#give the woman several raises for her birthday

[v01dbug-s1nr0se]

hello little tumblings

ive been up since 5am giggling over a fictional man bc its his birthday today

[themotherofhorses]

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: “please,” aemond begs, keeping you flush against him as he nuzzles your breasts. “allow me to make love to you, sweet girl.”

(or aemond's first time with his handmaid).

warnings: explicit lang. a tiny bit of angst at the beginning. protective!aemond. p in v smut. slight breeding kink. spitting kink towards the end. fluff. all around good vibes bc aemond's in love and we all love that for him.

notes: happy birthday to me. pls be nice to me, i'm unfortunately entering my twenties today.

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

Aemond spends the better part of the chilly winter day searching for his handmaid.

You had been missing when he returned to his bedchamber at midday, wishing to eat his lunch in your company. Did she forget my first rule, by chance? Aemond thought to himself, holding the chalice to his lips. Perhaps…but he could not stomach another bite of his roasted meat, his mind too consumed with thoughts of you.

So he looks throughout the kitchen wing, and the library and Great Hall, until he passes by his mother and sister in the hallway.

But neither woman claims to have seen you, and he’s left twice as confused and frustrated and concerned as he continues to wander about the Red Keep like some lovesick and anxious fool.

“Ah, my prince,” Lord Larys Strong purrs as his steps falls alongside Aemond’s. “Perchance I could be of service. I overheard you are looking for your little handmaid.”

Aemond turns to look at him. “Yes,” he answers, his eyebrow raising, “-have you seen her?”

The lord’s smile is sly. “Several hours ago, actually. She was heading up to the servant quarters…” but his smile then drops, quickly replaced with a frown, “but she seemed to be in tears, if I’m to remember correctly. Poor child, she was an awful, trembling mess, never once looking up to meet my eyes when I greeted her.”

“She was crying?” Aemond cocks his head sideways, swallowing down the ire beginning to bubble inside his chest.

“Yes. It was rather grievous and sad,” and Clubfoot shakes his head dolefully. “A maiden like her deserves a smile on her face at all times, would you not agree, my prince?”

Aemond’s jaw clenches, and he glances to the stairs leading upwards to the servant quarters. Someone made you cry? His blood turns cold, and his fist balls up at his side. Remembering where he was, he gives the lord a curt nod. “Thank you, Lord Strong,” and leaves it at that, rushing up the stairway and down the hall, whilst hundreds of questions thronged in his head.

Who dared make you cry? You, who is rightfully his- his handmaid, his woman. You were supposed to remain safe and happy within his room, tucked away from ill-tempered bastards and envious tongues. If he could not protect you…

He turns the corner, huffing. He’d see whoever made you cry is punished, Aemond decides as he walks down the strip, passing by shut door after door, until he hears fainting sobbing. A sniffle, then, and a tiny hiccup that soon follows. That stops him in his steps. You. You. You, you, you…

“Love,” he whispers, knocking his knuckles on the door before slowly cracking it open. “Love, it’s me.” You twist to meet him in sullen silence, and his heart shatters at the sight. Your pretty doe-eyes are both red and teary, and your bottom lip quivers. It’s busted too, more scarlet now than pink. But it is the ugly bruise coloring your left cheek- large and hand-shaped, that causes his eye to widen.

“Who?” he spat, crossing the room to gather you in his arms, his voice raising. “Who’s done this to you?”

But you lower your eyes, and bury your face within his neck, hiding away from his gaze and questions. Aemond softens, and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, pausing when you flinch. “My love, I need to know at once. This…this is a horrible injustice served upon you, one I know you did not deserve!”

You shake your head, face crumpling as another sob escapes you.

His eye narrows.

“Was it my brother?” Aemond demands. “Or a houseguard?”

“No,” you mumble, feeling ill, like your tummy is tied in a knot. “It was neither, my prince.”

“Well?”

You sigh. “It was one of the septas, a new one to the castle. I do not know her name,” you explain. “She caught me in your room and scolded me, saying how it was beyond disrespectful and ill-mannered of me to flaunter about your bedroom as if it was my own. She said…she said you would have my head for such, and when I tried to explain myself,” and you hiccup, feeling a wave of fresh tears, “-that I was your handmaid, she slapped me!”

“She said I would have your head? That I would kill you?”

You nod, wiping away the few fat tears streaking down your cheek, wincing at the slight sting from the bruised skin. “She said she would bring it up with the Queen herself, that there was no need for insolent little maids like me running around the castle. Oh, I’m so sorry, my prince. I’m terribly sorry. Please, please, please forgive me!”

But Aemond’s thumb brushes lightly across your plump lip, shushing you. “Those words should never fall from these lips, sweetling. They were not made for that.” You feel like crying again, this time from relief.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, my love. I couldn’t even imagine…” his voice trails off. How could this septa easily plant a seed of doubt within your mind, and make you think he would ever harm you? Or call for your death? As if you’re not the very air he breathes every day.

“You terrified me when I could not find you earlier, love.”

By now, you’re a lot calmer and breathing fine again, nestled within his embrace. Your cheek still stings but you’ll live. You lay your head against Aemond’s chest, listening to his faint heartbeat in his breast. Thump, thump, thump.

No more words are shared between the two of you, but his kiss on your temple says much more than anything could.

Soon, Aemond takes you back to his bedchamber, to his tub, and calls for several women to tend to you while he busies himself in burning the servant garb you were wearing today, until nothing is left but sooty ashes and singed cloths. He refuses to allow you to wear that shabby, tainted dress you were so wrongfully punished in. If not for you, then for himself. It eases his mind. And someday you’ll wear nothing but the finest and prettiest gowns, he swears, ones that are fit for no one but a princess.

He’ll have a talk with his mother too. His queen mother has a soft spot for his handmaid, he knows, and Helaena too. This will not go unseen and unpunished.

The prince returns when your bath is finished, and dismisses the women before carrying you off to his featherbed. You’re still quiet, hushed, lips pressed in a tight line while he dries your hair. “You do not need to do this, my prince,” you tell him softly, nervously lacing your fingers together. “I’m undeserving of such treatment, really. It should be I who does this for you.”

“Nonsense, sweetling.”

He’ll be your husband one day, and is merely practicing his husbandly duties, although he doesn’t actually say that piece aloud. It’s all a bit tricky right now, but he’s already decided he will not marry anyone who isn’t you.

Aemond bends to kiss your shoulder, ever so tenderly. You have four pretty birthmarks littering the skin, and he presses a sweet kiss atop all of them. He loves it. You’re so fucking gorgeous. “You’re mine,” he mumbles, nuzzling his forehead against your shoulder blade. “It’s my duty to care for you.”

“No, my prince, ‘tis my duty as your servant.”

He smiles up at you. “Ah, and I’m your protector, best to remember that, sweet girl.” And he leaves nothing more to be said, quickly standing you up in front of him, naked and breathing messily and too shy to meet his eye. Oh, but you’re too pretty for your own good, he tells himself. His fingertips gently trace along your hipbones while he leans to nuzzle his face into your tummy. Aemond then feels your soft hands finding his hair, fingers raking through as you sigh deeply.

“You smell good,” he whispers. “So damn good.”

You giggle. “Do I, my prince?”

Aemond hums, raising his face up to kiss your nipple- once, twice, thrice. He feels you suddenly tense against him, your breath catching in your throat. “Nice and warm and all mine,” he adds, blowing a puff of warm air over your breast that earns him a sweet little moan, one that sends blood rushing down to his cock. His arms circle around your waist, hands falling to knead your asscheeks.

“Let me make love to you.”

“My prince?” you ask, eyes widening as you recoil from your prince’s touch, your legs suddenly feeling weak like water.

Did you hear him right?

“Please,” Aemond begs, keeping you flush against him as he nuzzles your breasts. “Allow me to make love to you, sweet girl.” I see my future in your face. My children in your eyes. His hand cups your right breast, catching a hard nipple between two fingers. My sons at your breasts. His handmaid has come for him, to deliver to him everything he’s been so cruelly denied in this life. “Say yes,” he murmurs. “Let me finally claim you as mine own.” It is your blood I need, your blood on my sheets, and my seed in your belly, and your life and name as my own.

You close your eyes, yet still see your handsome prince grinning at you.

It’s wrong, you think. It’d be so wrong of us. I’d be banished.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t.

“Okay, my prince,” you say, with a bated breath. “Make love to me.”  

An hour later, the wind has risen to a sharp howl against the stone walls, and fat raindrops ping against the windowpane. A winter storm, but there is little to no need to worry about such.

You’re quite nicely warm and dry, and safe within your prince’s arms as he nudges your thighs open. He’s already been down there, spending a good half of the last hour feasting on your wet cunt. It was like he’d been fasting for weeks; he took little mercy on you.

“Open wide,” he mutters. “Good girl. Keep ‘em like that for me.”

You whimper. Your Prince Aemond is gorgeous, with silver hair that shines like fresh snow and pale, naked skin that is covered in faint scarring, undoubtedly from boyhood. You’ve never seen someone so beautiful. His arms are thickened with lean, lithe muscle as he holds himself above your body, one hand laced firmly in yours.

And he looks down at you with bright, violet eyes, with a look perhaps only a man gives his new bride on her wedding night.

It makes you squirm beneath him.

He slides his cock in slowly, hissing at your tightness. “FUCK.” His head dips down near yours, lips barely grazing your ear as he lets out a low moan. “Gods be fucking good, you feel so fucking good…wrapped around my fucking cock, at last,” he says, voice raspy. “Right where you belong.”

Aemond feels that he won’t last long. He’s back to the days of his boyhood, during his thirteenth nameday when Aegon took him to the whorehouse, and he felt a woman’s touch for the first time.

Except now he has the woman he wants- soft and submissive and cunny wet and ready for him- and it is his turn to teach and guide her.

“Ah, my brave girl,” he tells you, pausing to kiss your forehead, then your swollen, pink lips. “It hurts, I know. It’ll feel better soon, I promise.”

And afterward, Aemond Targaryen’s watching as you shake and sob and fall to utter pieces, your beautiful face scrunched up in blissful pleasure as his thrusts soon quicken, and his hips snap into yours with such a harsh pace, it’s sure to leave dark bruises behind.

Your hands find his shoulders in a tight grip, in some desperate attempt to cling onto him whilst he fucks you good.

And, thankfully, it’s his name that tumbles out of your mouth, and not his stupid royal title. It follows your cries and moans and whimpers that echo throughout his bedchamber. To Aemond, it is poetic in some way. Several months back you were seated on his settee, singing, and now you’re buried within his sheets as he makes you a mother.

His loins ache for release, and he fondles your breast, toying with your nipple as he pounds you only harder. Aemond hopes to any god listening that the guards outside are listening in, and the serving girls too. He’s a prince of the realm- he means to claim all his rights. Let them all hear as he plows into his handmaid and stuffs her full of his sons.

Beneath him, you shudder and gasp- again and again- before arching your spine and flinging your arms around his neck. “AEMOND,” you scream, feeling a sudden tightness deep within your belly, almost like you’re only several seconds away from exploding into flames. Perhaps you are.

“Mercy on me, Aemond! Please!”

“Shhh,” Aemon coos, cradling your face as he fucks you through your orgasm. “I have you, pretty girl. You’re okay. Doesn’t this feel good? It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Ah, so- so good, Aemond…!”

He grins at your fucked-out face, and the little bit of drool pooling around the corner of your mouth, before lightly tapping his fingertip against your bottom lip. “Open up,” he commands, squeezing your cheeks together, when your mouth opens, he spits in it. “Now swallow- mmm, such a good girl, always doing what I say.”

Aemond chooses all his words carefully, loving the way his sweet little handmaid preens under all his given attention and praises, so prettily that he’s willing to discard all of his morals and seed her full of his future bastards. Silver-haired babes that would gurgle at him happily, and grow to carry on his name and legacy.   

For her, he thinks, leaning to kiss you again, feeling your cunt clamping down on him, she’s worth every damn thing and more.

tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes @elegantsplendour @katzarantos @fan-goddess @okfashionista @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @mochimommy2002 @fangirlninja67

[sneakyboymerlin]

It’s a shame that the core four’s ages are never confirmed in canon. Arthur’s age is the best we get, and even then, it’s not that simple.

The dragon was captured exactly 20 years before Merlin came to Camelot. This means that Arthur is certainly over the age of 20 in 1x01. I’d argue that he should be over the age of 21 if the Purge had not only been going on for some time, but had already progressed into Kilgharrah’s capture by that point 20yrs prior.

If we take each episode as ~1 month (making each season ~1 year long), then Arthur’s birthday being in 1x09 would indicate about 9 months’ difference from 1x01, meaning that — if Arthur is 20 here — he was born only 3 months prior to the dragon’s capture.

This would mean that it only took 3 months for Uther to 1) wage his war, 2) escalate it so severely that Balinor summoned Kilgharrah to make peace with Uther, and 3) manage to capture Kilgharrah in chains specially designed to keep a dragon. This is incredibly unlikely.

I propose that Arthur is actually 21 in 1x01, giving Uther ~1 year and 3 months to wage war and orchestrate Kilgharrah’s capture.

From there, we can guesstimate Merlin’s age, since his birth is a direct result of this event. 20 years prior to 1x01 is when the dragon was captured, and so too was Merlin’s father. Then, he would have spent a period of at least a few months or 1+ years in Ealdor (long enough for him to fall in love with Hunith, and enough to never love another woman like that ever again). Then, he left Ealdor before he could discover Hunith’s pregnancy (i.e. she was not showing).

Accounting for the time Balinor spent in captivity, then the time spent in Ealdor, and of course the 9 months of pregnancy (which would have had some overlap, but small enough that Hunith was not showing), we get a period of at least one year, possibly even 2 years, after the dragon’s capture (again, exactly 20 years before the events of 1x01).

