, she would not return to her room.

And as the older woman’s finger traced the other’s face the catcher moved closer, chasing the small touch without waking.

What a horrible thing it is, to want something and not know it. One woman thought to herself. What a horrible thing it is, to want something you are undeserving of. The other corrected.

Who decided that you are undeserving? The first woman asked. Me? Came the unsure reply. Where did you learn that? The first urged. I was born knowing.

No. you were taught to know.

In truth the catcher was only half asleep, as soon as she felt someone approach her she was pulled from the endless sea that she found sleep became when you pushed it off until you couldn’t anymore and when the older woman’s touch lingered too long for the catcher to bare it, she opened her eyes, if just to stop the feeling the woman’s gentle touch left on her skin, if just get the woman to retract her hand, but when her eyes found the other’s the woman did not pull away, nor did she seem to feel any sort of embarrassment for having been caught. For a while, the pair looked at each other in silence before the older woman parted her lips but at the sight of the small flinch that the other gave in return she remained silent, withdrawing her hand from the other’s hair. And so they sat together, swallowing their words.

Eventually though the older woman spoke up, “Why are you sleeping out here?” she asked, watching as the catcher straightened herself up almost self consciously before she shrugged. “I must’ve fallen asleep while drinking.” she explained, gesturing with her chin towards the discarded mug on the coffee table beside the woman, the last few sips had long gotten cold.

The catcher didn’t bother to explain why she stayed up, she didn’t think she could even find the words to explain why – or how when you stayed up so long, sleep felt like floating in an endless sea on the darkest night, no moon or stars in sight, just the sounds of silence and the feeling of water pushing her back and forth. And only sometimes did her thoughts crash into her, but that was only rarely and that was a mercy, for she always got swept up in them. Maybe she simply couldn’t stop them from catching up with her when she slept. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape. It was as if her thoughts were a great beast banging against a door and with each of the hits the hinges bent and weakened, and whenever that door broke a flood would come sweep her away.

Sometimes the flood would lead her to the woman, and whenever it did she could never decide to fight against the current or let it push her into the vision. But each time she reached the shore that the woman waited for her on and when she did, she felt as if the sand was made of broken glass and hot stone and the older woman was made of hell fire and thorns, as soon as she wrapped her arms around the catcher the whole island would be consumed.

Other times, the flood wouldn’t waste time on a pretty illusion, it would bust through the door and wrap it’s arms around her, consuming her without a kiss, and though she struggled, still she drowned.

The catcher looked to the other woman and considered that maybe she didn’t have to explain, instead she watched the woman’s hands as they fixed her sleeve before she casted a grave look to the catcher’s makeshift bed before saying; “If you make it a habit we’ll have to get a better couch.”

“Sorry.” the catcher mumbled “I wasn’t angry.” the older woman corrected, and for a moment the catcher caught her looking at her intently, something a bit far away in her eyes before she looked away, chasing away a thought she shouldn’t have had.

The catcher took in the scene before her with a quiet reverence, her eyes wide and jaw slacked, Like a starved man at the sight of a feast, like a man lost at sea at the sight of land, like Mary Magdalene at the sight of Jesus.

The pair sat in silence, both caught in the moment and chasing away thoughts with a series of rapid blinks, a nervous swallow, fidgeting with their fingers – anything to stop them from acting on their thoughts. but as the light caught stands of the older woman's hair, as her eyes lingered and her mouth dried, the catcher's thoughts caught up to her.

Wretched are those who are born without love, those with no soul to burn or rot, for they will hunger forevermore and never shall they be satisfied for they will seek the comfort they have lost with the fruits of the flesh, and it will never be enough.

This lesson was hard learned, and still with a smile, a light touch… a laugh, with just her presence, she caught herself believing it less and less. And what use was it to believe there was no worth in being as she was? Of slipping into the shadows and never letting the sun kiss your cheeks, When tomorrow it could be gone, it could be the last chance to lay in the sun and watch the clouds roll by, and selfish as it was she didn’t want to give it up. She knew that It wasn’t right, she knew she was only making things difficult, for herself, for Vesper who didn’t deserve what nova would have to do – No she deserved it, she must’ve because she was a wicked thing, even if she was beautiful and kind. Even if she felt like coming home – Nova knew her kind, she was warned that They were vicious. They were cunning and would do anything, like wild beasts that waved a knife blindly at everything and everyone.

The devil was above all things, seductive and all his creatures must’ve been too.

But even still, even knowing this… what had kept her up most of all was the knowledge that there were no other monsters amongst those who resided at the nest, they did not hide under beds, waiting for a chance to eat the young and innocent, they did not hide horns under hats or hoods – and despite their nature they were hopeful, desperate for a chance to be known, loved, a chance for the tears and each strike they were dealt to be heard and acknowledged.

At this realization a truly terrifying thought came to her mind; Even wretched creatures reached for warmth, even they wished upon stars, and hoped for love and a place to belong, this she had learned more and more time she spent with them. She was always told that she was different, special. She was chosen to right the wrongs, she was going to –

The realization came like a leaky pipe, a slow drip that caused big issues and as she looked at the other woman fixing her hair – a meaningless habit she likely did out of anxiety – the realization finally hit her once and for all; That even she, wretched as she was, desperately wanted what couldn’t be.

By the time the catcher came back to reality the older woman was looking at the other now, watching every micro expression flit across the catcher’s face with her legs crossed and hands held tight together as if every expression she saw was bad news, like she was watching, waiting, Nova couldn’t place hope as one of those emotions that tugged at the woman’s lips or furrowed her brows, no it didn’t seem like hope at all.

The two women stared at each other in silence, ignoring the truth and pretending that a lie could be true. Sat in the living room, with all the soft noises of people’s early stirrings, the shower starting, a bed creaking- and the breathing of the two women.

Vesper kept her eyes focused on hers and in turn Nova kept her eyes focused on the space between the other woman’s brows as she shifted uncomfortably.

They could wish for the same things, after all the heart was deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked and even the damned cried, but they are not their hearts, and she was not one of them. She was a sheep amongst wolves, She was –

“When I couldn’t sleep I would read and play chess.” Vesper told, and for a while Nova stayed still, nervously picking the skin on her finger before she smiled “I’ll try that… got any good books you recommend?” She asked and at this the older woman gave a look as if she was naive to the world that she was asking about. Her lips curled into an amused smile and there was something so mischievous in her eyes, in an instant nova knew that she wanted to tease her.

But instead the woman only nodded. “I’ll send over my favorite.” she promised, “it got me through many sleepless nights, I hope it’ll give you a similar peace.”

Peace. The catcher repeated the word mentally as she pinched her wrist under the blanket. Nova would have rathered the other woman teased her, she never minded it one bit whenever she did, she would be able to make sense of the feelings that her teasing smile inspired.

What was peace supposed to be like? She questioned. Nova didn’t think about supposed-to-bes often, she wouldn’t allow it, because supposed-to-bes always led to trouble, because she would imagine what her birth parents were like, she would wonder what language she was supposed to grow up with, what home, then she would think about her family out of guilt for wondering about the people who abandoned her, and she’d think how he wasn’t supposed to adopt her, and how if he did, he was supposed to – She didn’t think about supposed-to-bes, because it would always end with her brain reminding her that she wasn’t supposed to exist.

The catcher always lost track of time, losing it to her thoughts had been an issue ever since she was young, she was always scolded for being in a dreamland, so often that she gained a reputation, but the woman pulled her back with a gentle hand on her knee. And there was something a bit bitter in the realization that that touch was all she needed to pull the catcher back.

A simple, tender gesture to let her know she wasn’t alone, and still she flinched, wide eyes snapping to the other woman, tensing up as if she was waiting for a punch, a slap, harsh words or mockery – and at this moment, Vesper frowned and found herself once again wishing for that star, wishing not for the first time that things were different.

And that micro change in the other woman’s expression didn’t escape the catcher, and yet it still was misinterpreted as something very different than what it truly was, rejection and disappointment.

“Are you… feeling better?” Vesper asked “oh, yeah. I’m all fixed up.” she replied quickly, and at this the other woman gave a knowing expression, a smile falling onto her lips. “You sure?” she asked pointedly, her eyes landing on the blanket the younger witch was wrapped in, a silent acknowledgement that she knew that the catcher didn’t simply fall asleep on the couch by accident.

But the catcher smiled nonetheless, pinching her palm as she shrugged at the other woman. Nova found that she switched between wanting the woman’s keen gaze to never leave her and never landing on her to begin with. Because it was as if she swallowed a ball of fire and it settled within her stomach and that heat rose to her cheeks and the tips of her ears, it made her heart drop to the soles of her feet and simultaneously get caught in the back of her throat. But its absence was worse, and made her wish to do something stupid to get her attention once again.

It seemed that the world about them slowly awoke to threaten their fragile peace. Each chirping of a bird only was another ticking clock, reminding Nova that the moment the world truly started this moment would shatter, and she would go off again.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Nova asked. Again the other woman gave a smile before she replied. “Yes.” “Then, I won’t keep you.” Nova replied, casting off her blanket before she rose to her feet and as she folded up the blanket once again the other woman watched with keen eyes.

“Stay.” she instructed, and so the catcher remained, unsure of what to do.

