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paulyenvol6 · 4 months ago

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The Girl Nettles

Daemon x Nettles (One Shot)

Daemon and Nettles reside at Harrenhal trying to find Aemond. While they had spent their days in indolence they have gotten closer and developed a special bond.

Contains: detailed smut, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, touching, kissing, nipple play, slight bruising, lots of dirty and reassuring talk, soft!dom Daemon, caring/protective and loving Daemon, lots of praising, possessiveness, daddy issues, crying, whiny & submissive Nettles, age gap, mentions of death and domestic violence, angst, aftercare

Wordcount: ~8.14k

Masterlist

Nettles scratched at her skin until the mud was peeled off and then continued to remove the dirt under her nails. She merely did it out of boredom, because she knew that Daemon would have her take a bath later anyhow. Mayhaps even with him.

But now he was still in his room reading the books that he had found in Harrenhal while she had to find herself something to do. Nettles had already done everything she could think of. She had gardened behind the back gate, had fed her dragon, had helped the servants in the kitchen who looked at her every time as though she was a ghost. But now her mind was empty and she wished she could be with Daemon. The rogue prince.

She didn't even insist on having him touch her, no, it would be already enough to just sit between his legs with his hands combing through her messy hair while listening to his steady breathing. She had always enjoyed it. Maybe not always but always since she had fled her home. Perhaps because the sound of someone breathing meant that the person wasn't dead and for her young age of 6 and 10 she had watched too many people die already. Daemon was alive and well and he would continue to be while he was just sitting behind her running his hands through her hair.

Sometimes Nettles asked herself what he was to her. She hadn't really had an opinion on him before they were sent to Harrenhal. He was the queen's husband which made him the king consort and Nettles had considered him another loyal fighter for queen Rhaenyra. And so she had accepted her command and flew with Daemon to Harrenhal to find and slay prince Aemond on the mighty Vhagar. That hadn't happened yet but Nettles had gotten to know the rogue prince.

They had so much time all day waiting for a sighting of Aemond Targaryen that they had spent many hours on the mountains surrounding Harrenhal. They now even had a favourite rock, the one with the moss covering parts of it and it had a curve that was perfect for someone to sit on. Daemon had started to tell her about all the old dragons of Valyria and then when he was finished with these tales had talked about Balerion and Maraxes and Vermithor and all the others. During the night of the owl he told Nettles about the star signs though and while she had sometimes problems to comprehend the lines between the stars Daemon was patient with her until she could name every sign in the nightsky.

When the two of them weren't outside they sat by the fire and stared at it as if they were trying to find answers. Nettles didn't know what he was asking for when he looked at it because she obviously couldn't read thoughts. Maybe he was asking about his wife? Or where Aemond remained? She didn't know but she knew what she was asking for. Nettles wanted to know where her father was. And if her brother had made it out of the burning house that one night. And though her eyes searchingly danced over the fire the same way the flames danced in front of her eyes it hadn't given her an answer yet.

And when they were done with that Daemon would read her sometimes from the old books. They were tales about great and brave knights who saved young maidens from the claws of cruel usurpers. And Nettles couldn't help but wonder sometimes if Daemon's name would some day be in an old book like that as well. She didn't ask though.

And Daemon had started to teach her how to write and read. She had never learned it just as she hadn't learned so many things. She hated it in the beginning but the prince had remained persistend and was very patient with her. Her letters were crooked and ugly and Nettles had felt ashamed but he had just smiled and told her that it took time until they would look beautiful.

Daemon was always kind to her and that's why the girl trusted him. He never was mean to her or hurt her and he never raised his voice. She hated it when someone shouted at her, mayhaps because of her father and Daemon seemed to somehow know. He always talked softly with her and though he was grumpy sometimes when another letter from the queen arrived he never let his anger out on her. He would just look at her with cold eyes and tell her that she should leave him alone for a few hours.

Nettles felt good in his presence. There was something about him that made her feel like he cared about her and as she had never experienced a lot of warmth or love back in her home, she felt drawn to Daemon.

Her father had been a drunken fool who had hit her mother. When Nettles thought about her first 10 years that she had spent with her parents she could mostly remember the cold nights when she would crouch against the corner of her room and hear her parents shouting at each other. Most of the times it ended with a loud shatter and in the morrow Nettles would find her mother with her face down and a bleeding wound on the back of her head. The girl would have cuts on her bare feet from walking through shards of glass and see her father only days later when he would return most of the times so drunk that she could smell the alcohol from far away.

Nettles remembered her father as a short man with a crooked nose and eyes so small that she almost couldn't see the white in them though she thought that her memory might have been influenced by her disgust for the man. He would always go a bit slouched because he once had been stabbed in his belly and he used to say that the wound had never fully healed. Nettles remembered the way he had wrinkled his nose shortly before he would shout at her and her father had shouted at her all the time. When Nettles had bought the wrong vegetables at the market, when the rats came back to settle in their dirty home, even when the weather wasn't to his liking.

Nettles had been hit sometimes but she called herself lucky because her mother was much worse off. Sometimes, and she had never spoken these words to anyone and was ashamed to have thought something like that, but sometimes she had wished that her mother would be dead so she didn't have to suffer any more. Nettles thought that whatever waited for a man after his death couldn't be worse or more painful than the bruises and wounds on her mother's back.

She also had a younger brother but he had learned at a very young age that his parents had nothing to offer. So he had started to go his own way and spent most of the day away from home. Nettles and he had never been very close, perhaps because their life didn't grant them any time or energy to develop feelings of sisterly and brotherly love for each other. So she didn't even know what her brother was doing all day while she took care of the household or cared for her mother.

Nettles had left her home at the age of 10 because her father had set himself and their home on fire. Ironically, her father was the only person besides her she was sure had survived. Nettles had been able to drag her mother out of the house but she had collapsed and died on the stinky cold street shortly after. She hadn't even coughed or gasped for air, it almost seemed like she had no will to live. She just dropped to the ground and had never opened her eyes again.

But Nettles had seen her father drunkily stumble out of the burning building. She had glared at him, had felt the anger rising in her belly and felt the urge to shake him until he would tell her that he was sorry. But she hadn't done it. Instead she had run. She had run for her life with the prospect of going somewhere where she could have a better life. She had run through the filthy lanes and alleys, had left behind the fairs and carriages, the stray dogs and rats until she had found herself by the port.