Subtracting 1 year, or 2, or whichever number we decide is most realistic from that 20 year figure, Merlin could be any of a wide range of ages in 1x01. At the oldest, he is a little over 1 year younger than Arthur (21 - 1.5 = 19.5). The youngest he could be is ~16 (based on appearances and relative age, since the numbers alone don’t place a limit on his minimum age) but it’s safe to say he’s at least 17 when he leaves Ealdor. So, 18 or 18 and a half would make for a functional average.

There is little to go off of for the Smiths, but Gwen is likely to be somewhere right between Merlin and Arthur’s ages since she has romantic plot-lines with both. She is likely ~19 in 1x01, older or younger depending on which figures we’re using. Elyan is implied to be younger than Gwen in 5x06 (when he says that Gwen “practically raised [him]”), so he may be Merlin’s age or younger. Only tangentially related, but Gwen says in 3x07 that it’s been 4 years since Elyan left. This places his departure ~6 months prior to 1x01.

As for Morgana, her age is dependent on when Uther slept with Morgana’s mother. Gorlois was off in battle when this happened, so it may have been post-Purge. However, because Morgana’s magic is an inherited trait (as it is with her sister, Morgause) and she and Morgause have the same mother but not the same father, this makes the magic a matrilineal trait in their family. It is highly unlikely that Morgana’s mother — a woman with innate magic — would have slept with Uther during the Purge. It was likely pre-Purge, and at least a year before Arthur’s birth.

Furthering the latter possibility, Uther having a child out of wedlock would be the evidence he needs to confirm the reason he has no child with his own wife (only his best friend’s wife): Ygraine is the infertile one. (Uther, on the other hand, is a little too fertile for his own good).

Compiling the timelines of these events, with enough time passing for the conception of Morgana to be realized, enough time for Gaius to persuade Nimueh to help Uther and Ygraine conceive, and enough time for Ygraine to complete a full 9 month pregnancy, we’re looking at a minimum of ~1 year and a half, but probably 2+ years if Uther and Ygraine looked into other (ineffective but time-consuming) fertility options first (via Gaius?).

Therefore, Arthur and Morgana might have a good 2 years between them. If Arthur is 21 in 1x01, then Morgana is probably ~23.

So my best guesses for 1x01 ages are:

Morgana: 22-23

Arthur: 21

Gwen: 19-20

Merlin: 18-19

Elyan: 16-18

[bigtreefest]

Pour Clueless Babes

Pairing: Bartender! Curtis Everett x Reader

Summary: unbeknownst to you both, you and the broody bartender can’t help your want to be around each other

Word count: 1,751

Content/warnings: swears?, slight objectification and misogyny, attempts at hiding feelings, alcohol consumption, teasing from friends, a hint of idiots in love?, a small mention of Curtis’s rooftop herb garden, it’s mostly fluff and mutual pining

A/N: written for Siri’s Birthday Bonenanza!! Love you, babes, and happy birthday. @stargazingfangirl18

Comments, likes, reblogs, and asks are so appreciated. Thank you for reading!!

Prompts: Babe is in love and cranky about it + Character A is frustrated at how fucking oblivious Character B is to their advances + “I’m sure you could talk me into saying ‘yes’ to whatever you want.”

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist

“You just need to buck up and ask her out.”

Curtis rolled his eyes at his friend sitting in a lawn chair across from him in the rooftop garden, pairing it with a scoff before he took another sip of his beer.

“It’s not that easy, dude.”

Ari, Curtis’s longtime friend, co-owner and often co-bartender of the main dive in town shifted in his seat with a raised brow and tilt of the head. “Sure it is! You’re hot, and from the way you talk about her, so is she. I don’t see what could go wrong.”

Curtis grumbled and finished off his bottle, grabbing another from the bucket of ice and uncapping it. “A lot. A lot could go wrong, Ari. I don’t want a quick fuck and I sure as hell don’t have girls throwing themselves at me like you do on Friday nights.”

Ari scoffed, but had no rebuttal, it was true. Women flocked to Ari’s side of the bar, always creating a crowd where the regulars couldn’t get served. So Curtis took them, while Ari could be caught slinging dozens of fruity drinks for all the flirts who constantly mentioned how strong and attentive he was. The only reason Curtis didn’t complain was because they split tips, Ari getting several banknotes marked with phone numbers and salacious messages, and Curtis getting the peace of the calmer drinkers.

Sure, a woman here and there would come to Curtis for a drink, figuring Ari wasn’t worth the wait and the shoulder bumping, but that was few and far between. Until you.

From the moment he watched you walk through the door, he kept an eye on your searching gaze, smiling when you saw your friends, but making a beeline for him before you went and sat.

The next time you came up to him, though, Curtis made sure your drink was on the house. Anything for the pretty girl who smiled at him. Chose him. And was much more enjoyable than his grumbling regulars.

Curtis was pulled out of this thoughts by Ari’s groan.

“Listen, I don’t think women throw themselves at me…”

Curtis looked at his friend with disbelief at the blatant lie.

“…that much. Not that much, I was gonna finish, jeez. Plus, what’s it matter, it’s not like I take them home…usually. Sloppy drunk isn’t cute and too many of them just keep coming back until I cut them off. No one has chatted me up like they want a date instead of in my pants because all I get are googly eyes, but this sounds different for you. She sounds good.”

Curtis sighed and wiped a hand over his beard. Ari was right. You were good. Probably too good for him. Plus, it’s not like you even noticed any move he tried to put on you. You were probably just being nice, not flirty. You probably didn’t even notice the free drinks using special ingredients made from the garden, the rare smile he’s never given another customer. It was kind of infuriating that he was so ready to give himself over to you and you had no idea just how deep it ran. How it affected him and stayed on his mind even in the off hours. Guys had to be throwing themselves at you, and he was just another one to add on to the bottom of the list.

“Yeah, yeah, I just…I don’t wanna mess it up, ya know? Am I even ready for this? Why now? Why do I have to feel something now? And I don’t even know if she feels the same way!”

Ari only offered a shrug.

“I don’t know, man. When it’s time, it’s time.”

That’s all he gave. Curtis groaned and wiped a hand down his face, rubbing back and forth over his beard once again. “Yeah….it’s just…ugh. I can’t think of anything else. I’ve got all these plans for bar improvement. The herb garden is finally coming in nicely and I was gonna meet with those brunch people from the city to talk about expanding our offerings beyond the few ideas I’ve come up with, but I can’t focus on a goddamn thing other than her.”

Curtis was almost mad it was affecting him so much—that he looked forward to seeing you. Yearned to make you another drink, hold conversation just a second longer. Nothing had ever stuck to his mind this much.

Ari only laughed as he looked over the edge of the roof at the town where the two had grown up. Over all that time, he had never seen his buddy this torn up.

Pulling two more drinks out of the bucket, he uncapped them and handed one to his friend.

“Well, here’s hoping you get this all sorted out. And by that, I mean, get your big boy pants on, fully admit your feelings, and ask her out.”

Curtis groaned and threw a hand over his eyes while his best friend simply smirked, knowing he was right.

It was Friday night and you were hanging out with some of your friends at the bar you had been frequenting lately. Everyone around you was in deep conversation, but you were lost, zoned out, with your mind on only one thing: that gruff bartender.

You had already been up to see him three times this evening, insisting to be the one to get the next rounds for the table in hopes of garnering his attention.

You felt successful. Maybe? Every time you went up to him, his full attention was on you. And it looked like he was smiling, right? Well, no, he probably did that with everyone. Except…in the several times you had caught yourself staring at him, he never once made that same face at another customer. So it had to mean something, didn’t it?

You felt your shoulder shaking, pulling you out of your thoughts and blinked back into consciousness.

“What? What?” You shook your head and looked back at your group of friends.

Alana sitting next to you rolled her eyes with a laugh. “Your drink has been sitting empty for a minute, girl. We’re just surprised you haven’t gone back to the broody bartender, yet! Jenna said she dropped by and all she got was a scowl when she asked for green tea shots, but we see the way he looks at you. Think you could score us some good shots?”

You scoffed and leaned back in your seat, trying to deny what you felt, but didn’t necessarily see. “Oh please, I’m sure he doesn’t even notice me!”

The three girls across from you exchanged a glance before Jenna shook her head. “Um, wrong. One hundred percent wrong. I’m pretty sure you’re all he notices and he’s the same for you. Can’t believe you two are so blind to each other. You keep going up to him and you’re up to a total of what? Half a dozen free drinks over a few visits at this point?”

Everyone around you shared the same knowing glance and you were ready to concede. You couldn’t help the way your heart started beating faster with anticipation of going up to him again, but the alcohol flowing through your body, finally settling in, was enough to override any last ounce insecurity you had. You just wanted to be close to him that badly again, despite his apparent disdain for fancy shots. It was worth a try, though, so you sighed and nodded and stood up, saving your brain power so you could say something coherent to the beautifully beastly bartender.

As you steadied yourself in your shoes, the alcohol hit a little harder, but you weren’t going to stop now. As you began your steps across the wooden floor, your eyes locked with the man with the dark beard and buzz cut and watched as his deft hands slid another beer across the counter at a regular.

You waltzed up to the varnished bar and drummed your fingers on the edge as you looked up at the head between a towering pair of broad shoulders. If you’d have known better, you’d have said he was almost beaming at you.

“Hey sweet thing, what can I get you?”

A tingle went down your spine at that. You would’ve claimed it was the alcohol, if you hadn’t known that it usually numbed you instead of set your body alight. The bartender, who you’d come to know as Curtis, usually wasn’t that outright with the pet names. From what you had seen so far, he was pretty reserved. Something had changed tonight, though, and you couldn’t complain about that, so you threw it back.

“Well, handsome, I’m really sorry to ask this, but would you be willing to make me four green tea shots? I’m sorry if it’s a lot to ask…”

From your side, you heard a snicker, and your eyes found an older gentleman, likely one of the bar regulars. Curtis’s gaze had darted to him, too, except his eyes were stern. The gentleman knew that Curtis wasn’t usually one to make drinks with more than a couple steps, and especially not on more than one occasion in a night unless it was for someone pretty exceptional. And you seemed like both of those things. Curtis simply cleared his throat to regain your attention and pulled out the glasses before finding what he needed.

“Well lucky for you, I’m sure you could talk me into saying ‘yes’ to whatever you want.” He winked as he expertly tipped the bottles.

A blush crept up your cheeks along with the one the liquor had put there. You were gone enough on his behavior and your last few drinks that there wasn’t much to hold you back anymore before you blurted, “Does that include dinner with me next Thursday?”

Curtis stopped in his tracks, slamming the bottles down on the counter with a loud thud that startled you. His face was almost unreadable. Sure, before tonight, you felt like he may not have seemed interested, but in your small chats over drink orders throughout this evening, that changed. You didn’t read this wrong, did you?

You watched intently as his gaze which was fixed on the worn wooden table shifted upward to look at you through his eyelashes. Those gorgeous, long eyelashes. A true, genuine smile was on his lips. He had no idea you felt the same way as him. “Yeah. I think it does.”

Bonus A/N: bartender!Curtis will return in the second part of this, and we’ll see much more about his herb garden and secret treats for his girl. This is the first thing I’ve written in months, so cut me some slack, okay, but I’d love your feedback in all forms.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

[jcbbby]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME, a gift for everyone! It's a little Caleb Sykes ficlet! Enjoy. :) (I have a longer fic still in the works, btw. This is just a fun lil one off.)

“Give me a whiskey. Double.” Caleb’s deep, gruff voice barked at the barkeep as he sat down at the counter.

The man behind the bar nodded, reaching for a glass and the bottle. A wet popping sound followed by the glug of the pour was music to Caleb’s ears after a long day of travel. He had been riding across the sprawling wilderness for days, sent by his brother to attend to business for the family. There was a matter of debt owed to the Sykes, something that not only were Caleb’s skills and tactics best suited for—but intimidation was something that Caleb reveled and excelled in.

Caleb took his hat off, inspecting it briefly. He brushed a spot of dirt off the brim, setting it down next to him on the counter.

“That’ll be 25.” The bartender set the glass of whiskey in front of him.

Caleb eyed it suspiciously, glaring up at the young barkeep. “This look like double to you? It don’t look like it’s worth even 15 to me.” He growled.

“Well, I-“

Caleb stood up, moving his coat to flash the pistol on his hip. “Now, I’d think real carefully about what you say next.”

The barkeep swallowed harshly, nodding once as he reached again for the bottle. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He poured another couple glugs into the glass. “On the house.” He chuckled nervously.

Caleb glared, forcefully taking the glass in his hand and taking a swig. He spun around in his chair, leaning his back against the counter of the bar. Surveying the inside of the saloon, his eyes fell upon the unlikely pairing of a young brunette seated awfully cozied up to an older, larger gentleman.

He drank as he watched on, the brunette giggled and twirled her hair, raising a glass of ale up to his sweat-glistened lips almost forcefully. The man chuckled heartily, obviously drunk on the ale and seemingly drunk on this woman. Caleb noticed her hand inching closer to the man’s small satchel of coins, tied to his belt loop. He smirked to himself, quickly realizing what was unfolding in front of him.

The woman extended a small switchblade from the hand, distracting the man by pressing herself against him as she swiftly sliced the roped tying the bag to him. Caleb took another swig of his whiskey, chortling into the glass. Impressive, he thought.

“If you could excuse me, honey. I just want to freshen up for a minute in the powder room. Don’t you go anywhere, okay?” The woman giggled, running a finger along the man’s plump cheek.