I’ve never found arms that didn’t hurt when they held me, where is the poison you’ll slip in my drink? Where do you hide the knife you’ll cut me with? Where have you hidden your fangs and claws? Is the poison already drunk? Is the knife already stuck?

“You can cry if you need to, no one will judge you.” Vesper said. The catcher scoffed, making a dismissive gesture with her hand. “I don’t need to cry, I’m fine.” she denied, but the woman only arched her brow. “Then why do you smile like that?” she asked

She didn’t have an answer to this, because the truth was one they both already knew, and she didn’t know what it would mean if she admitted that.

“Like what?” she asked “don’t you like my smile?” she joked, batting her lashes but the woman only seemed to be amused, a mischievous smile stretching across her lips and the spark in her eyes seemed to be all too delightlighted, and in that half a second before she replied Nova could almost hear the battle she had between being genuine and teasing the catcher, and before the catcher could dismiss her comment vesper answered; “It’s beautiful, even more-so when it’s genuine.”

Heat rose to the tops of her ears, and the whole of her cheeks. “It’s genuine.” she denied. Vesper arched a brow at the other as if to warn her off from lying to her. “I know the difference.” Vesper said, and for some reason Nova felt like screaming.

“Oh, and what's the difference?” She asked the woman, and never one to neglect a challenge, Vesper readily accepted the challenge that the catcher leveled with an arch of her brow. “You light up, you smile with your whole being, when it's fake you make eye contact, and when it’s real you never do, always looking around nervously.” She said at this the catcher tensed, as if she had to remain stiff or else all her pieces would scatter. But the other woman didn’t stop, for whatever reason she seemed to want to prove just how much she knew the other, like she had drawn her weapon just to show her that she had one too.

“It's subtler but somehow more substantial.” She added, The catcher gave a look so skeptical Vesper had to suppress a smile, her face scrunched up and her brows raised high, you could hear her disbelief so clearly it was as if she had the words painted across her forehead, as if her very soul had joined in to exclaim it’s skepticism too.

“Well, you have my vote if you ever run for office.” she joked sarcastically. Vesper only laughed, and Nova once again looked at her, that same reverence, that desperate adoration so evident on her face that it wasn’t truly any wonder why the other woman teased her, because even the blind could see what the older woman meant to the catcher, you couldn’t miss the way her gaze lingered, and even if the catcher wasn’t aware herself, everyone else was very aware.

“Are you afraid of being known?” Yes. “Are you afraid of not knowing?” she asked in return, making vesper smile in response. Yes. “No, because I do.” “Oh? Is that so?” the woman nodded, smile still on her lips as if she was waiting for the other to catch up, to understand what she hadn’t yet.

And in her smile, Nova found the truth, and the sinking feeling returned. “Is this what this is? Being known?” she joked “you didn’t know?” Vesper asked, and with that same grin – as if she was telling a joke only she understood but was amused all the more by the fact that no one else caught it. “Well you’ve never asked for my favorite color.” she joked. “That hardly counts as knowing someone.” Vesper argued. “only if you don’t know it.” Nova replied with a triumphant smile.

“Blue.” the woman replied easily. “What?” “Your favorite color is blue.” She explained, and this simple acknowledgement was enough, maybe it was only the last drop in an overflowing pitcher, maybe it was the fact that knowing she was known only served to claw at her chest, a ringing, traitorous thought came through the blood that pounded in her ears.

So this is what it feels like. But if this was what it was like, and she had never felt it before… then was she never known before? Of course she was known – she was loved.

But why did being known feel so different when it was her that knew? When had she gotten to know her so well to be able to tell things that not even her father could? Did this mean that she knew her better than her father did… or that her father just didn’t know her at all?

How well did anyone know anyone? And at what point did knowing become a burden that hindered love? At what point did Nova hinder people from loving her?

Had she been loved as a child? What was love if not pulling your loved ones to the right path even if it might leave bruises? What was love but doing what was needed, even at the temporary pain of those you loved.

Love and cruelty were one and the same, and Vesper was cruel in her own way. Nova wished she had shot her. She wished she would strike her down, take her out of the game so that Nova wouldn’t have to pull the trigger herself.

And before she could stop or hide them, tears started to run down her face, and their appearance surprised even her, as she hastily tried to wipe them away. “I’m sorry - I don’t know why-” she said, trying to walk past the woman and that too, proved futile as the woman caught her elbow, pulling her back as if she had been waiting for this.

“I thought...” she whispered, her voice trailing off into the air, falling flat at her feet as the rest of her sentence stayed trapped in the back of her throat. Although the words gave no context for the other woman, still she nodded. The expression that fell upon her face wasn’t truly a single expression, but rather what seemed to be a thousand micro expressions all flashing for not even half a second, like the flapping of a humming bird’s wings. Sympathy, understanding, pity- amusement, anger, sadness, resentment, resolve. As if she understood, remembered how it felt and was displeased that it happened again. Like a fly watching yet another of its kind be caught in a web, like the catcher was a vase precariously positioned on the edge of a surface that she could only watch fall, unable to catch it from shattering in time.

But she wrapped her arms around her as if that could hold her together even just for a moment, maybe she thought better than saying what she thought, the words that so clearly knocked against her teeth. Maybe it truly was sympathy the other woman felt– maybe it was something else.

“I’m sorry.” Vesper replied, holding the catcher just that much tighter. Nova wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for, maybe that she was taken in the first place. She wasn’t sure that the woman understood why she was crying but then again there was something so knowing that she doubted the woman believed she broke over being taken.

There was a cruelty in her being so close, to have her arms wrapped around her, to be able to be consumed by her perfume, for the loose strands of soft hair to tickle her cheek, to be able to notice the small details you miss when you’re not this close.

The catcher curled her fingers into the woman’s top, and as she cried on the woman's shoulder she bit her lip so hard in an attempt to stifle the tears, and as she did she felt that somewhere within her, wherever it is your soul is kept a fire had started and as it spread it tore a horrible hole through her. The black smoke clawed at her throat and as she heaved and gasped in an attempt to stop it – to stop the flames from consuming her whole, but as she coughed out the thick black smoke the clouds spelt out a truth –

She wasn’t like them. She knew her place. She…. couldn’t outrun her shadow.

– Even she, wretched as she was, was more like them then she was anyone else.

She was one of Them.

And now she never would be. How could she? She thought of a million things, each thought coming all at once, mixing together in a disjointed choir like hell’s symphony but as she held the woman tighter, feeling the other squeeze her as if she had a place in her arms, the soft way vesper muttered, the way she hadn’t stopped stroking the other’s back since she was in her arms, it all caused so many thoughts but one rang clearer above the rest; it felt right.

and Nova hadn’t felt right in a very long time– She didn’t know if she ever had before this, and although she really shouldn’t have, she let the other woman distract her from this thought, because if it all must end at least she could…

The catcher's arms suddenly dropped like lead, and as she took a breath she asked herself just what the hell she thought this was? What was she doing? And who did she think she was fooling?

“Don’t leave.” Vesper instructed, every part of her said that she knew the other, the curl of her lip, the arch of her brow, the glint in her eyes as if she knew more than the catcher cared to tell, even the way she held herself was as if she considered herself rome, either you seek her out or you’ll find your way to her accidentally but no matter what you did, you came to her. She looked at her as if she was a stray dog that thrashed about when offered kindness.

But the catcher fled, tripping over her feet to get away from the other woman, as if she had burned her, as if she was all that she was said to be. And if the catcher had turned around she would have seen the expression that the other gave, she would see how she never left the other’s sight. But the catcher didn’t turn around.

Wretched is your heart for it lies and burns, it whispers truths in your ear that you can’t unhear. wretched are your feet for they ache to walk down paths unknown. Wretched are your lips, for they long sin.

But amongst the those wretched things the most abominable is you, for the most contemptible sin of all is to have fallen in love,

#my fic #romance club #rc vesper #w time catcher #truly my magnum opus #got three compliments on this so i can basically go to the moon

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jwirecs · 1 year ago

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RECOMMENDED SEVENTEEN FICS OF JULY 2023💖

hello, hello! here are my recs for seventeen for july! hopefully these beautiful stories get more recognition as well as the writers 💝

** anything in parentheses and bolded are my thoughts that can be disregarded if needed **

🔞smut || 💔angst || 💕fluff || ✅completed || 🔄ongoing || 💯favorite

Admire Me (Like I Do For You) || @wheeboo💕✅

↳ in which seungcheol shows you his tattoos.

Dimple || @icyminghao💕✅

↳ you can’t sleep, so you try touching seungcheol’s dimple just for the fun of it (spoiler: he loves it)

Shave || @yikesmary💕✅💯

↳ with your boyfriend’s comeback approaching, mingyu asks you to help with shaving.

The Stars And You || @wheeboo💕✅

↳ in which you bring the stars to your boyfriend for his birthday. (to this author, i am so sorry, but 90% of the fics that i have read from you so far, most of them are on this list. keep doing what youre doing please. i love them)

Try Me || @cheolhub🔞✅

↳ you push your sweet boyfriend a little too far when you threaten to fuck his business partner at dinner. he decides to show both you and mingyu who you belong to. (oh lord, heaven have mercy.)

Ukiyo || @wheeboo💕💔✅

↳ in which you and minghao spend the day together.