Nettles had hoped to find a ship that would take her away, anywhere but this dirty hole of a city but of course the gods hadn't granted her this wish. Her only chance had been a carriage that moved westwards and the old lady had agreed to take her with her for an exchange. She had wanted the necklace around her neck that she had gotten from her mother a few years ago. Nettles had never known where her mother, who had never possessed more than a few coins in her pockets, had gotten it from but she had agreed to give it to the woman.

And so her journey had begun and Nettles had traveled throughout the continent. She had slept in the most filthy and disgusting places one could think of, had to feed on berries that she didn't know were poisonous, had stolen and defrauded and left all of her diginity, if there ever was something like that inside of her, behind in the burning building she had once called home.

And then when she was 14 her journey had led her to Westeros. She had heared the tales of the dragons and their riders that ruled the seven kingdoms across the narrow sea. Sometimes Nettles would sneak into the septs in which septons and septas from the other continent preached and prayed for the seven. They talked about the Targaryens so brave and glorious that the gods had created them as an image of themselves. They were said to be tall with arms so strong they could tear a man apart and eyes that flashed purple and skin so white and pale that one could mistake it for snow.

Nettles hadn't known what snow was but she had felt in awe. She had learned about the dragons and how the queen Rhaenyra tried to make the world a better place with her army of blacks and in the end Nettles had decided she wanted to see this place on the other side of the world and so she had crossed the narrow sea by ship and then her path had led her to the queen herself.

That was the girl's story and she had never told it with many details. She had told Daemon parts of it but never her sins and crimes during her journey through Essos. She thought that he might dislike it.

She was anxious enough when she thought about her flaws and lack of manners. Her father had never taught her anything and Nettles didn't know how to properly address a lord, let alone a prince, how to eat or drink or wash herself and so Daemon had started teaching her all of this. He had shown her how to hold her arms while eating, that she wasn't to talk while her mouth was chewing, how to hold a cup of wine and how to wash her hair so it was all shiny and clean afterwards.

Daemon had generously gifted her with clothes befit for a dragonrider and helped her with shrubbing her back so her skin was always free from mud after a day outside the walls of Harrenhal. She had learned things from him that she had been supposed to learn from her father and Nettles couldn't help but feel great admiration and respect for the rogue prince. He had taken a big role in her life and filled a hole that hadn't been filled by someone ever before and that she hadn't even realized existed. And Nettles felt incredibly relieved. There finally was someone who she trusted and whom she felt safe with. Someone who guided her way and protected her as her father had never done.

But Daemon wasn't just a fatherly role to her. It had been the sixth night after their arrival in Harrenhal when Nettles had laid with the prince for the first time. She hadn't been a maid, although she knew the value of innocence for high-born lords and ladies. But the girl had always had it hard and she hadn't been able to protect that one last treasure she owned that laid between her legs.

Nettles had given her maidenhead away when she had found herself by the dock and stared at the endless sea that separated her from Westeros. A sailor that had been about to break sails with his crew and headed to King's Landing and whom she had asked to take her with him had agreed under the condition that he and his two closest friends could each lay with her for a night. Nettles had been confused and frowned but agreed. She had hated it but the thought of the new lands that waited for her brought her through the three nights and in the fourth night the sailor had kept his promise and took Nettles to her destination.

So Daemon hadn't been the one to take her maidenhead despite her young age. But he didn't seem to care a lot that Nettles had been touched before.

That night the prince and her had sat by the fire and he told her about his ancestors, Maegor the cruel and Aenys and all of the others. Nettles had listened to him carefully and then she had asked him if he ever wished he didn't know what his ancestors had done. Because the girl didn't and she had wondered if she would like to know. Daemon had frowned and told her that he was glad he knew so he couldn't repeat their mistakes.

And then a little later Nettles had found herself with his lips on hers and his hands on her waist. Daemon was a lot older than her, so much so that he could be her father but Nettle s didn't care. He was kind to her and she felt drawn to him as he always took such care of her and looked out for her safety and well–being as no man had ever done. And he was still attractive with his muscular chest and strong body. And most importantly had Daemon been gentle and kind with her, different to the sailors at the bay of a city she couldn't remember the name of.

While their hands had teared off her clothes, Daemon's hands had slowly removed one layer after the other.

While they had pressed her face down to the hard and dirty ground, Daemon had carefully laid her on her back and had towered over her, his eyes soft and warm.

He had kissed her skin as though she was something delicate and had told her how pretty she was. He had caressed her hair and shoved his fingers inside of her to prepare her for his cock. And he had dived between her legs with his head, something that had terrified Nettles at first but once his tongue had made her feel the most magical things in the world she hadn't doubted his actions another second.

And then he had claimed her, deep and slow thrusts that had made her tremble underneath him. Nettles had clung to his shirt in an attempt to keep him close to her but Daemon had lowered his mouth to her ear and had told her that he wouldn't leave her. Ever. And that had made the girl squirm in happiness and she had grown bolder and moved her hips to meet his thrusts.

In the end she had fallen apart underneath him with his thumb pressed to this one nub between her legs that she hadn't known to exist but Daemon had showed it to her. It had made her feel odd that the prince seemingly knew her body better than herself but first and foremost Nettles had felt pleasure she had never felt before. And he had collapsed on top of her and let out little grunts and growls that had made her curiously look up to him.

And then many nights like this had followed with her yearning for the things he had been able to make her feel. Daemon had taught her also how to pleasure him with her mouth wrapped around his cock. He had let her sit on his face while his tongue danced on her pearl and through her slit. And he had taken her on all fours, an angle that made her knees wobbly.

Sometimes, especially when they had just started laying together, Nettles wondered if she had done a great sin by bedding the king consort. Had she betrayed her queen Rhaenyra? After all she did all of this because of her, because Nettles believed that Rhaenyra would make this world a better place for women like her. But Daemon had assured that it was fine. He had said that after all those years the queen and him had grown apart. They had done their duty to the realm, had produced heirs and remained a strong couple in the eyes of the smallfolk but behind the curtains they didn't feel a passionate love for each other anymore.