As the woman turned around, her smile and bubbly demeanor quickly fell. She made her way toward the back of the saloon, but instead of entering the women’s lounge, she took a sharp turn, scurrying out the side door. Through the window, he watched her slink around the back corner of the establishment. He slugged the rest of his glass of whiskey back, reaching for his hat. He knew he couldn’t let this girl go.

The young woman smirked to herself, plopping down against the back wall of the saloon.

“Too easy, as always.” She chuckled to herself, working to untie the purse and count her haul.

The last several years of her life had been spent on the move, thieving; her only means of living. The comforts of home had evaded her since she was a little girl. Orphaned at the age of 10 due to Typhoid fever, all she knew was survival. She had spent some time in an orphanage, which was a horrible existence. It was overcrowded from children who survived attacks in the Apache Wars and run by strict clergy members. She learnt to steal and fight during her time there, lest she go hungry or be intimidated by the other children but was kicked out at 14 to make room for more. Since then, she had been making her own way, by any means she could.

Caleb quietly approached, rounding the corner at the back of the building.

“Well,” he chuckled. “That was mighty impressive.”

The girl quickly reached for her knife, holding it out in front of her. “Back off.”

Caleb sighed. “Woman, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to bring a knife to a gun fight?” He flashed his pistol, smiling wickedly.

The girl huffed. “You gonna kill me over a few coins?” She tossed the small purse towards him, it landing and spilling at his feet. “Fine then, give it back to your chowderhead friend.”

Caleb bent down to pick the money up. “Oh, I’m not with him, no. And I’m not gonna kill you, darlin’. No, see… I could use a girl like you.” He smirked.

“I ain’t no prostitute, mister.” She scowled.

He chuckled. “No, you certainly ain’t, are ya?”

“You sayin’ I’m too ugly?” She came to her feet, brow furrowed, offended.

Caleb let out a full-belly laugh. “My god, you sure are a feisty one! No, woman, I’m just tryin’ to tell ya I’m impressed with your skill. I watched you hustle that man in there. I think we’d make a great team, you and me.” He handed her the coins.

She slowly took the bag from him, sizing him up for a moment. “Yeah? And who are ya?”

“You familiar with the Sykes family?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You’re a Sykes?”

He smirked. “The name’s Caleb. And you?”

She took a beat before answering. “Violet.”

Caleb smiled. “Mighty pretty name for a pretty face. Violet what?”

Violet shook her head. “Just Violet. I ain’t got no family, and I ain’t got no family name. I ain’t got nothing.” She tucked the bag of coins into an inner pocket on her jacket.

“Well, you want somethin’?” He smirked.

She looked up from securing her pocket. “Like what?”

“How’s about you come with me, and we can turn those few measly coins into much more.”

“Keep talkin’.” She returned his smirk.

He slowly approached her, his hand reaching up to her cheek. His finger ran along the outside of her cheek and down her jaw. “And maybe…more than money. Maybe a family name to go with it.”

Violet stared up into his piercing blue eyes, icy and deep. To anyone else, they would have been cold and imposing. But to her, they were inviting. She didn’t know him, but she swore in his eyes it was like an ocean of promise.

[raineandsky]

#86

Being a hero is stressful. That much is common knowledge. How a hero goes about unwinding from said stress is a mystery no one has yet figured out.

The hero settles in one of the little chairs in the circle. The man next to her gives her a light nudge. “Let’s see what you made this week, then.”

The hero reaches into her bag to show off her latest stress relief—a giant blanket, knitted in the downtime between jobs, sporting a rainbow of colours in bright streaks across its face. Everyone oohs and ahhs appropriately before the rest of the circle gets to showing off their own creations.

It’s been nice to have a place that isn’t entirely consumed by work, the hero thinks as she nods approvingly at someone’s mug cosy. No worrying about tomorrow, no wondering where the villains might be.

Her gaze flits to the next person in line to show something off, and her heart momentarily stops as she meets her eye. At least she doesn’t have to worry about the latter of her thoughts right now.

What the hell is the villain doing at the hero’s weekly knitting club?

“Go on,” the woman next to the villain prompts. The villain huffs and makes a show of it, but she pulls out a cardigan with a ghost of a pleased smirk.

The hero only realised why she’s so self-satisfied when she catches herself gaping in awe. The villain’s little cardigan is elaborate in pattern, swooping waves lining its shoulders. The yarns meld together in a perfect cacophony of colour. It’s amazing, more amazing than anything the hero could do.

The villain soaks in the praise with a humble nod before setting her gaze on the hero. It probably looks hopeful to anyone else, but the hero can see the glitter of arrogance in her eye. Go on, the villain’s practically saying, tell me how great I am.

“It’s nice,” the hero says through gritted teeth, and the villain’s smile turns humoured.

The hero can’t leave fast enough. Everyone else is packing their projects away. The hero’s blanket gets folded thankfully easily and she’s out the door before anyone can stop her.

Fine. A new project. Something to advance her skills and show the villain that she’s not the hot shit she thinks she is.

It takes all week. The hero holds her jumper up to show the group. The villain raises her eyebrows from across the circle.

“Inspired by another knitter here,” the hero says with what could almost be sarcasm, and the villain snorts a poorly contained laugh.

The villain shows off her creation. A pair of mittens, the patterns lacy and the colours bright. The hero scowls. Pissed doesn’t describe the feeling.

Next week. A layered scarf from the hero. The villain wins everyone’s affections with a tiny knitted elephant. “For my niece’s birthday,” the villain says innocently. “She loves them.”

Leaving is becoming more of a race with each passing week. “Keep trying,” the villain comments brightly before the hero can escape. “You’ve plenty of room to improve.”

The hero considers strangling the villain with her scarf.

The hero settles at her computer that evening with a scowl and a cup of hot chocolate, mentally prepared to prowl the internet for several hours for ideas on how to one-up the villain. It’s madness. She’s meant to be out there kicking the villain’s ass, and here she is trying to out-knit her.

It’s been three weeks, and she’s only just realising that her stress-relieving hobby is suddenly a lot more stress-inducing.

“Fuck,” she hisses outloud, and she momentarily considers the idea of knitting the word into a coaster for the villain too.

[theroseceleste]

Birthday Commission - Toxic Love

@faretheeoscar very kindly did me some adorable artwork for my birthday, so when her birthday came around, I knew I had to write something for her. She gave me a little head canon prompt between her OC, Alexa, and Miguel and it was absolutely so much fun to write!

Minors DNI

Our loveable Spider Society leader is a naughty boy. Enjoys causing problems for Alexa, a spider person who helps out in HQ, and her boyfriend (a version of Peter from a different universe). When the couple fight, he reaps the benefits.

Word count - 3046

Contains - Descriptions of a toxic relationship. Smut - penetrative sex

If you enjoy this work, please consider liking, commenting and re-blogging. Many thanks. xx

(art provided to me by @faretheeoscar but masterfully created by Roy - @ SpicyKfcChicken on Twitter)

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s the point, Alexa?” a hologram of Peter Parker from Earth-120703 yells at his on-off girlfriend, Alexa as she talks to him through her interdimensional watch. Once again, their love for each other is being severely tested by what Alexa thinks is the overzealous ban on travelling around the multiverse administered by Miguel. 

Tearful brown eyes stare back at the orange image of Peter, her brows furrowed with frustration and heartache. “No, Peter, we can… we can make this work, I-”

“No! I’m tired of this. The back and forth. The ups and downs - although it’s more downs than ups, at this rate,” Peter retorts angrily, although there’s more pain in his voice than he wants to let on.

Alexa shakes her head furiously, unable to accept that yet again another breakup between them is happening. It’s not fair. None of this is fair.

“Either get that control-freak Miguel to lift that stupid ban, or we’re done. I can’t do this any more,” the hologram vanishes, leaving Alexa in a shocked silence. Her manic gaze searches her private quarters for something to throw with frustrated anger.

Both Alexa and Peter know that Miguel won’t ever lift the ban. So in reality, his own ultimatum will only ever have one painful and upsetting outcome. God, that man makes her so angry. Her fingers clench as she considers wringing Miguel’s neck… That seems like a perfect idea... Why take her frustrations out on an inanimate object when she can do it to the source of her emotional turmoil instead?

All rational thinking has left the building as she storms through HQ with a face like thunder. White and light blue streaks across walkways as she weaves speedily between her countless multiversal counterparts, heading to the lab, where she bets any money that’s where he’ll be.

After ignoring several groups of Peters who wave at her as she passes, she approaches Miguel’s usual hideout.

“Whatcha doin’?” asks a female voice as a little hologram of a woman, positioned like she is lying on her stomach, appears next to Alexa, striding through the long corridor.

“Going to give Miguel a piece of my mind,” the youthful-looking woman growls angrily, fists still clenched. The closer she gets to the lab, more of her body feels tense. Her shoulders are raised and her heart pounds within her chest.

“Oh boy… the usual?” the hologram called Lyla asks as her position changes immediately to standing after the spider person’s answer.

“Yep,” Alexa snaps as she pushes through the door to Miguel’s lab. “Lock the door, Lyla.”

The floating AI salutes and fizzles away before activating the lock on all access points to the lab.

The Spider Society leader, a six-foot-nine-inch man, sits at a desk, working away on a device he has been developing. He sits in silence, so completely fixated on his work that he doesn’t even notice Alexa storming across the vast, cavernous workspace.

As he reaches for a screwdriver, Alexa fires a web at it and yanks it back, causing his large blue and red hand to clasp around nothing but air. The clattering sound of the tool makes him turn his head towards her. He stands up immediately, turning his body to face the Spider Society member.

“Alexa-“

“Shut up,” she growls as she shoves at him, shunting him against his desk, causing everything to wobble upon impact.

Miguel takes a step away before she tries again, hands raised placatingly. “Que pasa?” he manages to blurt out as he dodges another attempt of a shove.

“You know what,” Alexa retorts with a snap. The society leader’s heart pounds with anticipation. He does know, and he can’t wait for what it leads to.

“Chiquita, you know why I can’t lift the-“ he gets shoved again, but he lets it happen while his hands grasp at Alexa’s wrists, however she pulls back before he can.

“Don’t call me that,” she demands as she advances on Miguel again. She’s far too angry for any cute pet names - besides, they’re coming from the wrong man.

Finally, a series of flying fists barrage Miguel as a tearful Alexa finally explodes. Both of her clenched hands strike his broad and well defined chest.

“Lift that ban, or I swear to God I’ll-“

The towering leader’s arms wrap around her tightly, restricting her movements. He turns her so his front is pressed against her back as he leans down and whispers hotly into her ear. “Or you’ll what, chiquita?”

The sensation of his breath caressing the side of her face, mixed in with his proximity and restrictive grip on her, makes her pause and try very hard not to moan.

She hates him for the situation he’s put her in. His actions frustrates her and breaks her heart almost on a day-to-day basis because she can’t see the man she loves. While Miguel’s excuse is mostly valid, she knows there’s another agenda for keeping her close, under his watchful gaze. And once again, she’s fallen into his trap.

His arms snake around her body, holding her diagonally across her chest as well as her stomach. His left hand grips her right shoulder, while his right hand takes her left hip.

As her body moulds against his, she can feel his arousal making its presence known by throbbing against her rear.

Miguel’s hand resting on Alexa’s hip presses her against him more as he starts to grind himself into her. “Mhmm… but chiquita, you always enjoy this bit, don’t you?” he thrusts his hips again and groans into her ear, finally eliciting a moan from her parted lips. “Sí, that’s it, mi amor. Make those pretty noises for me.”

Alexa jabs her elbow into Miguel’s ribs, procuring a grunt to vibrate against her cheek. She can’t lose sight of her purpose for storming into the lab. Not again.

“That’s it. Take your frustrations out on me. I love it when you do. It’s so rewarding for the both of us,” he continues to encourage her, his words punctuated with a few more grinds against the groove of her backside.

What he’s doing doesn’t even make her feel good, but the mere fact that he’s doing it makes her hot - not just under her suit, but under her skin. Her core pulses wildly as she hears yet another deep moan against her ear.

“Tócate por mi,” (touch yourself, for me) he mumbles softly as his hands squeeze her in his grip.

Obediently, her hand slowly goes between her legs, her dainty fingers finding her sensitive bud through her suit. As she runs her digits in tight circles around her clit, she starts to moan louder. Her need increases, but so does her frustration.

“Good girl,” he growls as he grinds, before letting out a sudden grunt. “Ay coño!” his hip movements still for a moment. “This feels so good; I nearly came.”

Alexa whimpers with mounting need before she makes another desperate plea. “Miguel, please lift the ban-“

“No.”

Anger spikes again, momentarily breaking her out of her climbing arousal. In a sudden movement, she spins to face him. “Hijo de puta!” she spits as her seething brown eyes lock onto his red ones.

His arms tighten around her back, sealing her against him. He can feel the anger in her body and can practically taste the venom in the air coming from her beautiful lips.

There is now an unignorable throb against her stomach and an intense heat coming from the prominent bulge under his suit.

“Now, now, chiquita,” he coos as his right hand glides down her left ass cheek before gripping the underside of her hamstring and pulling her leg up so it hitches over his right hip. With a gentle lift, he has her pinned against his body, and her legs wrapped around his waist. And now the hypnotic throbbing is pressed against her entrance, but separated from one another by his and her suits.

“That’s better, mi amor,” he continues with a soft voice, edging between soothing and teasing.

Her expression is still etched with anger, but it’s slowly slipping away with his charm and the use of his body.

“Do you have anything else to get off your chest?” he asks as his large hand squeezes under her leg again, the tips of his fingers teasing the sensitive flesh of her thighs. “Or shall we both skip to the bit you know you enjoy?”