Wonwoo's Tasty Cereal (And Milk) || @twogyuu💕✅

↳ You've been eating cereal wrong your entire life. Wonwoo and your niece are going to fix that.

Fake Dating Roommates || @yikesmary💕🔄💯💯

↳ in which choi seungcheol becomes your roommate and fake boyfriend in one fell swoop. and you still don't know how it happened.

Seventeen As Fake Dating Scenarios || @bluehoodiewoozi💕✅

↳ (title says it all and i am out here fulfilling my delulu side of my brain. doing great out here im telling you)

Baby, All I Really Want Is Your Attention || @viastro💕✅

↳ you and mingyu have been academic rivals since the beginning of your high school career. having always aimed for the #1 spot, mingyu would beat you without even needing to study. now dedicating all your time into studying at the local library, you find yourself wondering who keeps neatly packing your things and waking you up each time you fall asleep while studying. (hes so soft, i cant)

Catnaps || @wheeboo💕✅

↳ in which you volunteer at the local cat shelter with your crush.

Dating Seventeen (Hyung Line) || @wqnwoos💕✅

↳ (out here filling my delulu brain. also seungcheol does radiate sugar daddy tho, ngl)

Fix You || @smileysuh🔞💕💔✅💯💯

↳ “As a member of 53V3NT33N, I have two different states of mind coded into me, aggression and admiration. To love something, to admire it, is to feel aggressive when it’s questioned, to want to control it, if even for a little while- it’s the need to consume it, endlessly, as my fans consume and control me as an automaton. Even though I’m a member of a group, there’s a distance. Automatons can never truly motivate each other because our motivations are based on external human needs, it’s built into us- We can see when humans need us, and we do what we can to fix that need… I know you need me, the way I’ve needed you since I got here.” (god, yall dont even know how much i freaking love their fics. like bro, ily)

Gamers Do it Better || @sluttyminghao🔞✅💯

↳ (listen, just hear me out. tag teamed by the two lord saviors of svt's hhu. i really need like a threesome au/tag or something i swear.)

Hits Different || @hellohannie💕💔✅

↳ it was no secret that you had dated many people in your past. when you were with them, you believed you loved them and they loved you. when you broke up, you realized that they didn't truly love you. but you still believed that love was real. then, you met lee chan. when he broke up with you, you started to question if love truly did exist after all. (i need me some more dino fics cause i barely come across any)

Loving Him Was Red || @boowanie💕💔✅💯

↳ After the café you were part-timing at suddenly closes, you were left unemployed and broke as you tried your best to look for a new job. But when your best friend suggests an alternative way of earning money, you suddenly find yourself falling for a certain Jeon Wonwoo.

Pup Code || @beefboyandbabygirl🔞💕✅💯💯💯

↳ mingyu doesn't have crushes. he likes avril lavigne and sometimes he fucks pretty girls. but you seem to stir something in him that no one else can. without the trusty girl code, mingyu makes his own code to help you fall in love with him. (yall need to read this one. like read it cause i lowkey can imagine him making up his own code ngl. man has no self control sometimes)

Crossing Boundaries || @wonusite🔞💕✅

↳ Seungcheol has always demanded that all of his employees keep professional boundaries, but it frustrates him that his son’s nanny is a little too good at keeping things professional.

Happy (First) Fathers' Day || @icyminghao💕✅

↳ it’s fathers’ day, but you seem to be more fixated on an event for your newborn daughter, much to mingyu’s dismay.

Made With Love || @icyminghao💕✅

↳ joshua wakes up to quite the commotion, and you’re not by his side.

The Cake In the Back || @toruro🔞💕✅

↳ cheol is a regular at your bakery, and it's all because his son loves the banana bread you make—at least that's what he tells himself. it also doesn't hurt that you're cute. and polite. and totally someone he'd like to fuck.

Roommates With Benefits || @shuaflix🔞💕✅

↳ initially, wonwoo doesn’t think much about your incessant requests to play on his xbox. however, when what was supposed to be a two-hour visit to his place stretches out for two weeks, he starts to think you’re overstaying your welcome.

The Secrets Kept From Roommates || @cheolism🔞💕✅

↳ you are hiding a secret from mingyu. little do you know that he's hiding one from you too.

Broken Pieces || @bluehoodiewoozi💕💔✅💯💯💯

↳ Your friend broke your soulmate's heart, leaving you to pick up the pieces of both his and your own heart. (stop my heart, i cant)

Right? Right. || @bluehoodiewoozi💕💔✅

↳ Your soulmate mark might be broken, but at least he will always be there for you.

Do check out all of the other seventeen fics that i have reblogged as well!!

** if there is any fics that you guys would like to recommend, please do! i am slowly running out of fics to read **

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen soulmates au #seventeen established relationship au #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #seventeen roommates au #seventeen dad au #seventeen fake dating au #seventeen fic rcs #seventeen recs #svt fic recs #svt recs

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dystopicjumpsuit · 1 year ago

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DJ!!! If it's okay, for the first kiss prompt could I humbly ask for

"are you sure about this" with our voice king, Sev?

Or!!

their hearts stopping when they hear someone's camera click (a friend catching them in the act ?) with Tup?

Whichever one inspires you more! Please and thank you 💙

A/N: Thank you so much for the ask @secondaryrealm! It was so fun to get back into the swing of writing Sev. You’ll notice that I’m incapable of writing him without mentioning his voice. Voice kink gonna voice kink. Prompt is in purple!

Pairing: Sev x Reader (GN)

Rating: T, but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 519

Warnings and tags: fluff, mentions of vomit

Summary: You do Sev a solid.

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

“Are you sure about this?” Sev’s deep voice rumbled in your ear, sending a tingle of awareness across your neck.

You turned to look at him over your shoulder. “Kriff, no.”

He smirked and slid his helmet into place. “Too bad.”

Without warning, he spun you around and tackled you, sending you both flying out of the LAAT/i and into the abyss as his arms clamped around your body.

You shrieked, too terrified to be embarrassed by the sound. “Oh, my gods, I’m gonna die!”

You clung to Sev, burying your face against his chestplate as you squeezed your eyes shut, clenching your jaw to try to keep from screaming again.

Sev’s low, modulated chuckle sounded through his helmet speaker. “Relax, I’ve done this hundreds of times.”

“Carrying another person?!” you demanded raggedly, still not opening your eyes.

“Uh… no,” he admitted. “That’s why we needed volunteers for the training exercise.”

Your eyes snapped open, not that it mattered, since all you could see was Sev’s armor and helmet.

“Sev,” you asked nervously, “how many times have you done this while carrying somebody?”

“This is the first. I think it’s going well.”

“I can’t believe I let Scorch talk me into this,” you groaned.

“Everyone who’s ever met Scorch has said that at some point.”

You felt your weight shift as he adjusted the flight path of his jetpack, and your stomach flip-flopped. Gods, I think I’m gonna hurl. Please, please don’t let me hurl on him, you prayed silently to the Force.

“Don’t drop me,” you begged.

“Even if I did, the tether would keep you close.” Sev seemed to sense you didn’t find that as reassuring as he thought you would, and he tightened his fingers on you briefly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

True to his word, he soon landed the pair of you safely on the ground. As he released you, your knees buckled, and he caught you just before you collapsed. He yanked off his helmet with his free hand, and you heard it thud to the ground as he tilted your head so he could see your face.

“You okay?” he asked, scanning you quickly for injuries.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said shakily. “I just need a minute.”

You willed your legs to work as you tried not to stare at his deep, gorgeous eyes or his stupid, perfect mouth that you’d been trying to ignore for months. Why does he smell so kriffing good? He has no right to smell like that.

You cleared your throat. “I, uh, think I can stand now.”

Sev didn’t loosen the arm he had wrapped around your waist, and he stroked your cheek softly with his thumb as he held your head. You gazed into each other’s eyes, as though suspended in time, and then he closed the distance between you as his lips met yours. His lips felt exactly as soft and stupidly perfect as you’d imagined, and you sucked in a tiny, broken gasp when the kiss ended far too soon.

“Wow,” you sighed. “I’m so glad I didn’t hurl on you.”

---

Looking for spicy Sev x reader fics? Allow me to plug my incredibly spicy fic, “Turn It Up When You’re Gone” Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3. The fourth and final chapter will be dropping next month!

#rc 1207 #republic commando sev #delta squad #repcomm #republic commando #sev x reader #star wars #clone wars #star wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfiction #dystopicjumpsuit writes #ask fic

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ratanslily · 3 months ago

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The Morning After.

Book: Astrea's Broken Heart. Type: Edit + Ficlet. (523 words) Pairing: Cassiel x Audrey. Rating: T Trigger Warnings: None, Except slight suggestive content. Open to change, if necessary. Tags: @agattthaa , @rc-catalog

A/N: a continuation of the beautiful @agattthaa 's Starved. Please read that before this <3333

Warm rays of sunlight streamed in through the window, disturbing Cassiel's peaceful slumber. His eyes shoot open, looking up at the ceiling. beautifully decorated room, soft cushions, fur blankets..where has he woken up?

His eyes fall on Audrey beside him, her drool adorably pasted all over her pillows (and some on his chest), her body still bare from last night's lovemaking. Memories rush back to him in waves as the scent of their joint act hits his nostrils like a tidal wave, and he shudders, remembering how they teased each other into a night both of them will never forget.