Daemon had told her that he had once loved her and still loved her as his queen and ruler but now both of them found their pleasure in other things and then he had caressed her messy hair and had told her that she was one of the things he found pleasure in. Nettles had blushed, dropped her gaze and believed that he was truthful with her. Because he had always been.

~~~~~~~~~~

And now there was Nettles, her hands folded in her lap and she wished Daemon would make haste and call her into his chambers. It had gotten late and if they were to spend some time alone in his room he would have to hurry up.

More time passed and then the girl chose to come to him herself. Perhaps he had forgotten the time or fallen asleep and if the latter would turn out to be true she could join him in his bed and find some sleep herself closely pressed to his body.

So she walked through the corridor and walked the few steps it took until she found herself in front of his door. She knocked gently but loud enough for the person inside to hear, just as he had taught her.

"Come.", she heard his voice and Nettles opened the door. The room was dimmed though he had a candle on his nightstand. Daemon himself laid on his bed in a beige coloured tunic and had his head lowered over a big and heavy-looking book. It took a moment until Daemon lifted his gaze and his previously concentrated eyes softened at the sight of the girl Nettles.

"What are you doing here, love?", he asked softly and her insides fluttered.

"I was wondering how long it will take for you to finish your reading.", she said and took another step in his direction.

The prince grinned and rested his head against the headboard. Then he patted on the bed next to him and the girl took it as a sign to walk over to him. Once Nettles had sat down he turned to her.

"Are you eager, sweet girl? Do you need me to take care of you?"

Daemon had a special affection for the young dragon rider. In some way she reminded him of Rhaenyra, or better the Rhaenyra he had fallen in love with many years ago. The young, innocent girl that had looked at him with admiration. He hadn't lied to Nettles when he had told her about the distance that had grown between him and his queen and Daemon truthfully found himself drawn to the girl that seemed curious and eager to learn from him while his wife had become stiff and cold after all those years of fighting for her crown.

Daemon couldn't even remember the last time he had laid with Rhaenyra but Nettles on the other hand was filled with youth, excitement and innocence. She wanted to learn about the world, listened to Daemon with wide eyes and yearned for his touch and soft voice. There was passion when he bedded Nettles, as well as a softness and lightness that he simply couldn't find with his queen anymore. The girl was delicate, fresh as a breeze after a long and heavy summer and of youthful beauty. Just like Rhaenyra was back when she had merely been a woman.

That had been who he had fallen in love with and now in some way Daemon felt as though these memories came back when he was with the young dragonrider. He felt the same way about Nettles as he had felt about his young niece. Protective and caring. Rhaenyra had adored and idolized him and so did Nettles now and her admiration for him as well as her innocence pleased him like nothing else in the world at that moment. Daemon was even almost entirely sure that Rhaenyra herself had taken a lover in her bed, none other than the white worm Mysaria. And he didn't mind either, his queen should do as she pleased while he did as he pleased.

Daemon now ran his hand over her back but returned his eyes to the book in front of him.

"Give me a few minutes, alright love?", he said softly and Nettles looked at him with big eyes.

"Please.", she whispered and his eyes shot to her again, wondering why her voice sounded so weak and thin. Daemon sighed and decided that he probably wouldn't be able to read another page tonight so he put the book on his nightstand and gave his full attention to the girl.

"What is it, sweetling, mhm?", he asked while putting a strand of her dark hair behind her ear and caressing her cheek. "Do you need me?"

Nettles nodded and lowered her head in an attempt to press herself closer to Daemon's rough hand that were marked by years of fighting and yet felt so soft on her skin at the moment.

"Please.", she whined and the prince's lips was drawn to a smile. He leaned forwards and pressed a kiss on her lips. It was just very brief and soft but it made Nettles eager for more.

"Please.", she breathed again. "Want to feel you."

Daemon chuckled quietly and then conncected his right hand with the side of her face so he held the girl's face in both his hands.

"It's alright, love. I'll take good care of you. Don't worry."

His words made Nettles feel the familiar heat between her legs and she pressed them together in order to get some friction which didn't go unnoticed by Daemon. He knew that the girl was flushed and lustful and he wanted to give her what she needed so he took hold of her hips and heaved her light body through the air and laid her on her back.

The prince crawled on top of her and placed his knees between her legs. He pressed her with enough weight into the bed so he could stop her from shifting so relentlessly but not too much so she would feel uncomfortable. Nettles liked it though when she could feel his body so close to hers. It made her feel safe and as if he would never leave or disappoint her. She had this insatiable and deeply rooted need for love, affection, safety and caring as she had never received anything like this from her parents and it was exactly what Daemon gave her. Fundamentally, they were both just two broken people that found in each other what they needed.

Daemon now hovered over the girl as his mouth was connected to hers and his lips gently devoured her. His arms were rested on either sides of her face and Nettles lifted her hips every now and then, an attempt to get some friction as her core burned with desire.

"Please.", her weak voice pleaded though she was not sure what exactly she needed Daemon to do.

"Yes, little girl. I'll give you what you need. Just relax, can you do that for me?" And Nettles knew that she could. She wanted him to be happy with her, praise her and look at her with these warm eyes. She wanted the Daemon that she knew only she got.

Nettles sometimes observed him when Simon Strong hasted to him because there was an urgent matter and she saw the way that he squeezed his eyes. Then the girl smiled to herself because when he made love to her his eyes were fully open and she could see the white in them. They weren't pressed together with suspicion or fury, no, they were soft and gentle.

Now Daemon gently held the side of her neck while she desperately kissed up to him, wanting more and trying to get some relief. And the rogue prince gave it to her, he devoured her lips and then Nettles felt his hands on the lacing of her shirt. He slowly undressed her removing one layer by one until her upper body was bare. She could see his gaze wandering down to watch her breasts and bit on her lower lip.

The first few times that she had laid with him Nettles had sometimes felt nervous and anxious when Daemon looked at her like that. She had felt so exposed and vulnerable but he had always made sure to let her know that there wasn't need to worry and that he thought that she was so pretty and by now Nettles only felt desired and safe with his eyes on her naked skin.

She watched Daemon's face as he softly reached down to take her nipple between his fingers and the young girl slightly parted her lips.

"You don't know how pretty you look like this.", Daemon said, no better grunted with his husky voice. That was exactly the kind of praise that Nettles wanted and needed so she smiled shyly and held on to his shoulders.