She slaps him across the cheek; not too hard, but enough to make his head jolt to the side as a grunt escapes his throat. His red eyes lock back onto Alexa as he bites his lower lip, displaying the tip of a fang. “You’re getting feistier… but I deserved that,” he grins.

Alexa lunges forward and wraps her arms around his neck. Her lips crash into his in a passionate and anger-fuelled kiss. Air hisses through their noses as the pair of them kiss, nip and suck on each other’s lips.

The hand that struck Miguel’s face slides into his hair, gripping it tightly as he does the same to her.

His actions are passionate and possessive while hers feel like she still has some anger to vent out of her system. She kisses harder - her bites are sharper and her grip is tighter, but he can take it. In fact, he likes it and welcomes it.

Miguel begins his grinding again, this time his efforts will directly contribute to making her feel good and most likely take her mind off Peter temporarily. He smiles proudly against her lips knowing her ban on travelling to Earth-120703 means Peter doesn’t get any action with his girlfriend, while Miguel gets it all. It’s glorious, satisfying and downright pleasurable.

Needy moans start to enter Miguel’s mouth, coming from Alexa’s lips. His grinding mixing in with their heated kiss is increasingly turning her on and driving her wild. She hates him, but it feels so good taking her frustrations out on him during passionate, verging on angry sex.

His left hand starts to unzip the back of her suit. All this teasing and her pent-up energy is making him impatient for her. He has been hoping Alexa and Peter would have another falling out as he has been desiring to fill her and feel her tight walls stretching around him once again.

The zip travels lower down her back, exposing her beautiful skin to his fleeting touches as he pulls it even further. She shivers in his grip and goosebumps rise on her flesh.

Their passionate kiss has not stopped for one second since it started. Her arms come free from the suit, followed by her gorgeously plump breasts that he can never get enough of.

Reluctantly, he gestures for her to release her grip on him with her legs in order to get the rest of the suit off. He often considers giving her a coded suit like his so it can fade away with ease and they can get down to business much quicker.

Finally that suit is off, and she’s back in his arms again. He carries her to the desk he was working on, and sits down on the chair with her on his lap.

His suit dissolves away, revealing his mouth-wateringly toned body and allowing them to feel each other’s skin properly, producing a moan from both of them.

Alexa gazes down at him, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Her legs straddle his lap as she watches him run his fist up and down his hardened shaft.

It’s sad that she knows Miguel’s body far more intimately than Peter’s. But she knows the sex she has with him is fulfilling.

“Ride me, chiquita. Ride me until you’re all spent,” he whispers, encouraging her to take her place over his cock.

Leaning further back in his chair, he slides his hips further forward, making it easier for her to get into position.

Long, tanned fingers reach upwards to tease her sensitive folds and to test them. She’s certainly ready as the tips of his fingers practically slide into her entrance. He loves how wet she gets for him.

Gazing up at her, he smirks as he watches her bite her lip at his touch between her legs. Her hands resting on his broad shoulders squeeze his muscles as she feels another wave of arousal drench his fingers.

“So wet… So ready for me…” he murmurs as he pulls his digits out and uses her arousal to coat his member, before directing her hips right above it. “Go on. Work out some of your frustration on that cock, chiquita.”

Oh, how she’d love to wipe that smirk off his face. Ride him hard until he begs her to stop, or the chair breaks. The thought of seeing him whimper as she rises and falls on him makes her even wetter.

With the help of his hands, he guides her down onto him. Her arousal ensures he glides in easily. Her breath hitches, which is a sight and sound he always loves to witness. Her body’s initial reaction to him invading her will never get old.

As he’s enjoying her sinking down onto him, she takes him by surprise by stopping, rising up until the tip nearly pops out of her heat, and then comes crashing down, burying him to the hilt.

“FUCK!” he shouts and grips the sides of his chair.

Alexa’s face was full of determination to ride him within an inch of his life. Her anger is still evident and desperate to be released before she goes insane.

The sound of skin slapping skin fills the air, mixing in with her moans and his grunts.

He fills her completely, making her begin to wonder how Peter would compare. But the thought hurts too much. To forget her on-off boyfriend temporarily, she rides harder and faster.

Large hands easily cup her breasts as he watches the sexy display before him. She has never bounced on his cock like this before, but he hopes she’ll do it again. He loves how hard and fast she’s going, and hearing her enjoy the way she’s riding him is pure perfection.

Miguel’s fingers pinch her nipples to see how she’ll react. She groans and tips her head back as she drops down on him harder. Then, he introduces a rolling motion between his fingers and thumbs which melts her even more.

The longer this continues, he notices her noises are sounding softer. All of her aggression is leaving her and she’s now simply riding him out of enjoyment. He feels slightly relieved as for a brief moment he thought he heard unhealthy creaking sounds coming from his chair.

To add to her pleasure, he releases one breast and brings his thumb to her clit as she continues to bounce on him. The pad of his digit runs tight and warm circles around it, making her moan more desperately as they both feel her tightening up inside.

“Come for me, chiquita. Let it all go for me,” he encourages her, feeling excited to experience her clenching on his member.

It doesn’t take much convincing for her to unravel. The entire lab fills with her squeals as she climaxes hard all over his cock. She clenched and pulses around his thick length filling her to capacity.

He pulls her close, her glistening, slightly sweaty skin sticks to his, emphasising just how hard she worked for that delightful orgasm. “Good girl,” he praises her as he strokes her curly brown hair. “Now it’s my turn,” he growls as he stands, lifting her up with him.

Miguel cradles her effortlessly with one arm as he swipes everything he was working on earlier off his desk, sending everything crashing to the floor. In his haste, he places her down unceremoniously on the table. He hears a slight “ooof” as she thuds against it.

A charming smile but laced with a bit of danger crosses his face as he enters her suddenly.

“M-Miguel!” Alexa squeals as she arches her back against the cold hard surface.

He smirks as he slams into her in a punishing rhythm, the desk now creaking unhealthily under his efforts. “Time to vent my frustrations, now,” he grunts as he thrusts harder. His hands grab the back of Alexa’s knees and push them as far back as he can.

“When will you realise that no matter how much you ask- Ffuuuck…” he groans with mounting pleasure. “The answer will always be no. Hmmmm…” Miguel screws his eyes shut as he bares his fangs.

Anger spikes in Alexa once more, but the near orgasmic look on his face distracts her.

“Why don’t you just accept that and have me all. The. Time. Instead?” Each word is punctuated with hard, punishing thrusts which meet with her howls.

“Tócate por mi, chiquita,” (touch yourself for me) he orders her, hoping to get one more climax out of her before he is done.

While one hand grips onto the edge of the table, her other hand makes its way to her sensitive bud. Miguel watches in delight as she obeys his command.

“Good girl,” he coos as he spreads her legs wider. “Fuck, you’re so tight!”

Another tightening sensation builds within her as she continues to touch herself and feel the head of his cock tease her g-spot. Her mewls become desperate as she gets closer and closer.

“That’s it, chiquita. Release everything you’ve got,” he growls as he nears his climax.

Alexa’s body writhes uncontrollably as she comes undone for the second time. Her screams and her body’s reaction to her orgasm generates a grin full of pride on his face.

“Sí, sí…” he grunts. “That’s it. Only I can give you the pleasure you need. You don’t need anyone else, mi amor!” Miguel’s body tenses at the end of his sentence as he explodes inside her. His seed spilling from his slit and filling her insides. “Fuck!”

He leans over her and rests his weight on his arms on either side. “You can either continue with your delusion that you and Peter can be together,” he pauses to catch his breath and nuzzle his sweaty face into hers. “Or you accept the truth and have me whenever, wherever you desire.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading Toxic Love. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. I'm pleased to say that the birthday girl loved it too.

If you wish to follow me on Twitter, please click on the link below.

[lokisprettygirl]

Brokenhearted (Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Non Canon Modern AU) (18+)

Read Chapter 13 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 14

Summary: Samantha finally takes what she wanted but it might just be not enough for her.

Warning: 18+, Smut, Angst, violent thoughts, stalking, Discussion of mensuration and Pregnancy, bloodshed, Abusive relationship, mention of rape, toxic masculinity, gender norms, sexual abuse, Samantha, traumatic distressing content, Daemon is a big time smoker so if it’s something triggering don’t read it, alcohol drinking, mention of past trauma and therapy, cigarette smoking, possessive behaviour, violence, baby needs therapy, baby is trying

There was a palpable tension in the room between you, Daemon and Viserys, you knew you should have told him what Samantha wanted from him but you felt scared of losing him and your worst nightmare was about to come true. The only thing you could do was sit and watch as your world crashed and burned right in front of your eyes.

Samantha found him during his run that morning and had revealed to him what she had against him that could ruin his Life, his career and what she wanted from him in return.

Eight years ago during her last birthday party with Daemon, Samantha had laced his drink and under the influence he had not only indulged in several prohibited drugs under the federation but also participated in an orgy where he could barely keep his eyes open. She had planned all of that, once he was intoxicated she got his blood taken, and then she got his pictures and videos taken for further leverage, she wanted him to lose control so she'd have something against him whenever he'd plan to leave her but before she could use all that against him things ended rather drastically between them. You still had no idea what Viserys had told her that night in the hospital to make her leave him.

But she kept everything because she knew she'd never let him go completely.

Daemon remembered that birthday party really well, she was pregnant at the time so he wanted to be extra careful with her but he didn't remember everything from the night, he just remembered waking up the next morning with his cock in her mouth, he remembered feeling safe for once as she made love to him without wanting to hurt him, he really thought that the child would turn her, change the way she chose to love him.

He remembered it as one of the better days of their dysfunctional relationship not knowing what had happened the night before but now he did and he was ashamed of himself.

He was ashamed of how he'd be perceived if such things would make their way to the public.

"Daemon we can get the best of lawyers..we can-" Viserys spoke but he was interrupted immediately.

"Nooo" Daemon raised his voice at his brother and your eyes welled up. Why didn't he want justice? Why was he so adamant on not wanting to take any action against her? You didn't understand.

"Daemon –" you spoke but he cut you short as well.

"I'll come to you as well y/n" he said to you sternly. He never called you by your name so it was already an indication that this conversation won't end well, he seemed furious and you felt worried about what he was going to do. Your gut feeling told you that it was going to end terribly for you two.

"Go call her.. I'm sure your bitch of a wife stays in touch with her..tell her I want to meet her in the evening.. I need to talk to y/n now" Daemon told Viserys so the latter sighed and stepped out of the room to give you two privacy. This wasn't going to end well for you, he knew that and as much as he wanted to save your relationship with Daemon, he knew his brother far too well.

As soon as Viserys was gone Daemon looked at you, he was leaning against one of the bedposts just staring at you,

"Daemon –" you walked closer to him so he looked away. What he was going to do with you would make you hate him forever, and he would deserve that. He never deserved a woman like you in the first place, the selfless love you had for him, he was unworthy of it, he was too weak of a man to treat you better than this "I'm sorry I didn't tell you..I wanted to..I just"

"You have to go"

As you heard those words you could feel your heart stop for a moment . What did he even mean?

"Wha..tt?" Your voice cracked as you questioned him, you placed your hands on his forearms and stepped closer to him, he can't just ask you to leave this way, you were there for him.

"I'm going to give her what she wants, she wants me right? Then she can have me.. and for that to happen youuu need to leave y/n" he said nonchalantly, he pretended as if saying such cruel words to you wasn't affecting him at all but the reality was much different. He had never felt such intense debilitating pain as he did in that very second and he sure as hell knew a thing or two about pain.

"Don't say that, i know you're upset–" you tried to get through to him but he cut you off mid sentence. He can't have you arguing with him because he knew he'd get convinced easily.

"I'm not upset, not with you, I'm just done..I'm done trying to ignore the inevitable, she'd never let me go ..can't you see?" his eyes teared up, they seemed vacant and hopeless so you cupped his cheeks and kissed him softly, he didn't stop you either, he'd never get to hold you like this again or feel your tender kisses against his skin ever again so he wanted to relish your touch, live an eternity in those very few moments because a life of hurt and regret was waiting for him.

"There are other ways baby..don't do this please..i love you ..i love you so much..stay with me, let me be here for you please.. please" you cried as you clutched onto him, you can't lose him, especially not to her, you can't even imagine him getting hurt again.

"Please don't make this harder, darling" he said to you so let go of his shirt, he was just going to give up on this relationship and there was nothing you could have done to save it.

"So you just leave me to go back to her..that's your plan?" You looked him in the eye but he wasn't able to hold your gaze, he was truly ashamed of himself. "Why are you doing this dae?" You didn't understand his reasoning, why didn't he want to get rid of her? Have her punished for what she had done to him? What was compelling him to not drag her abusive ass to the court?

"Because I don't want the world to know me as the man who was too delicate to defend himself. That is not the legacy I want to leave behind"

You stepped away to look at him as he said that. He was worried about his past getting out because he was afraid of judgment from other people, he was afraid they would think of him as weak and unmanly, as someone who took it for years and said nothing.

"You can't think like that Daemon, nobody is going to judge you for being hurt by someone you loved so deeply" he snickered as you said that to him.

"Really? Look at me ..how does a man like me get abused by a woman? Tell me?" He gestured towards his physique and you opened your mouth to say something, to tell him that he was wrong about his own judgement but then did you know any better? You were in no position to judge him for his thoughts, he had suffered hell on earth and you weren't going to question the way he chose to cope with it.

You wished you had an answer for him but you didn't, you had a feeling nothing you could say would change his mind now.

"Daemon…don't leave me baby..i love you..i can't watch you go back to her and get hurt again" you whimpered and cried, the sight of you being so broken only fueled the hatred he felt for himself.