No, No! He can't be thinking again, or else he'll get a morning wood, yet another chance for Audrey to tease him.

That damn bat. Cassiel mentally takes a note to thank the creature for matchmaking them because they both are stubborn as hell not to do it themselves.

Cassiel rarely sleeps peacefully. Whatever he did in life rushes back to him at night, haunting him, torturing him mercilessly. so most of the nights, he either tosses in bed restlessly or goes by the Astrea's statue to train himself.

But this night? This special night? He slept like a baby, entwined with the most gorgeous (and infuriating) woman he's ever seen. She's such a vixen.. a very beautiful one at that. She keeps his fears and nightmares at bay, and he finds comfort in her arms. He won't tell her that, though.

They clung onto each other all night, as if they were both afraid the other would leave, disappear or just run away from this.

A soft smile makes its way on his face when he sees her sleeping face, lips parted slightly, the lipstick smudged all over (from his doing), her hands on his waist, legs intertwined with his. God, he hopes she sleeps like this for a few more minutes so he can apprecia- oh, no.

Of course, she had to wake up.

Ofcourse, her lips had to curve into that annoying smirk, on having caught Cassiel being soft red-handed.

He immediately shuts his eyes, putting on the most neutral expression ever.

"Ha, I saw that, Cassiel."

".."

Cassiel mentally rolls his eyes, opening his lids with a defeated sigh.

"You have drool on your face."

"I had you inside me last night."

"..."

Audrey's smirk gets more smug when she sees that she's left him speechless for the second time this morning. The day is already off to a great start. Now for her third shot..

"If we have a daughter, I'm going to name her Cassie."

"Audrey, what on earth?"

"Hehehe... just 'kid'ding."

God, this woman. her charms.. they can shut him up real quick. she got him bad. Like, real bad. She makes his eyes roll, but only he knows how much his heart flutters on her teasing.

(She knows it too, she can feel his heartbeat rising up in her proximity.)

"I didn't.. think you'd actually stay here till the morning.."

Audrey scoots close, drumming her fingers over his chest, tracing invisible patterns.

"Ofcourse."

Cassiel finally looks at her with that soft expression again.

"I'd be nowhere else."

#romance club #rc cassiel #rc abh #astrea's broken heart #rc edits #t edit tag #rc fics #t fic tag #audrey x cassiel

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pjoseries · 2 years ago

Note

Okay so I'm not a crazy stalker but I have read Rip Current no less than three times since finding it yesterday. If you would want inspo/ideas for future chapters please let me know because I have 'em. If not no problem just thought I would offer.

omg hi thank u sm !!! u are always free to drop ideas 🫶 idk if/when i can write tho 😭

#je réponds #la poste #realangston #f: none #fic: rc #t: ask

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rcmclachlan · 21 days ago

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8x06 fix-it fic: Amnion

Buck doesn't bounce back from Tommy the way he did with all his other breakups for reasons he can't articulate or even look at. He thinks of how long it took him to recover from Abby, but even that felt different, because he'd had hope carrying him through most of it. He doesn't have that now.

The worst part is it's bringing everyone else down. It's starting to affect the job, and he can't take any more of Bobby's pity dinner invites or the kid gloves Eddie handles him with. Then one day, Chimney (in an attempt to lighten the mood) asks Buck if he's pregnant, and it awakens some primordial rage in Buck that he never knew he possessed and damn near rips off Chimney's head about it.

But once the blood levels in his adrenaline start rising and he calms down, he starts thinking about it. Before he knows it he's thinking about it day and night, and now that's starting to affect the job more than his heartbreak had been.

Then one night Maddie invites him over to watch trash TV and eat junk food until they can't feel feelings anymore, but instead of the patented Maddie Hug he's expecting, she hands him a First Response test stick the second he walks in the door.

Five minutes later, he comes out of the bathroom pale-faced and dripping tears because there are two lines in the test result window, and Maddie leads him over to the couch where they curl up and cry together. Just like the old days.

Maddie asks if he's going to tell Tommy, but there's no judgment in her voice, like she's behind him no matter what he decides, and Buck tries to make her laugh when he says, "How do you know it's his? I could've been living it up for the last month. New person almost every night. Exploring myself."

She just gives him a Look. Also patented.

Under the weight of her scrutiny, Buck thinks about Tommy's face before he left the loft that night and how ''Buck'' looked and sounded so wrong coming from him. Like the shape of it was so painful he could barely move his mouth around it.

Finally, he shakes his head. His eyes well up with more tears, which feels impossible, because the human body can't possibly produce this much liquid. He's going to drown them both. "I thought... I thought we had a future, Maddie. I really did. I guess I still get one... but only with part of him."

A couple of months pass and Buck's entire world shifts. The 118 have rallied around him in a way that almost feels like they're closing ranks to every other firehouse. Eddie becomes especially protective and devises a 5000-point care plan that makes him twitch if Buck so much as thinks about deviating from it, but he also keeps telling Buck that he needs to tell Tommy about the pregnancy.

"If only to get his family history," Eddie says reasonably, but there's something pleading in his voice every time, like there's so much more under the surface that he's trying to keep under wraps. Like there's more about this that he thinks Tommy should know.

Chimney's in the middle of explaining why he's stealing the cool uncle crown from Buck and sitting pretty on the throne when Buck asks him about it.

"Is there something about Tommy that no one's telling me?"

It trips Chimney up. Literally. He just barely catches himself from going headfirst into the kitchen counter.

Buck's heart starts pounding. "Chim, does he know?"

"No," Chimney says, firm and almost a little offended. "We promised you we wouldn't say anything. But Buck... you should tell him. You should talk to him."

Part of him wants to whip his phone out right then and there and dial Tommy's number. He could do what he did the first time: ask to meet somewhere and laugh about bad coffee and plead his case for a second chance. He could reach across the table for his hand, but this time, he'd stand up and walk over to Tommy and place it on his belly. "I don't care about firsts or lasts," he'd say. "I care about only's. And you're the only one I want."

But the other part of him, still licking its wounds, hormones in flux and forcing organs to shift and bend as it makes room for the thing he and Tommy made together, bares its teeth and snaps, "He made it very clear that he had no interest in hearing what I had to say."

Chimney never brings it up again.

Meanwhile, Hen goes a little overboard with forcing him to undergo random physicals—she pops out of the shadows twice a day to ambush him with the blood pressure machine, and he keeps threatening to avoid rooms that have doors—but he loves it. His body is a complete stranger to him for the first time in a long time, but the changes he's experiencing are interesting and he's having a blast cataloging every new one. He and Hen have a spreadsheet with like fifty tabs, and she helps him navigate every test his actual OBGYN sets him up for.

He's over her house at least once a week, although pregnancy talk at the dinner table is verboten.

"If one of you says the word 'amniocentesis' one more time, I will start a food fight," Karen had said, finally putting her foot down. Across the table, Denny perked up.

As much as he hesitates to even think the Q-word, it's a pretty quiet pregnancy. The cravings are kind of wild, though, and he goes most of his first trimester feeling like he's going to die if he can't eat rice krispie treats with cottage cheese. Every time Bobby sees him cracking open another container of Hood, it looks like he's seriously reconsidering sobriety.

But as incredible as they are about the pregnancy, they're all tiptoeing around the other elephant in the room: when Buck is going to stop working scenes. He and Bobby have a series of discussions that satisfies neither of them and resolves nothing, and it builds to a big blow-out that ends when Bobby tearfully begs Buck to stop risking his own life and the life of Bobby's grandkid.

After that, it's like some stone thing in him dissolves into sand and he finally eases back a bit in his fifth month. He doesn't put up a fight when Bobby orders him to only handle the winch or stick with hose duty, and if he stays a little closer to the engine because he gets winded so easily these days, no one comments on it.

In his sixth month, the inevitable happens: there's a call out at Palos Verdes and it's all hands on deck, which means the 217 is there too. At first he thinks he might make it through without running into Tommy at all, but he turns a corner and—there he is. Smudged with mud and looking like a drowned rat because of the downpours, but in his turnouts he's big and capable and, for a second, he's walking into First Presbyterian and apologizing for missing the ceremony.

But the memory is easily wrestled back into the past the second Tommy's gaze fixes on Buck's belly.

Buck wants to stage a retreat that would make the Allies at Dunkirk stand up and applaud. He wants to throw his arms open so Tommy can get a better look at it, say something cool and mean, like, "Did you know that INNOTEX makes turnouts for carriers these days? Pretty progressive of them, if you ask me."

He wants to be weak and ask if Tommy will spare him a hug. Just one. Nothing greedy. Just—a moment to soak in his warmth, to inhale the smell of his skin. Enough to carry him through the rest of it.

But he does none of that. He inhales through his nose, lifts his chin, and says, "Firefighter Kinard."

At that, Tommy smiles, and it's completely awful. There's no joy in it. Not even amusement. He looks like he wants to be sick, and Buck feels like a monster.

But Tommy swallows and says, earnest as anything, "Congratulations. I-I knew you'd find it. I never doubted for a second that you'd find the person who'd be your last."

Even as he says it, Tommy's face does something indescribable, but it rips through Buck's chest and shatters his ribs, tearing through pericardial layers until it scores the vulnerable muscle of his heart. It's so shocking that it almost knocks the truth right out of Buck's mouth.