Daemon played with her nipples and traced the swell of her breasts as she felt her breath going faster with each minute passing. He was so soft and patient with her, savouring every moment and every inch of her soft brown skin. It made Nettles feel as though she was special, as if her body was meant to be praised. This feeling along with Daemon's touch on her skin got her all flushed and soon her cheeks were burning hot.

Until now he had had his lips on hers but soon they wandered down. He pressed kisses to her neck, some very delicate and some more eager so Nettles might have a little bruise or two in the morrow but never so much that it hurt. Because she hated pain and the rogue prince knew that. She hated it when someone was rough with her, when someone grabbed her arm too forcefully or took a step towards her so fastly that she stumbled backwards. Once the other dragon rider, Ulf, had shoved her out of the way when he had been drunk and Nettles had been scared though she knew that of course he wouldn't hurt her.

But it had been like that ever since she had left her home and Daemon was attentive and didn't do anything that gave her discomfort. And so his mouth remained soft and careful as he nibbled at the girl's skin and then his journey led him further south and his eyes were on the same level as her chest.

First he took her dark perky nipples in his mouth and sucked and toyed with them. They were already hardened and Nettles left out little sighs while his mouth was occupied with her left nipple and his hand took care of the other.

"You're mine little gir.", Daemon whispered close to Nettle's ear which sent shivers down her spine. "Mine to take care of and protect. Just let go and I'll make you feel good."

And then Daemon switched with his mouth to her other nipple to give it the same treatment. Her nipples were all sore and sensitive when the rogue prince was done and he wandered down on her body and Nettles knew what would happen now.

She simply loved when Daemon dived between her legs and his tongue and mouth were so skillfull, she felt as though he knew exactly where to press and push to turn her into a mess. And he seemingly enjoyed it as well.

Daemon always made sure to extensively prepare Nettles for his thick cock. He spent so much time caressing and devouring her skin, touching and kissing every inch of her skin until she pressed her legs together and her core was burning for him. And then most of the times he either used his hands or his mouth on her cunt in order to make sure the girl was all wet and warmed up for him. He made her release so she was slick with arousal and Daemon could take her without any resistance or uncomfortability. There had been times when he was so eager that he couldn't wait for her to come but he had still made sure that Nettles was soaked and could take his cock. That was what the young dragon rider loved so much about him, he made her feel like he payed attention to her and genuinely and without conditions wanted her to feel good.

Now Daemon's mouth drew nearer to her cunt and he softly kissed the girl's inner thighs until he couldn't wait anymore and connected his tongue with her pearl. Nettles whimpered and bit her lip as she watched his head.

"So sweet and pretty.", he growled, licking his lips that were wet from her arousal. And then the rogue prince started to devour her cunt. Always soft and gentle and yet eager in his touch. Sighs and quiet moans left Nettles' mouth and she helplessly held on to the bed sheets.

"Daemon.", she whined with big eyes which made him look up to you.

"Breathe for me, sweet love. Just feel my mouth on you and take it."

Nettles gasped for air and squeezed her eyes as Daemon held back the hood that covered her pearl to directly draw patterns over the nub. She pleaded, repeating his name over and over again and felt herself getting more whiny with each of his flicks on her pearl.

"I love watching you fall apart under me, little one. You're so good for me, my girl. Behaving so well, just like you always do."

His praising only enhanced the pleasure Nettles was experiencing and she shyly held on to his head.

"Please Daemon. Please I-I need you."

"I know, love. Let me take control. I'll give you what you need."

His tongue was determined to make her come in his mouth so he increased his pace and let it flick the girl's little pearl while he shoved two of his fingers inside her cunt so she would be more spread for him later when he fucked her. She inhaled loudly and her mouth formed an 'O'.

"Mhmm my sweet girl.", Daemon growled against her aching pearl. "Your juices are as sweet as nectar. I love taking my time with you. Always so delicate and responsive."

And then his tongue continued its dance and soon the knot in her lower belly tightened. "I-I think I'm gonna – ", Nettles started but couldn't finish the sentence because then she felt the tension fill her body and she shrieked out.

"Yes, little one. That's it." His deep words filled her senses and all the girl could perceive was him, whose praise felt like warm honey dripping down her limbs. He was happy with her, he cared about her and she could trust him with everything from her mind to her body. Pleasure watched over Nettles and she enjoyed every second of it with her head thrown back and her back arched until it had faded away and she remained a panting mess.

Daemon had licked her through it with his tongue ever connected to her pearl but now that she had released he stopped and his mouth left her cunt after he had cleaned her. He didn't want to overstimulate her and give her discomfort so he crawled up to lay on top of the weak girl. When she opened her eyes into his face on the same level as her Nettles whined in an attempt to make him do something. She had just reached her high and yet she wanted him, no matter in what way. She just needed him close so Daemon cupped her face.

"You want more, sweetling.", he growled and it didn't sound like a question so she just watched him with big eyes and reached out with her hand to cling to him. In response Daemon took her hand and enclosed it with his'.

"You want me to fuck your sweet cunt, love?", he whispered and kissed her forehead.

But when Daemon pressed himself against her center her small hands met with where his center pressed against her and she felt the bulge underneath.

"Please. I w-want to taste you.", the girl begged with a whiny and weak voice and Daemon watched the small girl who was already exhausted and needy, not sure whether she could take it. Of course he loved feeling her mouth around him but he wasn't certain if it was such a good idea to fuck her mouth when she was so powerless and submissive. Seeing her like this might do things to his brain and what if he ended up hurting her? What if it would be too much for her and she couldn't take it? Nettles sensed his indecision and pouted up to him.

"Please. Please let me have it, Daemon."

And the rogue prince observed her face and then lifted his eyebrows.

"Only if you're certain, little one. You're feeling a little whiny for me today, mhm?"

His hand gently grabbed her chin and he ran his thumb over her lower lip. "You want me to make the ache go away, don't you? Want me to take care of my favourite little girl."

And she nodded but her eyes remained on the bulge in his pants. "Please.", she breathed and Daemon exhaled.

"Fine. But you'll tell me if you don't like something, yes?"

Nettles nodded eagerly and the prince smiled. Then he sat down with his back against the headboard while the girl crawled to crouch between his legs. Her eyes looked so big and innocent and Daemon ran his thumb over the area under her eyes.

"I love seeing you like this, my sweet dragon." Nettles' smile widened and Daemon slowly opened his pants to free his cock. It stood hard against his abdomen and he hissed when the cool air hit it.

She looked up to him to ask for his permission and once he nodded the girl lowered her head on his member and wrapped her mouth around it. The rogue prince threw his head back and sighed out.