"I won't let her hurt me this time..I'll take care of myself" he said to you calmly and whatever hope you had dissipated along with his words. You stepped away further from him, shock was evident on your features that he was letting you go so easily.

"So that's it..you're going to let me go like i meant nothing to you?" He finally looked you in the eye as you said that.

"You mean everything to me ..you have no idea what I'm feeling at the moment ..you think this is easy for me?"

He asked you but you didn't have a response. It wasn't easy for him but it was definitely more difficult for you to be on the receiving end of this. Silence fell between you two after that, you asked to leave so he got your ticket booked immediately.

No questions asked, no resistance shown.

You couldn't even believe that this was happening, last night you slept in his arms, cuddling him like never before, he seemed so happy and so were you then why did your world turn upside down today. Why were you losing him now?

You were almost out of his hotel room when you turned around to look at him one more time, you couldn't help it, the thought of him returning to that monster only made you feel helpless but you couldn't help him if he wasn't willing to be helped.

He had his back against you, he couldn't even look into your eyes after this, he needed you right now more than ever but he had no right to ask you to stay. He had to let go of the safety of your arms and that was the hardest thing he'd ever have to do, he knew he had broken your heart and your trust and he also knew that you'd never forgive him for this but then he felt your arms around his waist as you sobbed against him and that's what made him give up the facade and have a breakdown.

You turned him around, cupped his cheeks and got on your tiptoes to place your forehead against his, one last moment of comfort, in that moment he knew you'd forever be his angel no matter what he does.

"Someday and I hope you'll see that day sooner than later Daemon.. someday you're going to realize that you're not a victim, that you're a survivor and the world will see you as such if you decide to tell them all about it.. whenever that day comes or whatever the reason will be for it.. I hope you'll build the courage to fight against her instead of allowing her to win again.. i love you..more than anything, i always will" you mumbled softly and kissed him one last time before you turned around to leave.

That would be the last Daemon would see you for a while. As soon as you had left his room he was reduced to his knees and in tears, he wanted to run back to you and tell you that he was ready to fight the world for you but he wasn't, he was too vulnerable.

He was a coward and he deserved a woman like Samantha, not you.

In the evening he met Samantha and she hugged him so tightly as she cried and then cried some more, there were tears in his own eyes but they weren't for her or because of her. Those tears only concerned you.

"I have changed Daemon i promise, I have grown in our time apart ..i only did all of this just to get you back, that's how much I love you my sweet boy"

She cooed in his ears as she clung to him. She got what she wanted and you lost everything you had when he was yours. He didn't say a word, he felt completely numb and he figured that's just how it will be for him moving forward.

Four days later, the day of the championship, Daemon stepped into the octagon with a defeated attitude. He didn't fight back, choosing instead to take the beating and stand there as his opponent pummeled him. He didn't deserve a win after what he had done to you, he wanted to feel the pain. He would have won the championship if he had you by his side, but now he no longer felt worthy. He felt weak and pathetic, just like how he had felt for the past seven years

Your eyes were glued to your tv screen, tears never stopped rolling as you watched the love of your life losing on purpose. Why would he do that? You didn't understand, did Samantha ask him to lose? Was he getting manipulated again? You hoped not.

Hours turned into days and days turned into months, he lived just a few steps away from the diner but you couldn't go see him. You couldn't go hug him or kiss him, he wasn't yours anymore to do so. A part of you wanted to hate him with passion for abandoning you like this but you couldn't hate him after everything he had been through, all he needed in his life was love that was safe and secured but he no longer had it. Samantha didn't love him, she just wanted to possess him like an object, a trophy to show off.

One evening, as Daemon returned to his condo after work, he was greeted by a box on his door. He opened it up and found all the gifts he had given you. All of the valuables, you didn't want to keep them anymore. He could feel the pain in his heart as he rummaged through the box. He always knew that his precious girl only loved him and didn't care about the materialistic values of the items but it still hurt that you didn't want to keep his gifts. When he didn't find the case of knives he had given you, he took a deep breath and let out a sigh. At least you kept what mattered to you.

As Daemon walked inside the apartment with that box, Samantha's eyes followed him. She didn't work, she spent her days just lounging on the couch all day long and spending his money like there was no tomorrow, that's all she did. It had been two months since they got together, but he wasn't ready for intimacy with her. He felt like he was cheating on you, like he was tainting the pure relationship he had with you.

A few weeks later as daemon got ready for bed Samantha turned up in the skimpiest nightie to turn him on but he only felt disgust and contempt for her.

"Come on love me tonight..i have had enough of your nonsense" she cupped his cheeks and kissed him against his will, the warm blooded man in him wanted to give in but he couldn't, there was no love in his heart for her, he hated her and he couldn't get himself to forget what she had done to him. After being doused in your love from head to toe he could clearly see that she had never loved him at all.

"I'm not in the mood" he grabbed her shoulders to pull her away but she wrapped her hands around his throat and began to choke him,

"Stop with your drama you idiot, you're mine now and you're going to be the man I want you to be. And as a man I want you to please me. What's wrong with you? Does your cock not work anymore?" She taunted him so he pushed her away with a force, sudden action made her lose her balance and she fell on the bed.

"Daemonnnn..come back'" she yelled his name but he grabbed his pillow and went to the other room to sleep.

As he laid down on the bed he heard the sounds of a vase crashing into the mirror in his room but he put his earbuds in and turned the music on to zone out.

Three months had passed since that god awful day and his fingers itched to touch you, to have you touch him in ways that brought him pleasure. His eyes longed for a gaze of yours, there was a ringing in his ears that only your voice could have shut down.

He opened his gallery and went through the pictures he had taken of you and with you on his phone, he had to save them all in a private folder so Samantha wouldn't see them, he wanted to keep you safe from her prying eyes.

A moan escaped his throat as he came across the pictures he had taken of you in his bedroom, with all the jewelries he has gifted you, you adorned nothing else but those jewelries and the sultry little smile on your face, your beautiful bare skin glowing in the dim yellow light of his bedroom was all he needed to get through this night.

He scrolled through the countless pictures in countless poses he had made you do, some lewd enough to work him up that his hand began to move of its own accord but some so innocent that it made him want to hold you right that moment. He worked furiously over his own length as he went through the pictures and then he stumbled upon the video he had taken of you some other night.

It wasn't just you though, it was you underneath, both of you were drunk and figured it would be scandalous to make a sex tape but the next morning neither of you could build the courage to watch it, the sight of your moans and groans and sweet whisper of his name as he fucked you senselessly was the push he needed to crumble into an orgasm.

He always thought he was being mechanical with you during sex, that he didn't give you enough tenderness but the evidence in front of him made him see otherwise, his eyes teared up as he looked at the way you held onto him and the way he'd pull you closer to him to latch his mouth with yours between thrusts, your eyes never leaving one another.

He was high on the much needed euphoria but as the feeling died down the guilt began to sink in, he had no right to keep these souvenirs, you were not his any longer but he couldn't bring himself to delete them either, your memories were all he had now.

Next morning on his way to the center he stopped right by your diner and looked in from the glass window, he had no intention of getting in but it felt comforting to just stand there knowing too well that he could just walk right in and see you. He was about to turn around and leave when the kitchen door opened and you stepped out, you were going into the employees room but you spotted him on the other side of the window, your heart skipped a beat as you noticed what he was wearing, a black hoodie with a black trouser, a sight too memorable.

His hair was braided from the sides, the rest of the mane was down below his shoulders, it had definitely grown longer. He looked as pretty as you had remembered, it's been just three months but it had felt like years to you.

You stepped out of the entrance, looking at him standing across the window. He gave you his typical look, narrowed eyes and non-existent brows scrunched all the way down. You couldn't help but feel a flutter in your chest at the thought of him staring back at you so intensely as if you still belonged to him

"Were you planning to come in?" You broke the ice first so he took a few steps towards you,

"Not really..no" you nodded as he said that.

"Come on in..I'll fix you a sandwich" you went inside as you said that, squeezing your eyes at your own eagerness to invite him in. As the bells on the door rang you couldn't help but smile that he had taken you up on the offer.

He sat down on one of the booths wondering what the hell he was doing. He knew he was being selfish, you didn't deserve this, you didn't deserve him disturbing your peace this way.

A few minutes later you placed the plate down in front of him and sat down on the other side, your arms situated on the table itself as you tried to decipher the look on his face. His skin was free of bruises, which was a relief, but it still didn't erase the pain of not knowing what he may have endured in the past three months. You hoped she hadn't hurt him the way she used to.

"How are you?" He asked you so you smiled,

"Alright..you?"

"Kay..I guess ..work has been good?" He asked you so you nodded. Neither of you could deny that this was as awkward as it could get, none of you knew what to say to each other, the way your relationship ended wasn't exactly mutual, you didn't want this and you knew he loved you so it's not that he wanted it either but how the world perceived him was more important to him than you and you didn't blame him for that.

That is how he was conditioned to believe, the scars she had left behind were permanent, as a man he didn't want the world to think of him as someone so frail that he couldn't defend himself against a woman that was physically weaker than him, it wasn't true, of course not, but he had to realize that himself. You just wanted him to stop thinking of himself like that.

He was nibbling on his sandwich like a bird and it made you smile, gods you have missed him and all his quirks, he smelled good but you could also smell the cigarette on him so that worried you, why was he smoking first thing in the morning?

You had to go back to work so you got up and as you were about to walk past him he grabbed your arm so you turned around to look at him, his puppy eyes melted your resolve instantly, you knew you had to be the one to remember that he was the one to let you go but perhaps a momentary lapse in judgment won't kill you right? Or so you had thought.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his head down on your torso to hug you the way he used to whenever he seeked comfort from you, your fingers ran through his scalp and as soon as he felt your soothing touch his hold only got tighter around you.

After a while as he pulled away so you immediately turned around and left, you didn't want him to see you cry again. What was the point really? However that wasn't the last you had seen of him that day, he turned up at your door with the box of gifts that you had returned to him a few days ago.

"Why did you give this back to me?" He asked you as he entered your apartment and your eyes welled up.

"Why not? Last time i checked i wasn't' your girl anymore" his jaw clenched as you said that. Well atleast you were showing him the anger he deserved instead of being a fucking angel about it, he needed your anger, he needed you to tell him that he had ruined your life, he wanted you to hate him in the hope that it would lessen the guilt and regret he felt every waking second of his life..

"It was a gift, you shouldn't return the gifts like that..you silly stupid girl" you scoffed as he said that. Oh how you wanted to be his stupid silly girl at that moment.

"Get out .. okay? Don't do this to me now..I want to move on but I can't if I keep seeing you like this ..stop looking at me like that you hear me?" the pain in your voice was transparent, countless nights you had cried yourself to sleep just thinking about him and how different your life could have been with him.

"What if I don't want you to move on?" He questioned shamelessly, he couldn't bear the thought of another man being lucky enough to earn your love and then be blessed enough to keep it at the same time.

"You can't expect that from me, you made your choice, you chose her" you raised your voice and he snickered in response.

"No i didn't choose her, i chose hell.. that's what I did..I chose misery, I let go my darling angel and picked a witch that is going to torment me all my life, don't act as if you're the only one that has been hurt here"

Tears rolled down his cheeks, his voice broke with all the pent up emotions that he was hiding underneath that cold hard exterior.

"You have no right to be upset with me dae..you have no idea how hard it was for me to let you go that day, to watch you go back to that woman that had ruined you.. how would you have felt if the situation was reversed? Would you have sat idly and watched me go back to my abuser?" Your voice trembled as you spoke so he walked towards you and cupped your cheeks, placing his forehead down on yours he closed his eyes, just having you this close to him again felt surreal. If the situation was reversed he never would have allowed you to do this.

"Why did you ever love me so deeply you sweet sweet angel of mine..I don't deserve it"

You wanted to hold him and tell him why, you could have described a million reasons why you loved him but then you knew at the end he'd hurt you again.

"I told you I was afraid of losing you and then you abandoned me the next day. You can't be here Daemon you have to go..you need to leave.. please just go"

He let go of you as you said that and turned around to leave. He knew neither of you would be able to control yourselves if he had stayed any longer and he didn't want to use you like that, he had caused you enough pain already.

When he came back to his condo that night Samantha was just glaring at him with a look of suspicion on her face.

"Where were you?" She asked him as she walked towards him,

"Work stuff" he walked past her to go to his room. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her today.

What he didn't know was that Samantha had followed him that morning and she had watched him meet you in the diner and then the apartment, she couldn't have that now could she? She had to make sure he was all hers now but she also knew that it won't happen as long as you were still here in this world. He'd always run to you as long as you were in his reach.

A few days later after work you were crossing the street when a car came speeding towards you with no time for you to react. The impact caused you to fly through the air before crashing onto the pavement.

As you laid there, stunned and disoriented, the last thing you remembered was the feeling of being pulled onto a stretcher before the darkness consumed you

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Taglist (please check your setting if I’m not able to tag you)

@simbaaas-stuff @ajthefujoshi @witchybitch2 @hypocritic-trash-baby @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @thefallenangel21n @kmc1989

@stupidthoughtsinwriting

[nrilliree]

https://www.tumblr.com/dreaming-of-the-reality/746890557891198976/rhaenyra-my-only-child?source=share

Hope you enjoy reading this...