Someone comes over the radio and requests all available first responders with flight experience to report to the B-zone, and Tommy straightens up and locks whatever it was away.

With an unsteady hand, he tips an invisible hat to Buck and says wryly, "Firefighter Buckley," before jogging away.

And Buck stands there like an idiot watching him go. It's that night all over again. It's Buck instead of Evan.

"See you around," he whispers, and then runs back to his post in the A-zone.

Tommy gets the call when he's halfway through a burrito foisted upon him by Dana, who had taken one look at him and said, "You look like a flood victim. Eat something before I get HR involved."

He'd taken a mutinous bite and couldn't argue with her. Months later and it still felt like he'd watched everything he loved wash away with a tide he couldn't fight. Except he'd sent the tide himself. He had no business feeling like this.

But they send him to the site of a car accident where a pregnant driver had been T-boned by some asshole who ran the red light, and the RA unit called to the scene didn't have the right equipment to assess the fetus. But the victim's belly was hard enough to warrant a med evac.

By the time Dana gets the victim loaded on the backboard and inside, Tommy's already on with both First Presbyterian and LA General to see whose neonatal surgery team is available.

The door on Tommy's side slides open and Tommy turns in his seat to ask what the hell Dana's doing over there, but it's Hen who's pulling herself inside.

His stomach clenches with dread. "Hen?"

"I'm riding with you," she shouts, taking the headset that Dana gives her.

He looks just beyond her and wishes he'd had the presence of mind to listen to the manifest when Dana had read it aloud to him, because Evan Buckley is strapped to the gurney and looks like he's on a completely different planet.

"Hen." Tommy can't hear him say her name, but he sees Evan's mouth shape the word. Evan reaches clumsily out for her with one hand while pressing the other to his belly.

Hen murmurs something to him that the comms can't pick up, and Tommy wonders if they've notified Maddie, if they've notified the father, whoever they are. If they're already at the hospital waiting for them. If Tommy will have to see them, talk to them face to face.

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek until he feels the hot wash of blood over his tongue, then forces everything down to join the burrito from earlier that really wants to make a reappearance. It isn't his right to know any of it. That went out with the tide, too.

He locks it down tight enough that he gets them into the air so easily they might be a feather on the wind, then he heads in the direction of First Presbyterian. The real start of it all.

They're maybe halfway across the city when Evan shouts, desperation and fear carrying his voice over the rotors, the words sliding together, "Hen, check Nora! Y-Y'need to ch—"

"Nora's fine, Buck," Hen says, her voice clear as a bell in Tommy's ear.

Staring at a skyline he can't see, Tommy says, "'Nora'? Was someone else in the car with him?"

When Hen comes over the comm, her voice is as inescapable as a flood. "Nora's what he decided on for the baby. It's her name."

Tommy's hand tightens on the cyclic so the way it starts shaking won't be so obvious. "Nora was my grandmother's name."

He'd told Buck about the woman who was basically the only family he could stand, who was responsible for not letting him become his piece of shit father, who accepted him when no one else would. She'd meant the world to him. She'd been the world to him. And for Evan to give his kid her name—

Realization hits like a levy breaking, and he turns to look wide-eyed over his shoulder at Hen, because it can't—he couldn't be—

"Patient, male, 33, prenatal course complicated at 8 months gestation," Dispatch had said.

The timeline is right.

Hen stares right back, as good of a confirmation that he could get outside of a DNA test.

Without breaking her gaze, Tommy tells Dana to take over. She gives him an unreadable look but says nothing except, "Copy that," and smoothly resumes their journey while he squeezes into the back. There's hardly any room next to the gurney and his knees are compressing his lungs, but he takes Evan's' hand and stares blankly at the shiner forming around his right eye until Hen breaks the silence.

Why didn't you tell me, he wants to demand, but he knows that if he so much as opens his mouth, he's going to start screaming until someone sedates him.

"For the record," she says, "I hate what you did. I hate what you took from him. But I understand why you did it."

Tommy rolls his lips inward and wants to suffocate himself to death. She understands? Does she? Does she know a life can be obliterated in the span of a minute? Does she know what it is to live a half life, to walk through the world like a five-year old drew a scribble on a blank sheet of paper that was supposed to be a person?

Does she know what Evan looks like when his joy is sucked away? Because Tommy does. She hates what he did? No one hates what he did more than him. No one hates him more than him.

Shakily, he lifts his other hand and touches the tips of his fingers to Evan's birthmark, which used to know the touch of his lips so well that Evan would joke that it was actually in the shape of Tommy's mouth print. Like a brand.

He forces himself to inhale. It seems impossible that Evan's here, carrying their child, their Nora. Evan used to say the lightning strike gave him super powers, made him invincible, and Tommy's ashamed to admit that he almost believed him. It seemed like nothing could ever bring Evan Buckley down, but here he is in Tommy's sky, halfway to Heaven already.

He glances at the LifePAK—where Evan's life has been concentrated into a series of lines and numbers, the reading strong despite everything—and then looks back at Evan, who is still the most beautiful man Tommy has ever seen even now.

"Evan," he chokes out.

There's no answer. At least not from Evan.

Across from him, Hen breathes through her nose and then quietly says, "I'm only going to say this once, Tommy, so I hope you're listening. If you can't trust him to know what his own heart wants, then this flight will never have happened. When he wakes up, you will not have been here. I'll change the manifest myself."

Tommy closes his eyes. Something hot spills down his cheeks.

"I know things haven't been all sunshine and roses for you. Lucy's said you've basically shut down since it ended. I know you're hurting just as much as Buck is... which is why I'm telling you: be sure. He's going to have enough on his plate without worrying about whether or not you're going to swan out of his life again. You need to be sure, Tommy."

Tommy doesn't say anything, but he opens his eyes and holds her gaze without flinching, and he tightens his hold on Evan's hand.

The rest of the flight passes in the kind of silence that feels like a cyst was lanced. Or maybe a boil, as it were.

Buck wakes up in stages to find he's in a hospital bed, and when he puts a hand on his belly it's smaller and almost deflated beneath his palm. He is just starting to hyperventilate when suddenly Tommy's there, murmuring to him, "You're okay. Everything's okay, I promise, she's fine. She's fine. Look."

And Buck, heart racing, forces himself to breathe slowly while he follows Tommy's gaze down to the bundle in Tommy's arms. Then he stops breathing altogether.

"She's fine," Tommy says. "A little early, according to the doctor, but absolutely fine."

Buck collapses back to the bed and weeps in relief, because she's fine. She's here and she's fine and she's perfect. Tommy gently places her in Buck's arms before retreating to the chair next to the bed which has a dent in the vinyl in the shape of his ass.

But Buck is enraptured with Nora, who smacks her lips in her sleep, and he marvels aloud, "She has my mouth."

"Thank God for that," Tommy says with a laugh. "It'll help take the focus off my nose. Poor kid."

It hits Buck like lightning that Tommy is here. He's in this room and talking about Nora like—like he knows. And there are things Buck should probably be saying, like apologizing for not telling Tommy about her as soon as he found out, or asking why he's there at all, but the words are crowding in his mouth and he can't figure out which ones should go first.

Tommy's lips twitch in a smile that is awful to look at, like he completely understand Buck's struggle, but his voice is soft and even when he says, "I need you to know that it wasn't about you. Not you personally. It never was."

Buck stops trying to speak and just stares at him, because that is bullshit, and oh, he knows which words should come first, and he opens his mouth to release them into the wild but Tommy holds up a hand.

"I know," he says. "I was a coward and an asshole, and I'm more sorry than I can possibly say. I won't ever be able to make up for what I did. But I need you to know why I did it."

And, in fits and starts before he finally finds the thread, Tommy tells him about Jeremy.

After Tommy ended things with Abby and then finally came out, he dated around for a long time before he met Jeremy, who was brilliant and fun and new. Tommy was the first man Jeremy had ever been with, and Jeremy was the first person Tommy saw a future with. He'd been so sure about Jeremy. He'd believed that Jeremy was it.

Until, almost two years in, Jeremy ended it. He'd sat Tommy down and said kindly, cruelly, "You're amazing, Tom, but you're just the first. You can't be my last." And then he'd left Tommy completely shattered in the rearview.

"That night, when you asked me to move in... it was like I was watching him put on his coat all over again," Tommy says shakily. "But what I felt for you was lightyears beyond anything I felt for him. I'd fallen so hard for you that I knew if I had to watch you walk away I'd never get up again."

Buck stares at Tommy, eyes rimmed red, and says, "So instead you made me watch you walk away."

It must land like a fist because Tommy exhales sharply and hangs his head, bowing around the pain. He sits like that for a moment, absorbing it, before he lifts his head and nods. "Yeah. That's exactly what I did."

There are deep, dark circles under Tommy's eyes that speak of a hundred sleepless nights, and his body is sharper, leaner, trimmed entirely of anything soft. He's made entirely of angles. He's so unfairly hot. He's miserable to look at.

Buck swallows and murmurs, "You look like there's no love in your life, Tommy."

Sucking in a trembling breath, Tommy smiles weakly and sketches a shrug. It looks like the fatigued steel of his edges are starting to crack.

"I left all my love with you that night." His gaze darts down. "Among other things."