"Seven hells.", he growled and his hand reached out to grab a fistful of her brown hair. Not to hurt her or force her down on his length but to sooth and gently guide her.

"You're doing so good for me, little one. You please me so well. Just like this, yes."

His words made Nettles' body feel filled with fire and lust and at the same time she blushed and wished she could hear these words in her head over and over again.

Nettles knew what Daemon liked by now and skillfully let her tongue dance around his tip while letting his cock slide down her throat again and again. She wanted to take as much as she could and tested her own boundaries. The girls simply wanted to impress him so she went deeper and gagged around him which made Daemon carefully grab her cheeks and make her stop.

"Shhh, sweet girl. Stop. Don't take too much, I don't want to hurt you."

But Nettles whined and made an attempt to lick his length again but he was determined and held her a few inches away from his cock.

"Nettles.", he spoke and her big eyes looked up to him. "I want you to slow down. Don't make yourself gag. I enjoy it just as much when you don't let my entire length down your throat."

The girl nodded but her eyes filled with tears. Daemon quickly leaned down to kiss her gently.

"Shhh, love. It's alright. You're doing so well for me, just don't push yourself too far. I want you to feel good and not gag or choke."

She nodded again and this time looked happier so Daemon didn't stop her when she let his member enter her mouth again. Nettles obeyed him and actually didn't go so deep this time and soon he panted and moaned from the pleasure he was receiving.

"Fuck. Yes, that's right." His eyes were connected with hers all the time because the girl knew how much he liked it when she looked at him while sucking his cock. Daemon caressed her hair and his lips were drawn to a loving smile.

"That's my good girl. So fucking beautiful.", he panted. "Your mouth feels perfect around my cock, little one, like it was made for me."

Nettles twirled her tongue in a way that she knew Daemon liked and he hissed out in response so she did it again.

"Ohhh gods be good. So perfect, sweet girl. The way you give yourself to me. Makes me so proud of you."

She pressed her thighs together and noticed how he got closer to releasing. She was eager to get him to shoot his seed into her throat but Daemon stopped her by holding her head and gently lifting her off his member. Nettles whinced in disapprovement and licked her lip.

"I want to fill you with my load, sweetling.", he whispered. "Wanna save it for your belly."

That made Nettles brighten up and she let him take her by her waist and gently lay her on her back. The prince hovered over her and rested himself on his elbows next to her shoulders. He leaned down to kiss her swollen lips and she pleadingly watched him.

"Please.", Nettles breathed, feeling so empty and yearning for this feeling when he stretched her cunt. Not particulary because it stimulated her very well (Nettles coulnd't reach her high from it alone) but she just loved it when she felt him so close to her. Nothing compared to when he filled her and was pressed so tightly to her heated body.

"Yes, pretty girl. Don't worry. I'll fill you up and stretch your little cunt. Until you'll fall apart."

She couldn't think straight at this point because she was consumed by him and so was he consumed by her.

"I need you Daemon.", Nettles breathed as she felt him guide his cock to her folds. He let the tip circle her pearl and then pushed inside her dripping hole. There wasn't any resistance and yet he gave the girl a moment to adjust. Both of them exhaled loudly and Nettles widened her eyes at the overwhelming feeling.

"Daemon.", she breathed while he soothingly caressed her prickling skin.

"You're taking me so well, love. Such a good girl, Nettles."

Hearing him say her name gave her goosebumps and she lifted her hips to meet his thrusts. Sweat gathered on both their foreheads and Daemon could only lovingly look down to his young lover. She looked delicate, soft and sweet and he felt a possessiveness over her which made him want to protect and own her. She was so pure and innocent and yet passionate and fiery like a real dragon rider. The blood of the dragon simmered in her veins and Daemon could feel that.

He lowered his head and kissed her lips while her hands clung to his shoulders that were bare now as well. Her nails dug into his skin but the prince didn't care. She arched her back in an attempt to get closer to him which was literally impossible but Nettles felt dizzy and drunk with love and desire and her mind was blank. The girl melted underneath him and gasped at each of his deep thrusts.

At some point Nettles felt tears welling in her eyes. Not because she was in pain or felt uncomfortable. Nettles couldn't exactly explain why it happened sometimes but it probably were just these overwhelming and strong emotions that she felt that made her cry. A lot of the time it happened when she felt especially needy and little, as she did today.

The first time it had happened Daemon had slowed down his movements in her cunt when he noticed the crystal clear tears on her skin and had worriedly watched her. "What is it, love? Am I hurting you?", he had asked and Nettles had quickly shook her head and wiped away the teardrops. "N-No. Please go on. I'm fine, I don't know why it happened but I'm fine.", Nettles had assured him but Daemon still hadn't started moving again. "Are you certain, girl?", he had asked again. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable and make you cry." "I don't. I'm comfortable, I don't know why I started crying. It's alright, Daemon. Please. Please take me, I need it.", she then had whined and so he had continued pushing into her cunt.

Since that day Nettles had started crying a few more times while he had bedded her but those times Daemon had just kissed away her tears and had been even more loving and caring towards her. But Nettles hadn't lied to him. Daemon really never hurt her. Perhaps it was just because she sometimes got very needy and emotional when she was getting fucked. Either way, they were both used to it by now so Daemon now just removed her tears with his thumb.

"You're doing so well, my love. Just let go. Don't hold back, I'm right here.", he whispered against her ear with his husky voice. "I'll take care of you, little one."

Then his hand gently pressed again Nettle's lower belly.

"Do you feel me here? Feel me deep inside you perfect tight cunt?"

The girl whimpered while more tears gathered up in the corner of her eyes and she let them fall.

"It's-It's so good, Daemon.", Nettles sniffled weakly and wrapped her arms around his head. His hot breath sent shivers all over her body as his hips snapped into hers over and over again. Each time he hit that spot deep inside of her and she was pushed into the bed. He was still gentle though and Nettles would describe his movements best with 'sensual' and 'intense'. She struggled for breath and Daemon kissed the traces of her tears as well as the new ones coating her cheeks.

"Breathe for me, Nettles. Just breathe and take it. I know that you're my good girl and you're pleasing me so well, darling."

In the meantime Daemon's right hand wandered down between their bodies and when his hand started to rub her little nub Nettles thought that it was too much. All of her senses were stimulated so perfectly with his body snuggled against her, his mouth on her jaw and lips and neck, his cock buried in her so wonderfully and now his hand on her pearl. And then additionally there was his scent that filled her mind and everything felt even more amarous. He smelled of sandalwood and leather and Nettles felt as though there was also the hint of cinnamon. It was her favourite scent in the world.