Well anyways, I'm not defending Viserys, but you can't just expect him to not have kids or to marry a woman close to his age, I think you can count with one hand the amount of women from that century who married someone close to their age

Is the (probably) 12th century my love, at 21 women were considered dry and unmarriable

And also again, he had dementia???? And the comments just "well he didn't have enough dementia to forget about Rhaenyra" and it's like dude that's the point of dementia, they forget the newest memories and remember the oldest ones and guess what? Rhaenyra is like 18 years older than her younger siblings

Okay…Viserys was a bad father to EACH of his children and a lousy husband. Everyone knows that. We established this a long time ago. But if you're going to complain about him, people, do it with sense and truth…

Okay, I'll have some fun and detect the untruth and hypocrisy in @dreaming-of-the-reality's post

1) Viserys was not an "old creep of a man" when he married Aemma. He was five years older than her and he married her because he was ordered to do so. Just like Alicent ordered Aegon to marry 13-year-old Helaena when he was 15. Does that make him an "old creep of a man"? Viserys didn't beg his father to let him marry an 11-year-old. The king ordered, the father ordered - Viserys did it. However, his mistake, for which he is responsible, was that he listened and consummated the marriage when Aemma was 13… Right when Aegon consummated his marriage with Helaena. Where's the "fuck Aegon and Alicent" post?

2) "willing to sacrifice his wife for him" Another untruth. Yes, Viserys is a piece of shit because he ordered Aemma to be cut open without even the slightest thought of asking her opinion, giving her poppy milk - whatever. But he didn't sacrifice Aemma's life. She was dying. She and the baby would die. However, the maester said that the child has a chance to survive, Aemma does not. No matter what Viserys would do.

3) "nor paid attention to any of them while growing up" Another untruth! In the series, we see Viserys interacting with young Aegon several times (during his birthday, we see him with him three times in three different scenes), and later we see that he watched their training, knew that Aegon had tricked his nephews into bullying Aegon, and knows that Aemond believed the untruth again and was too gullible for his age. The fact that Viserys at that time no longer had fingers or an arm, was coughing up blood, could barely walk and had memory loss shows that he had little ability to take care of his children… And guess what? Alicent didn't raise her children alone. She had nannies, wet nurses and servants for this. She was a queen, not a washerwoman.

4) “Rhaenyra… my ONLY child” You know what? I really hope that people who write posts like this don't have sick people around them. Neither sick parents nor sick grandparents. Because they would probably get offended and leave, slamming the door at the first mistake of a name or forgetting a fact. My grandmother was terminally ill (it wasn't even Alzheimer's) and for a long time she thought my sister-in-law was me, and when she looked at me she had no idea who I was. And she had much better care than Viserys, who was high on poppy milk.

5) "Don't have more than one child if your not capable of loving more than one. Even better: don't force two woman to carry your children if your only going to love one…" A great plan for a king. That no one thought of it! Oh no, wait… Do you know why? Viserys had one child. Rhaenyra. In ten years, Rhaenyra dies - falls off a horse, gives birth, is poisoned… Whatever. And now the end of House Targaryen has come, because Viserys is too old and too sick to father a child, and his only heir has died.

[scarlettjohanssons-mistress]

Spring painting

Warnings: Implied/referenced self-harm, references to depression only for those over 14 years of age, alternate universe - canon divergence, established relationship,

Word count: 1.7 K

Pairing: Carol Aird x Fem!Reader

Prompt: The blossoming of something real

Part two of winter painting

Requests: OPEN

[Main masterlist] [Carol masterlist]

I had heard that it was liberating.

Y/N had overheard a small conversation in the university toilets. One of her classmates told another that she felt lonely, sad and desolate, and that running a razor across her thighs and seeing the blood, along with the burning, made her feel a little better.

When Y/N returned to her classroom, she couldn't get the comment out of her head.

So much so that she didn't even pay attention to her colourimetry analysis class.

She was missing a great analysis of Monet.

When class ended, Y/N quickly hurried out of the building, only to find Carol's car parked at the curb across the street. With the windows down, Y/N could clearly see her freckle-covered arms (thanks to her short sleeves) resting on the window. Her hand, finally free of those leather gloves, exposed her red fingernails holding a cigarette that she occasionally brought to her red lips, those crimson lips, those lips that held so many secrets shared, so many smiles reciprocated, and a few lingering brushes on her cheeks. Red lips. Lips complemented by those new red horn-rimmed glasses. Y/N had given them to her for her birthday.

When Carol's gaze met Y/N's figure, she quickly flicked the butt of her cigarette and raised her glasses. She gave her a beautiful smile, forcing Y/N to reciprocate. Her deep blue gaze swept over Y/N's figure, noting her paint-stained clothes.

The younger woman greeted the blonde discreetly, and before the blonde could reply, other words came out of her mouth.

"Is it fresh paint, because if it is, you'll have to walk away, my dear."

Y/N was silent. Frozen. But before her heart could begin to break, the blonde let out a laugh, opening the passenger door and patting the seat.

"I'm just kidding, honey. Come on up, I've got a surprise for you."

Y/N climbed in being careful not to stain the leather seats of the car. Because, even if Carol was playing, Y/N didn't want to upset her. She left her backpack on the back seats and settled into the seat.

The conversation flowed well, as usual. Carol asked about Y/N's classes and about her friend Fred, Y/N replied that she was fed up with Fred and her constant requests to psychoanalyse her paintings. Y/N swore that if Fred asked again, she would kick him. Carol just laughed. But when Y/N asked about Rindy, things changed drastically.

Y/N knew that Carol loved to talk about Rindy, and to a certain extent, she could tell that the blonde loved to be asked about her little girl, but she also knew that talking about Rindy was complicated for Carol.

Carol wanted more time with Rindy.

Rindy wanted more time with Carol.

But Harge was selfish enough to hurt his daughter, and the woman he once swore to love.

Carol mentioned that Rindy had gone to the cinema with her father, and was now obsessed with the new Disney film.

Y/N knew that Carol had wanted to take Rindy to see that film. She had told Y/N while the latter was drawing the blonde's hands. Y/N only managed to momentarily take Carol's hand and give it a comforting squeeze.

Carol took her eyes off the road for just a few seconds to give her a smile and ask her to make herself comfortable. The surprise was still several kilometres down the road.

————————————————————————

Carol's hand had to move it a little in order to wake her up.

Y/N did not want to go to sleep but, the night before, she slept late in order to finish a homework.

They both got out of the car, and that's when Y/N realised where she was.

A meadow, in the middle of nowhere

"Where are we?"

"In a quiet place, where we can eat and paint".

Carol pulled out of the boot a small picnic basket and a canvas. Carol had bought some for Y/N that they kept in their flat.

"Do you know that my flat is near a desolate park, not to mention that your flat faces the non-tourist area of Central Park?"

"Yes, but I want to be completely alone with you."

Y/N helped Carol set up the blanket and the small easel that Y/N carried from her university.

"Are you going to steal from me?" asked Y/N jokingly.

"Even better"

Carelessly, Carol took Y/N's face in her hands and kissed her on the lips.

It was not the first time.

They had already kissed in the confines of Carol's flat, or on the floor of Y/N's room, but this was different.

To be kissed by Carol's lips and the rays of sunlight was something totally new and different for Y/N.

It was refreshing.

It was intoxicating.

It was… spring.

Both separated and enjoyed a few seconds of each other's closeness, each other's breath on their lips wet with the other's saliva, Carol's perfume.

"Could you paint for me?" Carol asked, just before leaving a small kiss on Y/N's nose.

"Of course"

Y/N took her materials and prepared them. As she did so, Carol took small pieces of strawberry from the basket.

"What do you want me to paint?"

"I want you to paint…" Carol moved to Y/N's side to kiss her lobe and give her a little nibble. "What beauty means to you."

And that afternoon, Y/N painted Carol again.

————————————————————————

Y/N's feet shifted nervously on the carpet.

She looked up to see her last painting perfectly framed on the wall.

Carol had said it was her best work.

The laughter startled her and forced her to stop her ramblings.

She pay full attention to Carol and Abby who come with trays full of liquor glasses and snacks so eccentric that Y/N had already forgotten the names.

"Isn't it beautiful?" asked Carol

"The painting?" asked Abby.

"Yes. Y/N made it.

"Who is he supposed to be?"

"Me, silly" Carol laughed as she smacked the brunette's arm.

"You don't look alike"

"It's an interpretation" interrupted Y/N. "I gave up trying to replicate the beauty of the world, so I decided to release my own interpretation."

"You've got a bit of a… sappy interpretation of Carol."

"Abigail!"

The conversation continued, Carol and Abby talking about work, but Y/N remained completely silent.

I knew that interpretations were subjective.

No one would ever see exactly what she saw.

But…

She had kissed Carol.

She had touched Carol

She was something of Carol's.

No one could know her better than she did.

Right?

Was this what Fred was talking about?

And/N did she put her own expectations before Carol's true self?

Was Y/N selfish?

Did she really know Carol?

Carol was about to offer a full glass of white wine, before Y/N abruptly stood up. She apologised quietly and went into the bathroom.

————————————————————————

One.

Y/N closed her eyes tightly.

Two.

she hug her knees tightly.

Three.

She threw herself to the ground.

Four.

She hid under the bed.

Five.

In the foetal position, I cover her ears.

Six.

She waited.

Seven.

She waited.

Eight.

She waited.

Nine.

She waited.

Ten…

She opened her eyes.

She couldn't see the shoes.

It had happened again.

The screaming had stopped.

The banging could not be heard.

Her father had beaten her mother unconscious.

As Margaret had instructed, after ten seconds, she locked herself in her room. Waiting for her older sister to arrive.

Fiona, her friend, told her that she once read in a magazine that when you feel a sense of panic run down your back, bury your fingernails in your palm.

Physical pain takes you away from emotional pain.

But when Y/N did, locked in the room. It had already lost its effect.

She could no longer get her head out of her chest pain.

Trying to calm herself, she began to walk in circles around the room, until her little toe stubbed her bed.

The intense pain and trying to keep quiet brought her out of her breathlessness.

She knew that physical pain drove away her emotions.

She learnt it at the age of seven.

————————————————————————

Y/N locked herself in the bathroom in Carol's room.

Near the hall.

And too quiet.

As best she could and trying to be as quiet as possible, Y/N began to slap her thighs.

With her fists and all the strength she could muster in her arms, she began to paint her white skin with purple spots.

Until a blow to her knee encapsulated her doubts about Carol, to concentrate on the throbbing pain in her leg.

Carefully, she sat down on the toilet seat as she felt her eyes begin to fill with tears from the pain.

"Honey, are you okay?"

Carol's voice pulled her away from her pain.

"Yes, I'll be right out"

Y/N massaged the area, flushed the toilet and turned on the tap, washing her hands and refreshing her face.

Carefully, she dried her face and her hands, wiping away the tears.

Carefully, she opened the door and as she was about to close it, her back collided with the blonde's chest.

"Hey, are you all right, darling?"

Carol's voice was soft, velvety, as was her hand caressing Y/N's cheek.

"Yes"

"Are you sure?, I know Abby can be a bit… infuriating, but she's a great friend."

"Don't worry"

With all her remaining strength Y/N gave her a smile.

Carol smiled back and gave her a small kiss on the forehead.

————————————————————————

At times, Y/N believed that her life was an illusion.

Illusions are representations caused by the imagination and/or by the deception of the senses.

Being there. Lying next to Carol seemed like a trick of her brain.

It didn't seem real.

It did not feel palpable.

I didn't feel I deserved it.

What did Carol see in her?

What made her special?

Y/N I hear Carol talking about other women.

Her first love. Her classmate from elementary school.

A girl he met in France.

Abby.

Therese.

What was so special about Y/N?

She was not pretty.

She was not intelligent.

She was not funny.

She was… Nothing.

"I like your drawings."

"What do you like to draw?

"I like to watch you draw..." 

"Could you draw something for me?" 

"Do you think I'm too pretty to be painted?" 

"Could you draw me?"

Was Carol the one who put her Y/N expectations before the real woman?

Note:

This came out a little darker than I originally imagined.

I hope you enjoy it

I appreciate the reblogs, the likes and the comments

taglist: @littlebitchsposts // @xxsekhmet

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[lollytea]

in regards to that text post you tagged as hunlow followed by "listen to me". i have a chair. i am sitting down. i'm listening if you want to explain.

Waaah I am all jumbled up so this is not gonna be very eloquent but lemme do a little word vomit here.

Anyway. The poem 'Yes & No' by Natalie Wee and the complete huntlow overload it gives me every time I read it.

It works from both their perspectives on how they view the other person. Those parallels do be paralleling. I might blabber about it from Hunter's POV....another day. But because the poem is written by a woman and refers to a 'Him' lets focus on Willow's side of things. It's the side that gives me the most brainrot anyway. I really do love a good subversion. A girl who thinks she is too monstrous for a boy whom she views as too gentle.

I think very often about Willow's relationship with her own powers. The show went somewhat into depth about how being 'Half a Witch' destroyed her confidence. The part of her that could not excel at anything that wasn't plant-centric. There's nothing particularly complex about her feelings of inferiority. It's very easy to understand. She's Mildred Hubble coded.

HOWEVER it's also shown in her debut episode that Willow losing control of her emotions can lead to big destructive outbursts. This is the part that was touched on as a conflict in For the Future, but was never really explored at length.

This ability of hers is extremely dangerous. She can severely hurt both herself and the people around her. Surely, that must be a frightening reality for a little girl to live with.

I wonder when these outbursts first started. I wonder if that incident in the detention pit was the first time her own magic nearly killed her. I wonder if something happened on the day of Amity's birthday party when little Willow felt like she had lost everything. I wonder a lot of things. But mostly I wonder how being like this since she was young has effected Willow's mindset, her behaviour and her complexes. What does she think of herself? Is she afraid of what she's capable of? Is she afraid of her own emotions?

Anyway, with that in mind. Here is the poem. Beat by beat.

reasons to not kiss him:

1. you weren’t raised to love tender.

Willow was born and raised to be a sweet gentle girl with a soft spot for plants. She's silly and lighthearted yet mature for her age and tries to remain rational in irrational situations. She allows hugs from Gus and she allows Luz's touchy affection and cooing over how cute she is.