Buck looks down at Nora, who's sleeping the sleep of someone already exhausted by existence, or maybe just by her fathers' drama, and thinks that maybe he really has been carrying all his love plus Tommy's around. Because otherwise he has no idea how he's so full of it.

"She's absolutely perfect," Buck says, smiling dopily.

"She's... more than anything I could've ever dreamed of."

He looks up in time to see Tommy drop his gaze to the floor at the same time his shoulders lift and lock like they're bracing for a blow. And in a voice so thin it's barely a sound, Tommy says, "I know I don't have... any right to ask, but is there any... any chance I could be part of her life?"

The tears that have been languishing at the edges of Buck's eyes finally see an opportunity. He doesn't think he could've held them back any longer if he tried.

Mouth trembling, he whispers, "Just hers?"

At that, Tommy looks up, eyes wide, disbelief and hope chasing each other across his face like dogs. He jerks a little in his chair but he doesn't move. He doesn't move.

Buck stares at him, a tsunami pulling everything back from his shoreline, and bites out, "Thomas James Kinard, if you don't get over here and kiss me, I swear to Christ—"

But Tommy's out of the chair and at his bedside, cupping Buck's face and tenderly smearing a kiss over his open mouth, licking the relieved gasp right off Buck's tongue.

Between them, Nora makes a tiny noise, and Tommy startles away just enough that he can press the side of his head to Buck's and gaze down at her with a tremulous smile.

"She really is something, huh? Sorry about the nose, kiddo," he says softly.

Buck knocks their heads together and says, "I happen to love that nose, thanks. And like you said, my lips will help balance it out."

Huffing a laugh, Tommy kisses Buck's lips. And the side of his nose and the bolt of his jaw. Then he leans down and presses a kiss to Nora's little pink and blue hat.

"I'm sure if you are," Tommy murmurs, tilting his chin up so he can flash a brave smile up at Buck, who smiles back.

"I was always sure."

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan #tevan fic #mpreg #911 8x06 #fix it fic fest 2k24 #fun fact: i originally wrote this in the tags of another post but guess what! there's a tag limit! and i lost 2/3 of it #it forced me to actually write it as a story instead of tag fic though so... thanks tumblr?#rc's 911 fics

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allertonhoe · 6 days ago

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partners in lies - rafe cameron (smau)

masterlist ☆ 01 ← 02 → 03

summary: in which two public figures need help getting back into the public’s good graces after being bombarded in scandal.

content warnings: model!rafe x actress!reader au, original afab!reader, cameron family still gets along au, suggestive content, mentions/allusions to revenge p*rn (HOWEVER ALL CONTENT ITSELF IS SFW), allusions to eating disorders, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, general fuckboy behaviour.

a/n: thanks to everyone whos followed & reblogged & liked!! it's been a minute since i've actually posted my writing online and was honestly really nervous but everyones been so kind & i really appreciate it 💞 also a few of you asked if i was making a taglist, so if you want to be added just reply ☺️ hope you enjoy the new chapter!!!

taglist: @urbrunettebombshell @theeternaloptimistt

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #outer banks fanfic #obx fanfic #rafe cameron smau #rafe smau #obx smau #rafe cameron au #rafe au #rc #partners in lies fic

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salisburyliam · 3 months ago

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Uh... the fight scene between Amen and Set...

#it felt like i was reading a very bad fic lmao #that was..... so bad.....#romance club #rc song of the crimson nile #rc scn

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reneedenoailles · 2 months ago

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The Lonely Fall of a Royal Mistress: a Most Lamentable Tragedie.

pairing: louis x renée (victoire, calculation + official mistress path) fandom: vying for versailles length: 5148 words. (or so) genre: angst, tragedy, a bit of horror. tw: misogyny, physical violence, murder, VERY negative talk of pregnancy, overall very depressing ending. also louis's an unfaithful cunt (unshockingly) & françois enables his behavior

warning: this is kind of a sequel to they behead valets, don't they ? so while not necessary i would suggest reading that first. also massive vfv spoilers all throughout the fic

🎵: return to versailles - joshua kyan aalampour

Versailles, 1677. 10 years after Season 3.

Looking outside the window, Victoire sighed.

Versailles was beautiful, as it always was, and so was the King, but… the sun shining was not enough for her. Summer at Versailles was always beautiful, but it was also, strangely enough, the time where she felt the saddest - even as a child, she was not much of a sunflower, and more of a winter rose.

Summer at Versailles had been her main source of entertainment, but of course, that was all before 1667. The year Queen Maria Theresa died, and Victoire entered a morganatic marriage with the King. Publicly, of course, she was still the Official Mistress, but almost no one believed that.

Victoire herself believed she would be happy with this position, but to her dismay, it only isolated her from the court more. Sure, she had an almost stainless reputation… But at what cost ?

She could tell the way the other courtiers looked at her. The lecherous looks men gave her as they fantasized about what kind of services she could perform for the King, or the hypocritical looks the women threw her way, as if they wouldn't abandon their children's cribs to hop into the King's bed if they had the chance to do so.

Her friends barely told her anything. She could not attend their parties, and when they showed up at hers, they made a show of exchanging with the hostess as little as possible. This position that she has been longing for so long felt… ostracizing. Like she had moved from the heart of the court to its edge. As if she had become a bystander in her own reign.

"Mademoiselle?"

She turned - seeing her maid walk in, as she understood. It was time to dress for the day. After being assisted with putting on a silver gown, she wordlessly handed the maid a small purse of money and dismissed her. She moved to the basin, putting water on her face - immediately jumping back at what she saw.

A woman in the mirror was staring at her. Silver dress, hair left loose on one shoulder… But it was not Victoire. No. It was none other than Louise, staring at her in the mirror with a smile. Her first reflex was to grab her hairbrush and scream, throwing it at the mirror. She was haunted by these sorts of "visions" since her "wedding" with Louis.

As she stepped back, she looked briefly at the shattered remains of her mirror, hastily taking off her dress, almost tearing it to shreds, as if she were desperate to get it off her skin, and undoing her hair, sitting on her bed, arms wrapped around her body.

After a while of staying like this, she waited until she calmed down, taking a more… respectable pose before ringing a bell to call her maid back in.

"I would like for you to bring a new dress." She ordered, not even looking at her maid as her head turned in her direction, her voice getting sharper. "You should think twice about what kind of garments would flatter your mistress. Another mistake of this kind and I will make sure you're removed." The young maid meekly nodded, quickly walking out, and back in, to help her mistress put on a illustrious golden gown. And yet, in Victoire's eyes - that gold was nothing if not rotten. Bloody. Empty.

The maid's movements were fast, as if the slightest wrong move could risk angering the Official Mistress, and thus make her leave Versailles forever. Victoire had developped a reputation for cruelty -mildly induced by her own paranoia, and her lack of… companionship, one could say.

Walking out, Victoire painted her usual smile over her face, trying to shadow her thoughts - adjusting her hat. What a sunny day it was today. Down the Grand Canal, as the party of the day was going on - as usual, of course. Her black eyes tried to pierce through the crowd, but to no avail. No sign of her Louis. As appropriate, she joined her retinue, up until…

"Is something wrong, my dear?"

She asked one of her ladies in waiting, who seemed only halfway focused on the ongoing conversation and instead, seemed more preoccupied with what was happening behind the Duchess, biting her lip in fear. She then looked into her mistress's eyes, looked back into the direction where her eyes had been oriented, and silently nodded to Victoire towards where she had been looking.

And that's when she turned around, and saw them. Louis - on a float, with… This new ingenue, named Angélique. She had arrived to court some months ago, and he already had spent some time with her at her formal introduction, or on other occasions. She always felt suspicious, and blamed it on merely his courtesy, but now… They were together. On a float. That could not be his mere mirthfulness causing him to naturally be courteous to young women. It was more than that.

Victoire felt herself silently burn with anger, noticing everyone else's eyes on her, trying to see what she would make of this. She was usually calm, calculated, and always had some courtly sentence to win over a situation. Yet now, all she did was step forward. And as they walked down from the float, she could see the way he looked at her.

He had a very familiar kind of smile. That winning smile, the smile he has whenever he's 'hunting'. As soon as she saw that smile, Victoire felt herself burn, marching towards the float and slapping that ingenue right in the face, causing an almost unanimous gasp across the court, her black eyes giving Louis a glare, as if she were telling him he was next.

The King, however, was not happy about this, wrapping his arm around this newcomer.

"Mademoiselle de Noailles, your behavior is unacceptable."

Was all he said, but it was more than enough.

But she could not cry. No. She was not Louise - she was better than that ! She was! And yet when she looked around, all she could see were…

Smiles. Cruel ones. As if the whole court was silently wishing for her to be put in her place so publicly by the King.

She curtsied.

She humiliated herself like this, by accepting the King's will. What she vowed to never do - stoop so low to her own values - and yet, here she is. Curtsying before a man unfaithful to her, curtsying before a court of vipers, hoping for her downfall. Curtsying before her old friends whose goals collided with her ambitions.

"Yes, my Liege." She spoke, voice almost muted due to her anger, backing away with three curtsies before she turned around, shoving aside one of her ladies-in-waiting so she could go back inside.

Locking the door to her chambers, she angrily sat down on her bed, letting some tears come out - this wasn't the first time this happened, either.

Versailles, 1672. Five years earlier.