Daemon's hand on her pearl was relentless and he drove her closer to her high. He brushed over the nub, enclosed it with his fingers and knew exactly what made her squirm. Her legs trembled, sweat was dripping down her face and her words were a incomprehensible mess.

"I want you to come for me, sweet girl.", he purred to her cheek while tasting the saltiness that could either come from her sweat or her tears. "I want you to coat my cock with your juices. Milk me. And then I'll fill this tight cunt of yours to the brim with my seed. Would you like that, pretty girl?"

Nettles nodded and her eyes fluttered. "Please, Daemon. Please I need you, make me yours."

The prince laughed at this and his left hand softly soothed her neck.

"You're already mine, Nettles. And you will be forever. I'll protect you and look out for you and I'll take care of your needs and fill you up when you desire it." His hand circled her pearl. "Come for me, love. You can do it."

And with these words Nettles cried out in ecastasy and her noises were reflected by the tall walls.

"Arghh.", she pressed and arched on her back. Daemon came as well, he squinted his eyes, his seed shot deep inside her cunt and he grunted out as the pleasure hit him. "Oh gods, fuck."

And then everything was silent again and only their deep and fastened pants filled the room. Daemon had collapsed and still laid on top of her but Nettles didn't mind. His face was buried in the crouch of her neck and only after a few minutes did he lift his head to stradle her cheek.

"Good girl.", he whispered croakily and she wrapped her arms around his back.

"Want to be with you.", Nettles mumbled and Daemon smirked. "I'm right here."

"Please let me sleep here.", she said, almost sounding as though she was sulking.

"Of course, sweet love. You know I never send you in your chambers afterwards."

But Nettles glared at him. "You did once."

The prince exhaled and put the messy strands of hair out of her face. "I did it once because I was very tired and hadn't slept well the night before."

The girl didn't know what to answer and so just nibbled at her finger. But soon Daemon already crawled off her which she immediately commented with a disapproving whine.

"I need to get you cleaned, little girl.", Daemon claimed but held her hand tightly in his', knowing very well how whiny Nettles could sometimes be after the act and today seemed to be especially bad.

She nodded with tired eyes, lifted herself from the bed and Daemon walked her over to a chair and guided her to sit down. The girl knew what was coming so she spread her legs while the prince went to grab a wet washcloth. Then he knelt in front of her and used the towel to clean her inner thighs and her cunt which made Nettles twitch from the oversimulation. He ran his hand over her thigh to calm her and after he was done Daemon put away the washcloth and lifted the girl up to carry her back to the bed.

He could sense her state of mind and made sure to be very caring and soft with her so Daemon layed her down on her back and rested right next to her. He pulled Nettles to him and put kisses on her hair while she pressed herself to his chest.

"You did so well, sweet girl.", he whispered and caressed her bare back. "You can rest now, I'll stay right here and keep you safe, love."

The girl slightly tilted her head so she could look in his eyes.

"Promise?", she whispered and Daemon smiled at her.

"Yes. I won't leave you."

Nettles gulped loudly and crouched against his lying figure. "And you'll protect me..."

He held her head closely to his chest and soothed her thick brown hair. "I'll protect you from everyone who wants to harm you, Nettles. You're safe when you're with me, I promise you that."

He felt her head nod against him and looked down to the little creature pressed against him with love in his eyes. She seemed to be content with his words because he saw that she had closed her eyes and her breathing was steadier and so Daemon held her and caressed her head and back way after she had fallen asleep.

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aliorsboxostuff · 2 years ago

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Hi Alex I hope you're doing alright:) can you do platonic headcanons for Kurt Wagner X genderfluid mutant reader who can bend metal. . ( reader is friendly, smart & introverted ) , I'd appreciate if you include the coming out part

That's it, thank you:)<3

A/N Ahhh platonic headcanons. I always end up writing fics instead of the headcanons but I hope you like this anon! I always love writing for Kurt, that boy has a special place in my heart <3

Trinkets

Tags: Kurt Wagner and Reader, Platonic relationship, Betfriends, XMCU fanfic, Pietro Maximoff, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Jubilation Lee, Mention of Cherik, Introverted reader, Kurt our fav blue boy, Everyone is gay, probably, definitely, growing relationship, headcanons, coming out

A little Headcanon and story of how you and Kurt became best friends.

Kurt was your tour guide when you first arrived

When Kurt heard about your mutation, he becomes very interested to learn about you (because the only other mutant who can bend metal is the Professors husband and he’s arguably scarier)

Definitely fascinated by Kurt's power and physique in general, gushing about his sharp tail and sharp nails

Both you and Kurt were a bit of a stuttering mess with each other's fascination, but eventually laughed it off as you got closer

Once comfortable in the university, you gravitate towards Kurt most of the time, hanging out with him and his group, mostly with Jubilee, Pietro, Jean, and Scott.

The group calls you the ‘Less Scary Magneto’ and has adopted you into the extroverted group, their 2nd introvert.

Joined Pietro on pulling a prank on Logan, ended up failing, Kurt saved you but couldn’t save Pietro

Never joining Pietro on a prank again unless Kurt joins too

Was so happy when your room is across the half from Kurts, and just a couple of rooms from the others

Saturday nights at Jubilee’s room, hanging out and just unwinding from the busy study week

Paints Kurt's nails with any colors he wants (Kurt does the same for you)

Makes the group little metal jewelry, bracelets, and rings

Sometimes leaves little metal trinkets around Kurt's room

If Kurt comes over to you and asks if you intentionally left something in his room, you’ll just give it to Kurt as a gift

Kurt has a jar full of said trinkets

Definitely do study sessions with Kurt and Jean, sometimes the other three would join.

You once mended a metal seat into the ground to keep Pietro in place because he needed to study for finals. The others laughed when obviously didn't work. You gave up since you can't waste metal chairs.

Spends most of the afternoon in the library with Kurt, reading a lot of books and helping Kurt with any English words he might not be familiar with

Has a favorite part of the library where anyone can guarantee you and Kurt could be found there

Could be found with Kurt in the training ground below the school

Secretly really happy the group doesn't see you as your physical body

When the first Pride Month rolled around in the Xaviers Institute, you were very excited to see how many queer students were.

The students threw a party that first week of Pride, filling the school's gym with snacks and colorful balloons, rainbow decorations, and someone was a Dj there too

Kurt and you were surprised that the Professor and Magneto showed up, but regardless very happy to see them together

You escaped the crowded place when Kurt decided to teleport both of you to the school's roof, the party downstairs still loud

Up with the cold breeze of the evening's air, you came out to Kurt as Genderfluid

Patient Kurt Wagner, Always accepting Kurt Wagner, he pulled you into a hug and was very glad you're comfortable enough to come out to him

Spent the rest of the night with your best friend and pointing out stars