But by "love tender", I interpret it as Willow not knowing how to love and be loved in a way that puts her in a vulnerable position. The bleeding open wound kind of love. She's already been thrown away once in her life like she's something disposable so she has decided that it will inevitably happen again. Willow has already braced herself for Luz and Gus finding other friends and leaving her behind. She's loved them so sweetly this whole time but she's always been keeping them at arm's length, scared to pour too much of her heart into their hands. She's simply savouring the time she has with them until they drift away.

But Hunter is a different story. There is something about him that demands she love tender. And it's terrifying that she feels the pressure to do so. And it's even more terrifying that she so badly wants to.

2. when he’s around all you do is tremble. when he’s around you want to get on your knees. look how much power he has over you. it’s dangerous.

Willow is a girl who has been carelessly discarded like her feelings meant nothing, made to feel like she was a waste of an existence and who is also deathly afraid of herself and the unstable magical battery pulsing inside of her. This results in having to lock up her more reckless emotions in order to keep everyone safe, but also to protect her own heart. She's gotten good at it. And she's also now perceived as an iron clad witch who cannot be weakened.

But the presence of Hunter reveals something very concerning. She can be weakened. His smile and his voice and his entire disposition is a breach of the barriers she has spent years building. He is capable of puncturing her clean through. And the part that makes her lips tighetn is that he's not even aware of it.

It doesn't sound so foreboding on the surface. So what if he can make her smile until she can't stop smiling? So what if he can make her laugh until she's breathless? But then she'd have to regain herself and realize that as harmless as that is, it's a result of her losing control of her emotions. Which she rarely does anymore. And it's all because of him with his soft eyes and his kind smile and his shy adoration for her.

And if he can do that, he can do far worse to her. That's the scary part.

3. he’s too good at forgiving and you’re too good at violence.

4. you know what they say about monsters. you know what happens to the boys who love them. are you going to do that to him?

5. your hands don’t know how to be gentle. think about the last beautiful thing that shattered in your palms. the fresh rosebuds crumbling between your fingers like a bruise. you wolf-boy, you war machine. you wouldn’t know how to hold something magic and not destroy it.

Willow is not stupid. She's not unobservant. Hunter did not need to stay a word for her to realize that he is a boy who has been wronged by someone who he loved with his whole aching heart. He has been hurt in a way that will leave his heart aching forever and ever.

But it's a sharp sting to know that in spite of that, he continues to fall deeply in love with every person who shows him compassion. Nothing can burn out his warm glow. He loves and he loves until he's sick with the stuff. And Willow doesn't know how he does it, but his glow is so nice to graze in. Once you get too close to him, you don't want to leave.

When Willow hugs him, his fingers tentatively twist into the sleeves of her cardigan. She sees how he looks at her and she knows he'd like nothing more than to squeeze her tight and drown in her.

He's in love with Willow the way he's in love with everything and she desperately wants to give him everything.

She wants to place her hands on his cheeks and watch as she melts into her palms, finally satiated after all he had been starving for.

She wants to fall in love with him.

But she can't. Because she knows he'd fall in love with her too.

And then eventually, she would hurt him. Like he had been hurt before.

She can't trust herself to not hurt him.

And in the aftermath of the hurt, she would cry herself hoarse with ragged apologies.

And because she was kind and because he knows she didn't mean to hurt him, he would squeeze her tight and say "It's okay."

Then she'd hurt him again.

"It's okay."

And again.

"It's okay."

A painful cycle that spins until there's barely of him left.

And Willow is scared that by that point that she'll be too weak for his soft eyes to ever let him go.

She doesn't know what will become of her.

She doesn't want to find out.

So to stay on the safe side, they will never begin.

6. if you hurt him it might kill you

7. if you hurt him you might kill yourself.

8. you are very bad at rehabilitation. this is one addiction you’d fail to give up. he’s going to ruin you for all other kisses and all other boys and you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to forget his name.

Willow has analyzed the situation and she's come to the conclusion that if she allowed this sweet boy entry to her briar n' bramble guarded heart, they'd bend to his will, clearing a path to the delicate structure. And once he holds it in his hands, he'll leave his fingerprints all over it.

This is the damage she's talking about.

The damage he can do to her.

9. you still aren’t sure he isn’t a dream.

10. if you kiss him, you might wake up.

You would think, with all this lamenting Willow does over Hunter's existence, that he's making her miserable.

Far from it.

She's reluctant to admit it, even to herself, but she's already addicted to whatever it is that he's emanating. Like a flower stretching towards the sunlight.

Sometimes he doesn't feel feel.

Typical of an overthinker to not believe that could be as wonderful as it seems.

In an ideal world, they could both make each other happy.

If she doesn't ruin everything.

Mistletoe kisses. Parasitic in nature.

What if she leeches all the light left in him?

What if a kiss is her wakeup call?

reasons to kiss him:

1. because he’s beautiful.

He's so beautiful.

2. because he asked.

He's begging. He's begging every time he looks at her. He certainly doesn't mean to. Nor does he know that he's doing it. But somehow, without saying a word, he has crumbled to his knees begging for her to pour of a little of her heart into his lips to warm his blood.

He wants her to love tender and be loved raw. And he wants to do the same.

And if she said no, he would simply reply "that's okay."

But she doesn't want to say no.

She wants to give him everything.

That's the problem.

And even worse....she is pretty sure she is about to crack.

She will give him everything.

Because...

3. because he preceded please with, i’m not afraid of you.

[rollofleaf]

Owlcatober Day 17: Parents

The start to Hilde's backstory! Someday I'll finish the rest.

In many small tribes in the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, it was customary for the chieftain’s wife to assist in the delivery of newborns. When the chieftain’s wife was the one blessed with child, all the women of the tribe repaid the debt and aided her. So it was when Astrid, Daughter of Muses, had her firstborn. Every woman of the Wolverine’s Claw huddled in the small seer’s tent, providing water and comfort and guidance until at last the wailing of a newborn pierced the air.

“Chieftain, the child is born!” Chieftain Svalk had been waiting just outside the sacred space, tapping his foot impatiently until a woman poked her head out to deliver the news. Most of the younger women shuffled out as he walked in, the sight of his wife holding their child bringing a tear to even the grizzled warrior’s eye.

Astrid held her daughter close, gently shushing her cries. She held her out just enough for Svalk to see. “Look!” The infant opened her eyes, the bright glow of her peach eyes making clear her heritage. “We’re blessed by the spirits! Blessed by my mother… Oh, gods, she’s beautiful…”

She… Svalk frowned in disappointment at that. A girl, then. But that mattered little. She was strong, healthy, hungry. Astrid deserved a daughter to raise. She would bear him a son to carry his lineage another day. He smiled and leaned forward to press a kiss to Astrid’s forehead, then one to the baby’s. Astrid giggled from the bristle of his beard. “That she is… A blessed, wonderful girl.”

She looked up at him with weary, dewey eyes and held the newborn out to him. “It is your right to name her. Have you settled on something?”

Svalk carefully took his daughter, and she began to let out soft little ‘waa’s. He rocked her gently and answered with a smile. “I think… Hilde. Daughter of Svalk and Astrid.” He slowly turned to an older woman, the seer of the tribe, respectfully avoiding her gaze. “And what do you see in her?”

The elder took Hilde and sprinkled some dust in her face. Hilde sputtered and let out a cry. “I see… Much. Her song shall shatter boulders, and her light may save the lost. There is greatness and disaster in equal measure in her future, though in a form we will not expect. Be careful.”

Life was good for the Wolverine’s Claw for a while after. The newborn brought joy into the chief and chieftess’s life, and they were happy. Years passed, until the winter after Hilde’s third birthday. The sky darkened as the frigid winds of Baba Yaga blew from the east. Animals fled and the earth froze, and it became harder and harder for the tribe to find food.

Astrid sighed softly as she tried to quiet Hilde’s wailing. The poor thing was hungry, but they did not have the food to spare. “Hilde, my star, if I feed you now you won’t be able to have dinner. Don’t you want dinner?”

“Wan dinna! Now! Hungwy!” Astrid chuckled softly at her response. She sighed and glanced over to the wall where her armor and spear were kept. 

Astrid nodded and kissed Hilde’s forehead. “We all are, love. Don’t worry. Mama will get some food for everyone. But you might have to wait a while.” She walked over to a small shrine and knelt before it. “Erastil, Great Hunter, I beg of you. My people starve. Please, grant me the strength and luck to feed them. If there is any game left in your woods, let it fall upon my spear. I will give whatever you ask in return.” With that, she slipped on her armor and grabbed a bow and a spear. Hilde waddled up and tugged on her leg. Astrid smiled and picked her up, whispering conspiratorially. “Perhaps… Let’s not tell your father about this. Mama will be back soon, and he’ll only worry after me. You just sit there and be good until me or Papa are back, okay?” She set Hilde down on some furs and slipped out the back door of their longhouse. She went unseen into the forest, swiftly disappearing behind snow-covered trees.

Her father did not return for several hours, off on his own unsuccessful hunt. He stumbled back inside their home, shivering and dejected. “Still nothing. Baba Yaga curses us, the gods forsake us… Bah, but I shouldn’t speak ill of them. My love, we’ll…” He trailed off. Astrid was nowhere to be found, Hilde was idly playing with some wooden animals, either making them fight or trying to eat them. “Hilde. Where is Mama?” The toddler glanced up at him, pointed towards the weapons on the wall, and made a noise. Sweat beaded on Svalk’s brow. “Oh no… She went alone? And she’s still not back?”

He gritted his teeth and ran out of the house. A stillness had fallen over the tribe as everyone watched a figure emerge from the sleet.

Astrid stumbled out of the woods, bloodied from her struggle but dragging a freshly-slain buck on a sled behind her. The beast was larger than any Svalk had ever seen, it alone could feed the entire tribe for at least a month. Yet all he saw was Astrid’s face through her helm, her cheeks almost blue. The woman was shivering madly as she released the sled and collapsed to her knees. “S-sorry… I’m s-sorry that it took me s-so long…” 

It was a happy evening for the tribe as the meat was butchered and divided, everyone eating well for the first time in weeks. Only Svalk’s joy was dimmed as he watched his wife shivering near the campfire, which seemed to do nothing to warm her up. When they went to bed, her skin was almost lukewarm and her breathing was shallow and strained. Only two days later she was bedridden and barely able to move. Blankets and heated water seemed to do nothing to warm her up, and she was growing weaker by the hour.

Hilde waddled up to her bedside, squeezing her hand. “M-mama… S-sowwy. I asked for food…” She tried to fight off the guilt she was feeling.

Astrid chuckled weakly and tried to squeeze back. “Hilde, my star, there’s no need to apologize. I… I just regret that I didn’t die in battle. At least I could feed you. Please, my daughter, be brave and be strong. I’ll still be here with you, forever.” Hilde only looked confused.

Svalk was silent, watching her. Hilde had demanded food, that’s why Astrid had gone out hunting. Of course. She was always so soft on the girl. He brushed his thoughts away and looked to the tribe’s healer. “Take my daughter away. She shouldn’t see the rest.” Hilde whined in protest as she was led back to her home.

Svalk came home hours later, his face haggard and empty. “Hilde.” His voice was devoid of emotion. Hilde looked up and crawled towards him. “Your mother… H-has gone away for a while.” He commanded the tears in his eyes to stay where they were. “She won’t be coming back. It’s… It’s only us two now.”

Hilde started to tear up. “M-my fault?”

Svalk winced. “Don’t cry, it’s unbecoming of a chieftain or his child. Just… Come, let’s get you to bed.” Once Hilde was sleeping, he slumped back into his chair and began to weep. How was he supposed to raise a daughter alone without her? How was he supposed to handle anything without her?

[suspensefulpen]

Birthday Gift

TW: Pet Whump, Collar and Leash, Conditioned Whumpee, Creepy/Obsessed Whumper, Bad Caretaker, Being Referred to as It

Whumper dragged Whumpee across the polished floors. Despite how much it hurt, he knew not to react. Whumper would stop the entire party just to reprimand him. But he also knew they wouldn’t do anything to make Caretaker upset. Whoever she was.

Despite how much he had to endure Whumper rambling about her, he didn’t actually know who she was. He only knew that Whumper was willing to do anything just for her attention and praise. They’d drop to their knees and give up everything just for her. Whumpee didn’t understand what made her so great. It was almost like Whumper saw her as a goddess to bow down to. No, there was no almost. Whumper did see her as a goddess to bow down to. And worship. Whumpee saw it first hand.

He always wondered what made them so attached to Caretaker. Why was she meant to be hailed as a goddess? What made her so special that a sociopath was willing to crumble just for her? It had to be something. Whumper never mentioned why they felt this way towards her but there had to be some reason. After all, they cleaned Whumpee up and gave them nice clothes just to drag them here.

They approached a woman in an elegant green dress, gold decorating her neck and wrists as she happily greeted the other guests. Whumpee assumed this was Caretaker. There was something about her that made the space around her brighten. She was smiling and full of energy. Maybe Whumper wanted to be around her because they were incapable of feeling that. Or maybe she filled a void inside them that Whumpee had no clue about.

The other guests quickly stepped away when they noticed Whumper. Whumpee guessed that was a sign that they didn’t limit their abuse and threats to one person. Caretaker’s attention was instantly brought to the two approaching her. Her smile widened as she brightened even more. By this point, Whumpee was blinded.

“Whumper! It’s so nice to see you! How are you?”

Whumper immediately switched the hand that held Whumpee’s arm. Wiping their now free hand on their suit jacket as if Whumpee had germs, they took Caretaker’s hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “How I’ve been doesn’t matter, dearest. What matters is if you’re enjoying your birthday ball.” Whumper even gave her a bow.