After a masquerade, Victoire felt like taking a stroll down the Grotto of Thetys, smiling to herself as she wondered if she would find her beloved waiting for her there - at their little spot, one could call it. But what she saw was beyond anything she had imagined.

Louis was there, yes, but… He was not alone. He had someone with him.

A woman with whom he seemed to already be very close, kissing her neck as his hands travelled up her skirts, lifting her legs to wrap them around his waist.

"HOW DARE YOU ?!"

Victoire was suddenly overcome by this atrociously green feeling known as jealousy, so… unsophisticated, unmirthful, and yet, so painfully human that it hurt her. Louis moved away his mistress to protect her as Victoire ripped away his mask, almost threatening to do the same to his face.

"Mademoiselle de Noailles, your behavior is unbecoming."

He spoke sternly, as if she were a child who was misbehaving at the dinner table. But she could not take this, screaming at him before she pushed her face in his chest, beating with her fists helplessly, crying. She felt humiliated. He had managed to make her break her promise - that no man would ever reduce her to this weak state.

He did not bother holding her, though. He stood still, looking down at her with disappointment, hiding his shock. She had always been so calculated with everything she did, pushing raw emotion away as much as she could.

She continued to cry against his chest, looking up at him as her hands stopped their fighting.

"Go." Was all he said to her. Not even bothering to look at her with the slightest affection or understanding - looking at her sternly.

Just like he looked at Louise.

Versailles, 1677. Present day.

A bright laugh suddenly broke out.

"Can't there be more than two people in a marriage?" A voice rang out suddenly, accompanied by a cold hand placed upon her shoulder. She suddenly moved away, turning around as her eyes squinted in shock.

A ghastly, pale Maria Theresa smiled at her eerily. But it was not a sympathetic smile - not at all, it was a mocking smile. The kind of smile the courtiers threw Victoire behind her back.

"And what exactly did you expect would happen ?" She asked, whispering - and yet, that whisper sounded almost like screaming to Victoire's ears. She laughed, before continuing.

"He was not faithful to me, nor to Louise. Did you… Did you truly think he would be faithful to you of all people?" She grinned even more, before laughing again. She was mocking her. "Victoire - you are so naive ! And I thought you were smart."

The Mistress turned away from her. She did not want to answer, but... That was the start of her issues with Louis. Her innocent eyes going to prying ones, seeing any woman approaching him as a possible threat, whether they would be ladies of the court, maids, or even actresses who occasionally came by Versailles.

In a way, she had been naive. Too naive. Childish, even. Thinking that she of all people could keep a man such as the King within her reach.

Once she turned around again, Maria had disappeared already, which led to Victoire letting out a long breath, moving to look at herself in the shattered remains of the mirror installed in her room, to make sure the Official Mistress could admire herself for as long as she wanted. How ironic this was, looking at herself in a broken mirror.

Her gentle, yet firm hands ran down her down to her stomach. In her 12 year long reign as Official Mistress, she had not given the King an heir. Unlike… others. But the mere thought of having to birth a child -- it repulsed her, it was an atrocious idea. Why was she cursed with this�� duty?

But her position had not just cursed her to such bodily functions. It gave her a place in history. What would people think of her? The Royal… Whore ? One of Louis XIV's women? The extravagant woman who was sent away after asking for too much? No.

No. NO. She refused to be remembered as this - as the woman who got what she deserved after expecting an unfaithful King to stay by her side. She was not some crying Louise, or some gossiping Montespan. She was better than that !

She let out a huff, moving away from her reflection as doubts began to cloud her mind. As she looked out the window - she could see old scenes from years ago play out right there. And that's when she saw him. François - which was quite odd, he was never a truly present figure at court, so for him to show up, that means… The King must have needed advice. But what kind of advice would he need that he could not ask his beloved wife for ?

Her thoughts began to rush faster than they usually did, as she watched François walk through Versailles - considering his relationship with Louis, he was most likely to not tell her anything. So, she took matters into her own hands, and slipped into a secret passage, waiting for the best friends to meet in the King's bedroom.

The conversation was fluid, chatting about usual court affairs - Victoire was about to leave, until the conversation began to spin towards Louis's love life. Her ears felt hot as she heard what the men were saying about her…

"I married her, François. In a secret ceremony."

"It can be annuled." He suggested, the mere thought filling Victoire with a burning rage. Annuled ? "It can't be proven you married her, after all." Proven ? Was that all that mattered when it came down to marriage ? Some silly documents ? Not the love between two people ?

"François, I must… I must find a way to send her away. Perhaps she can go to a nunnery, like Louise…"

That is when Victoire, in shock, stepped back until she felt the wooden wall of the secret passage against her backside. Getting her breath under control, she went back to spying on the two.

"Any pretext is good. Adultery, witchcraft, infertility - what good is she, if she cannot give Christian France a political heir ?" François asked, which made Victoire recoil in disgust. Was this all she was good for ? What her womb could birth? Comparing her to some… farm animal, whose goal is to breed lambs to the slaughter? Versailles - how animal-like it all was.

"You are right, my friend. Besides…" This sudden suspense caused her to hold her breath - as if she hadn't heard the worst yet, as if there was worse coming. And it came out.

"Angélique… She is pregnant." He revealed. Victoire could not stand it anymore, rushing back to her room and angrily knocking everything she could over, falling to her knees and sobbing. Is this all she deserved ? Being thrown away for her lack of a natural sense of motherhood ? For her occasionally egregious temper ? For influencing the King's decisions ?

These men - what right did they have over her bodily autonomy? Who did they think they were ? She was not a pin-box - or a doll for them to control, to tell her what to wear, how to move… And she was sick of them acting as if she were.

It was drastic, but she had to do it. She refused to let herself be sent away, be paraded for this court of snakes like Cleopatra would have been, had the asp not bitten her breast. A green - no, black bitterness ran through her, stopping in her throat, as if she were ready to throw up black blood, picturing how she was going to put an end to her lover's life.

She felt sorry for him. But she, the Duchess of Marly, would not take this disrespect - this humiliation.

Grabbing a pair of scissors, she slipped them inside of her dress's pocket - sewing pockets into her dresses is a habit she never lost, after all, even though the one who taught her that was gone - and made her way through the secret passages, her mind furiously spinning. Part of her was still unable to grasp the current events, after all - he had been everything to her. Her beloved, her Lord, her one and only. The Sun in court, and the Sun in her heart, too. Louis held the whole of France in his palm, and along with it, he held Victoire's heart.

But his once gentle palm turned into an iron grip, and crushed said heart as it bled for him. And Victoire couldn't forgive this. She couldn't live with herself. Can you imagine ? What would history books say of her ? She cried like a second Louise as she went to the nunnery ? She knew better, she knew her worth...

Her feet made their way to Louis's room, silently entering the room from a secret door - hearing certain... sounds, very, very familiar ones. Painfully familiar ones - his voice, his groans, his quick chuckles as he felt the skin of his beloved. It hurt her to hear him, each step she took made a piece of her heart break. But she could not afford being weak now - it was about her survival. She was, after all, a de Noailles. Survival ran in their blood, even though her uncle paid the price for his attempts at surviving. And she knew that they would not both make it out alive. It was going to be either her, or Louis.

One step. Two. Three. Hand slowly moving to take the scissors out of her pocket, mouth moving into a scowl as she felt her head burning with so many emotions at once - rage, jealousy, disappointment, shame, guilt, sadness. All those instances, all those circumstances that pushed her to do this.

And that's when she lost all control.

As her lover and his other mistress kissed, Victoire felt sick. How could he do this ? To her ? What had she done to deserve this ? She raised her arm and rushed, but before she realized, her target had changed. Somehow, Angélique had taken notice of her, and as an attempt to shield the king, she had shoved him.

And she paid the price. As she was striking, Victoire lowered her arm, which ended right in Angélique's stomach. Her brows furrowed, staring right at where she struck before she wordlessly moved her blade across the other's stomach, striking one specific part.

Her womb. The one thing she had that Victoire could not give the King, the thing that led his eyes away from her. In a rage-filled movement, she struck the blonde woman's womb again, and again, and again. As if she wished to destroy not only her, but also any parasite living in her stomach. She sadistically destroyed it, mad with jealousy, before pulling the scissors out.

The other woman fell dead onto the ground, and as Victoire was about to strike the King next - she suddenly saw something that stopped her dead in her tracks.

On the ground, instead of the woman she stabbed... She saw something horrifying.

It was a dead, stabbed version of... herself. Her face was pale, her black eyes rolled back as blood poured out of her mouth, and of her womb, making Victoire back away as she put her hand over her mouth and dropped her bloody weapon, the red fluid on her hands staining her once cold, impassive face.

Looking back up at reality, she saw a hand with red nails on Louis's shoulder. It was a woman with black curls running down her shoulders, in a red and white costume, blood on her neck as her red lips curled into a mocking smile. Madame de Montespan, or at least, what remained of her ghost, opened her mouth, laughing... Laughing at Victoire.

The laughter intensified, as she saw Maria Theresa again, kneeling above the corpse... which was Victoire's. She instinctively checked her stomach, but she didn't seem to have been stabbed... The Duchess raised her head again, only to feel surrounded. Louise had joined in the laughter, which was unbearable. She was losing her mind. She was going insane - putting her hands over her ears after throwing her knife away, blood getting in her hair and on her head.