#kurt wagner and reader #kurt wagner x gn!reader #kurt wagner x male reader #kurt wagner #xmcu fanfic #xmen kurt wagner #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner famfoc #xmen fanfiction

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i-love-my-boyfriend · 2 years ago

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last name.

summary: everybody calls u by ur last name, hoping that ur last name turned into his.

"hi [last name]!" "[last name]! hey over here!" "yo [last name]."

it's not that i'm bothered by it but when did this all start? after all, i do have an first name. all these racing around my head. i don't know why do i become so hyperfocused on something i can't necessarily control? it's just a name.

"hey [last name]!" i look up from my phone, a familar voice speaking out in contrast to the loud classroom.

"how did u do on the math test last week?" he looks back from the desk he's sitting at, smiling and waiting for what i'm about to say.

i sigh, knowing my response. "i got an 83%. not horrible but this is the worst test grade i've gotten so far."

"ahh. yeah that math unit was hella hard. i'm pretty sure our whole GRADE was confused." he also sighs, looking out the window.

i zone out, focusing on his features. although we've been friends for 2 years, i've always admired him from a far. not only his face but how he is as a person. i've never seen him ever yell, get mad or anything. it's like he's never had any flaws.

i'm taken out of my enchantment as the bell rings. great.

"good morning everyone! the bell has rung, which is our cue to learn!" honestly, how is my math teacher so peppy, even in the morning?

i watch him turn around to face front, his fluffy hair blocking my view.

there is just something about him. his face, his personality, his hair. all of it creates a huge whirly feeling inside my chest.

i'm sure this is what love feels like but why? i've been friends with him for 2 years. to have not felt something like this within that time? or maybe i have always felt this type of feeling in my body.

you're becoming hyperfocused on yourself again. oopsies. moving on.

i've always thought about the future, my future. who i would have as friends and who i wouldn't. my house, my job, my husband and kids. trying to imagine all those things is hard but i still find myself to include him in all those categories, especially the husband department.

over the next couple days, the thought of him as my boyfriend and husband has been eating at me. i mean how could i ignore it? i talk to him everyday, see him everyday. it's like i can't escape him.

just the thought about being called 'mrs. [his last name]' has me kicking my feet. i think at this point, with the amount of thinking i have done over him, i need to accept the fact i am in love with this idiot.

"[last name], you okay? you look like really out of it." oops, forgot i was at lunch. wish i was in my own little bubble, away from the world.

"huh? oh yeah sorry, just thinking." i chuckle nervously.

he speaks up. "oooh thinking about what?" he wiggles his eyebrows, up and down.

"oh my god, shut up." i slap his shoulder. "it's not like that. just thinking about future is all."

"am i in it?" wiggling his eyebrows, again.

yes, you are. and in it, i'm your loving, patient, supportive wife, with your last name. mrs. [his last name].

author note: hello everyone! this is my first post. i don't write often so if you have any (constructive) criticism, please let me know abt how i can improve my writing! i also write on my phone and without autocorrect sooo sorry if there any misspelled worda throughout. thank u for reading and hope ur doing well :).

#romance #fluff #imagine #love scenarios #reader insert #gender neutral reader #reader x crush #crush x y/n #crush imagines #no fandom #friends to lovers

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swallowedbyfandom · 3 months ago

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My beloved son,

I must say the getaway you arranged for Portia was a splendid gift. She was extremely touched by your gesture. I would know, I was over for tea when your letter arrived. I was surprised you would go to such lengths to show your appreciation for your new mama as you have never done something so grand for your old mama.

I am sure you did not mean to slight me. You would never put me in the position of having the other mama's in the Ton gossip about how you fawn over your new mama. Of course not, you are too thoughtful a son to ignore the woman who gave you life. You would never disappoint me in such a manner.

I am sure you are arranging something equally as impressive for me. It must just be taking you a little longer to set up my surprise. Do not worry. I can be patient, so long as not too much time passes.

Expectantly,

Your mother

Mother,

How could you doubt me? I am your most charming son, of course I have something in the works for you. Please be at ease.

If you must know I just wanted to show my regard for Portia's struggles. I know she has been abrasive and cruel in the past. I am not justifying her behavior. However that cruelty, and the fearsome reputation she garnered kept them safe. She kept my wife safe from the less scrupulous men in society. Whom may have believed my tiny wife easy prey. Let us be honest Baron Featherington left his Ladies vulnerable even before his passing. That they managed as well as they did for as long as they did, can be attributed to how cut throat and manipulative Portia was.

Did you know shortly after my wife debuted, Lord Featherington meant to settle one of this many debts with her hand in marriage? Fortunately after he notified Portia of his decision he took a tumble down the stairs while intoxicated. He had an attack of conscience thereafter and promptly decided to leave the marital decisions up to Portia. I admire that, mama.

Also Mr. Finch, is the worst, I swear. He told on me! He ran off and snitched. He even sent a letter taunting me! He had the gall to claim he had stolen my title as Portia's favorite son. As if I could be displaced so easily. You know how competitive I can be. This is the perfect way to one up Albion and to allow Portia a chance to relax.

There is a code that gentleman must follow. A sacred part of that code is not repeating the tomfoolery that happens in a gentlemen's club. I must avenge my honor. I shall not be defeated by some cheese monger.

Yours always,

Col

Dearest Colin,

It is lovely to see you are bonding with your new brother. Do be careful not to overwhelm Mr. Finch. Most people(sane people) are not as competitive as you and your siblings. Do be careful that your freud with Mr. Finch doesn't get too out of hand. The last thing we need is sweet Penelope getting caught in the crossfire.

I shall be gracious and allow you to forego a grand gesture. In exchange you will send over my grand babies for the next four weekends. I need more cuddle time with my sweet darlings. You can use that time to pamper your wife.

Hugs and kisses,

Your mama

Husband,

I apologize for falling asleep midway through our conversation. I see you are out with your brothers and I will likely be sleeping again before you return. So here are my thoughts.

Colin you have 8 sisters, 2 mamas, 4 nieces, a wife, and a daughter and still you have much to learn about women. That is a trap. I repeat it is a trap. Do not walk into it. You cannot forego a gesture. You will purchase your mama an elegant cameo, with a disgustingly excessive floral arrangement. Then and only then, will you accept her offer for babysitting. It would not hurt to arrange an outing for just the two of you.

I can entertain my apprentice and Gregory while you both have a day out. It would be nice to plan an adventure for Gregory and Hyacinth before he goes off to Elton.

Yours always,

A sleepy wife