“Oh of course I am! I’m enjoying it even more now that I know you’ve arrived. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” She said sadly.

“Deepest apologies Mistress,” They briefly lowered their head. “I’ve been busy preparing your gift.”

“For three months?” She raised a brow.

“Yes.” They nodded.

“I bet it’s wonderful.” Caretaker smiled softly. Whumpee didn’t understand how she could so easily ignore Whumper’s monotone. He assumed this was normal for them to speak with absolutely no emotion. He almost wanted to hide when her gaze landed on him. “Whumper, who’s this adorable person?”

Whumper glared daggers up into Whumpee before dropping it and tunring back to Caretaker. “It’s your gift, Ma’am.”

“My gift?”

“Yes. This is Whumpee. Your new pet. I trained it just for you, Miss.”

“For me? Whumper you’re so sweet! Thank you!”

Great. She’s insane too. Whumpee saw a small smile on her face before glancing at Whumper’s hidden one. Not as insane as them I bet.

“It’ll do whatever you ask it. I trained it with hand motions and verbal commands so you can switch between them if you ever need to.” Whumper explained.

“That was so very sweet of you.”

The hidden smile revealed itself, even in spite of the monotone. “Anything for you, Miss.” The expression wasn’t long to stay as Whumpee felt once again, daggers being glared into the side of his head for several moments before Whumper snapped out of it. “Would you like me to put on its collar and its leash for you, Miss?”

[sailtomarina]

Birthday breakfast

“Shhhhh, let her sleep.”

“But it’s time to get up!”

Hermione smiled, eyes still shut and clinging to the vestiges of sleep. She felt wrung out and deliciously sore from when Draco had woken her up at midnight to give her the first birthday gift of the day. She wasn’t sure what time it was now, but considering her heavy eyelids, it was probably still far before noon.

“Scorpius, get back here!”

Slam!

She kept her breathing slow and steady despite the door knocking into the wall and the weight that landed at the base of the bed.

“If she doesn’t wake up, then how can she eat breakfast?”

It took all her willpower to not chuckle at the pout in the little boy’s voice. At eight-years-old, Scorpius reminded her so much of his father, full of demands and seemingly without a concern in the world. Hermione knew better, of course. Her adopted son had experienced grief too early with the loss of his mother. His resilience was a testament to the love lavished on him by Astoria and Draco long before Hermione had come along.

She heard the soft patter of footsteps. A second weight dropped the mattress even further. Hermione knew Draco wasn’t fooled by her little act.

“I suspect she’ll wake up soon, my star. The food will keep until then.” Humor laced his words. Hermione could just imagine Scorpius’ lip jutting out in response.

“But—”

“But,” Draco emphasized, “We could try a spell to help her wake.”

Well, this would be interesting.

“A spell? Please, Dad, show me!” Scorpius bounced in place, sending shockwaves through the bed. Perhaps they should consider casting some permanent stabilization charms.

“Okay, repeat after me: tempus passus!”

Hermione nearly snorted at the fake incantation. Tempus passus, really? That was the best he could come up with?

“Tempus passus!”

“Now wave your wrists like so.”

The bed shook once more with the force of Scorpius’ movements, one of his hands smacking her on the thigh.

“Wait for it…”

Hermione fluttered her lashes, then twitched. With a groan, she rolled over and stretched her arms out.

“It’s working!”

“Scorpius?” She didn’t have to fake the scratchiness in her throat. She could desperately use some coffee.

“Happy birthday, Mum!”

That opened her eyes faster than any bang of the door or jolt to her mattress. The sight of a grinning Scorpius filled her vision, any hints of reservation completely absent. 

“Mum”. He’d called her “Mum”.

“Oh, Scorpius, honey—” Her words cut off with the force of the young boy’s skinny arms wrapping around her. Behind him, Draco wore a gentle smile, which she matched with her own.

She hadn’t dared hope for this day. In her mind, Astoria would always be Scorpius’ mother. Hermione loved him, of course, but she knew better than to expect she’d ever take the woman’s place in their hearts. Even though Astoria had passed while Scorpius was barely old enough to remember her, she had already left her impression behind, that of a mother and wife who loved with all her being and regretted nothing but leaving her boys behind. The best Hermione could hope for would be to carve out a place of her own and bring them the joy they deserved.

“Happy birthday, love.” Draco joined them in their embrace, all-encompassing and reassuring in his warmth. She could have stayed like this all morning.

Scorpius had other ideas.

He wiggled and pushed, ending their hug with a cry of “Birthday breakfast!”

“There’d better be coffee,” Hermione teased. They were all too aware of her pre-caffeine grumpiness.

“Here, Mum!” A tray was shoved into her lap, set with steaming coffee, a carafe of pumpkin juice with three glasses, and a full English breakfast several times the size of her usual morning meal.

She raised an inquiring brow, which Draco met with a knowing smirk. “How about a breakfast picnic for three?”

Today, of all days, Hermione set aside her rule against food in bed. There was much to celebrate, least of which being her own birthday. 

WC 678

DHRMonth Prompt: Week 3 - Celebrations, September 19 - Birthday

Cross-posted to AO3

I’ve always considered Hermione’s birthday as set at the perfect time of year, just late enough to see the start of my favorite season with its turning colors and color evenings, but still warm enough to only need a light cover in the day’s sunshine. I’m excited to see all the artwork and fics centering on our birthday girl!

[warpriest-writings]

Superman Fanfic

Clark shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Two jobs in not even three months, he mentally kicked himself.

His file was being looked over thoroughly for the third time by the unemployment office lady, Mrs. Kowalski. “So, construction fell through, Mr. Kent.” 

“I'm sorry.” he rubbed his thumbs together apprehensively.

“Mmhmmm, don't be sorry to me, Mr. Kent.” she said. “Shame, after telling me about how you and your father rebuilt the family barn after that tornado incident I thought you might like construction work.”

“It was going well, it's just…” he paused.

“You started showing up later and later, then not at all.” she finished.

He winced, there was no way he could tell her what he was really up to instead of making it to work on time.

“What's the matter, Mr. Kent? If there is something going on, issues, we have programs and departments to help people like you onto their feet.”

He shrugged, definitely more than a little frustrated at himself, “I, I'm not sure what to tell you?” he sighed.

“Well, we have your file open. If a factory position opens up this office will send you a call. The number on file is still up to date, yes?”

“Ye, yeah,” he looked over the paper she was showing him, “that's my number still.”

She nodded, “This is the third time I've seen you here in three months, Clark, if you want a minute of real advice. Go to college, there are loans and government grants, all sorts of stuff you could apply for. You're not lazy, and I know you're not a dumb boy. I've looked over your files three times now and I know you graduated with an almost perfect grade point average, and that you volunteered with your mother since you were thirteen years old. You don't need another job you'll get bored off in two weeks, you need a career that engages you. Give it a thought, Clark.” 

Mrs. Kowalski printed off several pages and stapled them. She set them next to his I.D and social in front of him.

Clark looked at the papers wide eyes, “I will...think about it, I mean. I'll think about it. Thank you.”

“You're welcome, Mr. Kent. Now, unless you have any other questions I think we are done here for today.”

“No, I think I'm good for now.”

“Have a nice day, Mr. Clark.”

With a nod, he smiled, “You too, Mrs. Kowalski.” With that the Farmer's son from Smallville grabbed his info and also the papers she printed out for him. 

He left the office and out of the Metropolis government center, pausing to hold the door for an older man with a cane. “Why, thank you.”

“You're welcome.” he replied and started walking, wondering how he was going to eat tonight.

If I find seventy five cents I can buy a can of ravioli from the gas station. If I find a dollar fifty then I could also get a cup of coffee.

A career that engages me...Clark's thoughts raced, and kept returning to what the lady at the unemployment office told him. He gripped the papers in his hand tightly, maybe it was time to start looking into college. See what his financial aid options were-why was his shirt wet?

A lady gasped, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"

Clark snapped out of his thoughts, "Hmm?" Hot coffee was just spilt over his shirt and he pulled the material away from his skin, "Oh! It's alright, it isn't that hot." He reassured her.

The concerned woman suddenly raised her eyebrow skeptically, "That was a fresh latte."

"Yeah, well, lots of layers." Clark said, "Cold weather." 

She looked at him with a puzzled look, "Wait…." Her eyes widened, "Smallville?"

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" He asked

"My cousin's birthday parties." She replied, "Your creepy friend tried to get a game of seven minutes in heaven going and my dad flexed on him."

Clark suddenly recognized her, "Lois, General Lane's daughter."

She laughed, "Just go by Lois Lane these days, never liked that stipulation."

He nodded, "Of course, Lois. How have you been?" 

"Fine, at least until I walked into a brick wall, Jesus, Smallville," she looked up at him, "What are they putting into the wheaties they feed you on that farm?"

Clark awkwardly cleared his throat, "Well, hard farm work, builds you up."

"Apparently." She said, "So, you're sure I didn't burn you?"

"I'm sure." He reassured her, again. 

Lois sighed in relief, "Well, that's good, Smallville. What are you doing in Metropolis anyway?"

"Oh, well…" Clark paused, dwelling momentarily on uncomfortable memories, "I just needed a change. Some personal discovery stuff."

"Uh huh, hey I need to get another coffee, and you look like you could use one too. Come on, Kent."

Clark protested, "No, really. It's fine."

"I wasn't asking, Smallville. My treat." Lois said with effortless determination, she left no room for discussion and Clark haplessly followed along.

"Sundollar?"

"Yeah, no one wanted a latte from Lexbucks, go figure." Lois said, strolling in. 

"Lane!" The Barista said, "I thought you said you were cutting back on the caffeine."

"Cut back a little too much this morning, Bev. I, err, dropped my coffee." She said, standing next to the man in a wet shirt, smelling like a sundae was dropped in an espresso. 

Bev nodded along, "And for Captain America?"

Lois glanced at him, expectantly.

Clark stood there a moment in silence before awkwardly exclaiming, "Oh! Black, please. Morning blend...if you have it." 

Lois tapped his arm, "Come on, Smallville." Leading Clark to a very tall table large enough for two drinks and maybe a folder. "Not one for the Cafe scene, Farmer Kent?"

He looked around at the various pieces of piecemeal modern art decorating the Sundollar, "Not really, I've been drinking coffee since I was fourteen and Dad put me through a few hours of work before school and all he brewed came out of a red can."

Lois snorted, "Yeah? Did he get them out of the cellar next to the Mason jars of peaches?" 

Clark raised an eyebrow, "Lois when were you in our cellar?"

"What? No I meant, I was being-" She paused when she saw a little smirk, "Huh, color me impressed, Smallville, I didn't realize you had a funny bone under all that muscle." 

“I’ve been known to be occasionally cheeky.” Clark replied, he averted his eyes as she smiled. “Did you ever make it then?”

“Hmm?”

“Journalism? You were going to Metro U to become a reporter right?” Clark asked.

Lois’s eyes lit up, “Yes! Actually, I got into the intern program at the Planet and I’ve been a field reporter for a little over ten months.”

“That’s incredible, Lois! So, what ground breaking news is Lois Lane investigating?” Clark asked, he smiled at Bev as she was kind enough to walk their drinks over to them.

Lois grinned, “The Red-Blue Blur.”

Clark spit out his coffee. 

“Jesus, Smallville, it’s probably a fresh pot!” Lois gasped.

Clark swallowed, “Yeah, my tongue.” He cleared his throat. “The Red who what?”

“You really must be new in town, the last three months Metropolis has had its own Vigilante. Like the old days with the Green Lantern, Hawkman, Wonder woman.”

“Lois, I don’t think Superheroes have been a thing since, forever ago.”

“Not if you have your ear to the ground, Smallville. Gotham, Central City.”

“Okay, sure I’ve heard the rumors, too. The Bat in Gotham’s either a myth or someone with a death wish.” He said, echoing his dad.

“Iris West at Picture News had an interview with the Rumor in Central City, Clark. We are seeing a possible resurgence of Superheroes in the world and I think Metropolis has one too.”

[adventuressclubamericas]

Adventuresses We Love - Malala Yousafzai “Who is Malala?” the Taliban gunman demanded after boarding the bus carrying children home from school in Pakistan’s Swat Valley. Malala Yousafzai was a young woman who loved learning. Her parents encouraged her and helped fan those flames. But in 2008, the Taliban came to power in their valley. They quickly banned education for women and closed (and in many cases, blew up,) all the girls’ schools in the valley.

Malala began speaking out about the injustice, giving a speech at the Peshawar Press Club, then through a diary detailing the events in the valley and speaking out against the regime. That diary would end up being published – anonymously – by the BBC. At the time Malala was 11 years old.

Her identity as the BBC blogger was revealed in late 2009. She would continue advocating for women’s education, adeptly using traditional and social media to raise awareness of what was going on.

As her prominence grew, she became a target. As you may imagine, the Taliban was not happy with her efforts. This led to their soldier climbing aboard that bus on October 9, 2012. He seized Malala and 2 other girls, led them off the bus, and shot them. 15-year-old Malala was shot in the head.

Thankfully, all 3 girls lived. An unconscious Malala was airlifted to several military hospitals in Pakistan and, eventually, the UK. She regained consciousness in hospital in Birmingham, England, 10 days after the shooting. Several months of treatment and surgeries followed, leading to an almost complete recovery.

If the Taliban thought the attack would silence her, they were so very wrong. On July 12, 2013 – her 16th birthday – she addressed the United Nations. On her 18th birthday, she opened a school for girls in the Bekaa Valley, Lebanon. And through the Malala Fund, she continues to “…work for a world where every girl can learn and lead.”

To learn more, visit