The man looked horrified, taking one step at his beloved's dead body. In his brown eyes were so many emotions - pain, hurt, anguish, hopelessness and yet, fury. Anger. Rage. He couldn't even recognize the woman who stood in front of him, his own wife.

"How..." He spoke, stepping closer, maintaining his composure as King, as much as he wanted to mourn his lover.

"How could you ?"

How could she ? How could SHE ? How could HE ?! He was going to send her away without a care, ready to annul their marriage, kissing all those memories between them goodbye ! She had no choice. His... His willingness to behave as if she were the sole villain made her sick, taking one step closer to him. As she raised her voice, those ghosts disappeared, as if regaining her sanity for one moment.

"How could I ?" She repeated, as if to confirm what she was hearing, unable to believe he was saying this to her. "You.. How could YOU ?!" She screamed, feeling her control slip away from between her fingers again, but knowing it was too late to care.

"You MADE me do this ! You and your wandering eyes !" She spoke, feeling herself become closer and closer to sobbing. "You were going to send me to a nunnery ! You have NO right to do this !"

Louis stood still, face dropping once he realized she had heard his conversation with François. "My pearl.." He spoke, hoping she would hear reason - his reason, at least - but she did not.

"Your pearl ? Your pearl whose marriage you were going to ANNUL ? Your pearl who you abandoned for.. this ?! Your pearl.. Ha !" She couldn't even stop herself from laughing, the irony not lost on her.

"Your pearl..." She laughed, aware of how demented she looked in his eyes right now, laughing at this entire scene. The corpse laid there, this entire scene reminding Victoire of a theatre stage. She had stabbed a young woman, in cold blood, for a man who she now realizes never truly loved her. How ridiculous this all was - how insane she looked.

"So did you ever love me ?" She asked, a part of her knowing the answer already. "I did. I.. I do." He responded, although that last part was much more quiet than the start of the answer.

He loved what she was. What she could be. The roles she could play, the masks she could wear. She was a passing fancy that he once enjoyed, and that he now tired of.

"..I'm sorry, Victoire." He spoke, calling for his guards to take her away. She briefly looked at the window, before she was finally taken away. She had not resisted - it would have been futile. What could she do, anyway ?

Women are caught all the time. She was no expection.

---

Versailles, 1668. Nine years earlier.

"Victoire... My sanctuary of answers, my Helen of Troy, my sweet pearl of heaven. You have been with me for four years now, and you have supported me in my every endeavor. My love..."

He spoke, as she looked at him, breathless, wearing a golden wedding gown that the King selected just for her, holding his hands as he wore his silver suit.

"Will you be Madame de France, next to the King of France ? Will you rule the heart of the world with me ?"

"I will." She spoke, tears running down her face of happiness once he kissed her, celebrating their marriage by themselves. No one else had been invited, besides a priest, and her maids.

"I cannot imagine of a time where I would tire of you." He spoke, smiling at her.

"Long may I reign with you by my side." He whispered to her, before adding ;

"I appreciate you, and I always will."

----

La Bastille, 1677. Present day.

Getting thrown into this oh so familiar prison was not as scary as it should be for her. She couldn't feel anything, anything at all. Perhaps it was due to the unlawful nature her everyday actions so casually took, maybe she thought she could escape any kind of consequence as she was held up so high in society.

She remembered how scared she used to be, back when she was a young, capable thief, how terrified she was of ending like Marielle, behind bars, for the petty act of stealing bread or pawning jewelry. Yet, now that she in prison for something much, much worse, she...

She couldn't bring herself to feel anything. As if it was all a bad dream that would go away soon. She didn't even hear the guard, or de Montlezun's son talking to her, she wasn't even looking at them. She was lost, memories flashing before her eyes.

The day went by all by itself. Her last day alive - she could barely even believe it. But it was set, and nothing could change it. Soon, the sun set, reminding her of how close the end of her life was. And sooner than later, she fell asleep.

Victoire opened her eyes to a… strange scene. It was dark, she was in the woods. And that is when she realized she could not move. Raising her head, her eyes squinted a few times, making out the shape of 3 women wearing black, dancing around her, their faces covered by veils.

She struggled a bit more - coming to the conclusion that her hands were tied to what ressembled a stake. Her head raised to look at the night sky, which she expected to be lit by stars. Instead, to her astonishment, it was pitch black. She felt the cold air blow onto her exposed shoulders, noticing she was wearing her prisoner garb, long black hair loose.

The mysterious women's laughter got quieter, her attention now taken by footsteps approaching. An equally mysterious woman made her way to her, clearly dressed better than the others, holding a crown. Two of the women took away her veil, and Victoire almost choked upon seeing who it was.

That very same ghastly version of Maria Theresa, black blood dripping from between her lips as she seemed to hand Victoire the crown. The woman inclined her head, despite not wanting to do that, as if her body was actively working against her.

As soon as the crown was on her head, it began to feel heavy - as if it were crushing her from above, feeling… blood drip down her head. She frantically looked around, trying to say something - anything - and yet, nothing came out of her mouth. She was reduced to silence, as the women revealed themselves.

Louise. Françoise-Athénaïs. Bonne. All of them were however distorted versions of their real life counterparts - Françoise-Athénaïs's head was swaying from one side to another, and Bonne's skin was scarred from the hellish fate she suffered, on Victoire's order.

Oh so suddenly, a strange smell rose up to her nose - blood running down her clothes as she looked down, seeing flames rise at her feet. Looking up, she realized that all of the women held torches - which they weren't holding one second ago. Before she could assess that thought, screams came out of her throat, screaming as the fire rose, the flames of Hell taking her back within their own, while a pair of male hands wrapped around her neck from behind, a deep, velvety laugh ringing in her ears.

And that is when she woke up.

Alone.

She wasn't dead, of course, but the events leading up to that nightmare were all real - as if they could be otherwise. No, that would have been too easy. A very long nightmare she had after dancing with the King, during her first night at Versailles, back in 1665.

No. That would be an easy way out - a salvation, for her. Salvation comes for no one. Not even for Victoire de Noailles.

Outside of her jail cell in the Bastille, Victoire could hear faint sounds of people flirtatiously laughing, sharing wisdom and witty remarks, bathing in conversation. Were they faint sounds coming from the court of Versailles ? Were they all in her head ? Was this the crowd coming to watch that very same head fall off, after they had spent so much time wishing, praying, impatiently waiting for her downfall ?

She got up and turned around her cell, pacing in a circular motion, looking around. Time passed. Once she got tired, she let herself sink to the ground, back against the wall. And she waited.

And waited.

And kept waiting.

No one had come. No one had tried to visit her - to speak to her, to at least wish her good luck, or even tell her to go to Hell one last time. No one had come.

Why would they? She was a poisoner, an attempted regicide, a witch, a lowly, deranged, wicked woman. After a while, Victoire began to feel her vision getting blurry. Blurry with tears - marks of sadness running down her face as she finally screamed, hoping that someone would hear her.

But no one did.

She was raw - stripped of everything besides her emotions, letting them out as she threw herself at the bars in a desperate attempt to… She didn't even know anymore. All she could do was cry, and scream at everything.

Scream at Alexandre, who brought her into this snake den and left her to her own means as he tried to steal her influence and take credit for all she's done. Alexandre, who she framed as a poisoner, and barely felt regret about, as he would have done the same if it meant rising in popularity in the eyes of his beloved King.

Scream at Louis, who caused her to do this, with his wicked, wandering eyes. He never loved her. He loved her masks, who she could pretend to be at his demand. Who she always pretented to be - the actress with a neverending part. The queen with a paper crown and a painted smile. Damn him. Damn all of tthem !

And she screamed. At the world, who condemned her father, her mother, herself. At this so-called "merciful" God, who doomed her, and her entire lineage, to horrid lives made of deception, pain and ruin. To this God, who gave her everything, only to strip her of it at the last minute. To this God, who punished her, and yet, did not touch Louis at all, as if He Himself had been afraid of the Sun King. Perhaps He simply enjoyed feeding this mortal's delusions that he was God on Earth, and was simply tormenting Victoire as He tormented the women of His entourage.

She mused on that thought. God and Louis being quite similar, but for different reasons that one might think. But those sudden, fleeting musings only brought a smile to her face for a few seconds. They did not stop the tears from running down.

Her red-rimmed eyes could not stop themselves, finally feeling free, in this sinister, drastic, and desperate self-expression of her emotions. She screamed, as she imagined all she could have done, had she never gotten close to him. Finally, all masks were removed, all skin was shed, now she lay in her prison garb, bare for anyone to see - if they were to see her.

Perhaps her loneliness brought her comfort. She doesn't know if she could bear the sight of anyone to see her like this. When did she lose herself ? As she was in her final moments, she seemed to find herself again, and it felt like the rest of her was laughing at her, or pitying her.

All she could do was wait.

No one had visited. And no one ever would.

Until she heard the door unlock, and her name be called to face the crowd outside.

#romance club #rc #rc fanfic #romance club fanfic #liz writes #vying for versailles #rc vfv #rc louis xiv #rc maria theresa #bonne de pons d'heudicourt #françoise athénaïs de montespan #renée de noailles #vfv: victoire.#after sitting in my drafts for literal MONTHS this fic is finally coming out for the public #lmk what yall think

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