#bridgerton #polin #violet bridgerton #unhinged colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #fanfic #unhinged bridgertons

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feuerscram · 5 days ago

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I'm still obsessed with Jekyll & Hyde and since I have no one irl to speak about it, I'm coming back to ramble way too much about it here.

(Warning: I wrote it at least a month ago, for several days and I literally wrote everything that went through my head because I thought it was funny. It may not be, idk, anyway you have been warned now.)

Let's talk about Lisa/Emma from the musical! (I call her Lisa for the rest of the post.)

Firstly, I find extremely funny that the musical's creators decided to make Jekyll marry the daughter of the only man Hyde killed in the book, and also their decision to make Hyde kill a whole lot of people, but not this one who is canonically killed, is hilarious.

In my other Jekyll & Hyde post, I said that Lisa is a queen, and I will die on that hill, even if at the time I hadn't exactly listened closely to her songs's lyrics. Now I have, so I hope what I say will be more accurate!

Let's get the obvious out the way: yes, Lisa's whole character has been created to be one of Jekyll's love interest. Yes, that restrain her possible evolution. Yes, it can make her character seem dull and flat, especially considering Lucy, another original character of the musical and also love interest of Jekyll, whose backstory is way more complex (at first glance at least).

But you guessed it, I really like Lisa, Carolee Carmello has the voice of an angel, and thus I won't let her be a dull and flat character.

To get started, I think Lisa Carrew is a really interesting figure of a woman from the upper class of the 19th century (although probably not an accurate one). She fit perfectly in the picture we have of the perfect woman: she's kind, patient and supportive of her husband-to-be's dream. At first, we could have expect her to not have any dream herself, which is proven wrong in her very first song the show : she says herself in Possessed "But I, too, have dreams! Maybe not as grand as yours or hard to understand as yours but nonetheless my dreams!". The problem here is that we don't know what these dreams are, and a way to fill the blank could be to say that she want to be married to Jekyll and to found a family with him. The foremost is clearly right, but the later we can't be sure of. Frankly we can make imagine everything: maybe she wants to travel the world, maybe she wants to be rich, maybe she wants a good reputation, maybe she wants to work with Jekyll, maye she wants to take care of a houshold, maybe she wants to become a lawyer or anything really. (Most of these possibilities are trash, I know, don't worry). What I mean is, we have almost no way to know more about Lisa's expectation in life when only listening to the Original Concept Recording (like me).

But there's one song that is enough to brought this almost bland character we know nothing about to a whole other level: and this song my friends, is Lisa Carew.

(Surprising that we learn the most about her in the song that bears her name, isn't it?)

In this song, Lisa is discussing with Simon Stride, who is obviously in love with Lisa (or at least want to have her for himself) and hates Jekyll with his whole heart. Not so surprinsingly, he tries to convince her that she is wasting her life and that she really shouldn't marry Jekyll, because 'he's not right for you, you can do so much better than that (me for example)' and yada yada.

Lisa's first answers as his little tantrum is to say that she is an adult woman who makes her own choice freely and thus he has no say to what she does. (To which I would say: Go for it girl! You tell him!) We also learn that she has lost her mother at a young age and that her father would rather keep her safe with him all his life. At which she says, 'nope! I'll go live my life, dad'. Also she tells Stride that he is certainly not her father and that she won't accept his patronizing, because she doesn't need him, thank you very much.

Let's talk about how she puts Stride in his place now! Man, the gut she's got for turning him off like that! She's very clear: no means no Sir. And the coldness with she address him! She couldn't have been more obvious when she pushes him away. At the end of the song, it's not even 'Simon' like in her first verse, it's only 'Sir', and frankly Simon, you're dense if you don't understand that she doesn't want you. And he is, of course he is. Or he just doesn't care. Which isn't better, let's admit it.

We have two important ideas here: Lisa wants to be free, she wants to do what she wants to do, and she doesn't depend on anyone to make her own choices. And that's where she is really interesting for an upper class woman of the 19th century: for a woman, being able to choose what life she will have and with who isn't a given. (That's probably where you see that Sire Carew is a good dad.)

Also in this song she says "In Henry's eyes, I see what I am meant to be", which is probably a forshadowing of the song In His Eyes, and we love foreshadowing here, so let me tell what I want even if it's completely unrelated with the topic. That's my post, no one will read it, I'm saying what I want. Na.

But this verse is also interesting, because she seems to find a meaning in life in Henry, which is probably something I have to dwell on.

I should really start to stop writing this in several days and write in one go instead because the more I think, the more I realise that I may be wrong on a lot of things about Lisa. Which is fine! She's still a character I love.

Because now, after literally three days of writing this post instead of writing something about my Gravity Falls AU, I have something to say about Lisa's love for Jekyll, rather than just "yes, Lisa really loves Jekyll, and that's really sweet but I have nothing to say about that." Which is sad considering I'm actively trying to write a whole ass essay about her character.

I have realised that she is just as obsessed as her dear Jekyll. Only, she isn't obsessed with a project, with a dream, she's obsessed with Jekyll. Which is obvious, probably.

I won't make a review of all her songs, because they are without a doubt all about her love for Henry Jekyll, and maybe that's enough to prove she's obsessed, but like I said before, her character has been created to be in love with Jekyll. What's interest me now is how it can be read as an obsession. So let's see the lyrics that tends to show this obsession:

‌In Possessed, she says "I live to see that dream come true, My world consists of it and you". So yes, in this song she tries to make Jekyll see that she has needs too (and that's something she's right to do and that he needs to hear), but she also says that her whole world turns around Jekyll.

‌In Lisa Carew of course, she says "In Henry's eyes, I see what I am meant to be!", so she finds a meaning of life in Jekyll, in Jekyll love for her and in her love for him.

‌Okay, there's less line like these one than I though. Maybe she isn't so obsessed. But still, in the song In his eyes, we learn that she is well aware that Jekyll can be dangerous, that he can lie to her, that she should probably turn away and find someone else. But she doesn't, because she loves him. "Everything worth living for Is there, in his eyes!" For me that sounds like someone who is aware of their obsession and who willingly chooses to ignore that it could very well not be pretty in the end.

She is less obsessed than Jekyll, that's for sure. She can still have an obsession for him. But that's also because her obsession is less powerful that she survives at the end, even if it's Jekyll who gives her a reason to live.

But that's also support my original idea, the very reason I wanted to write this post: Lisa may be in love with Jekyll because of the freedom he gives her.

Remember, in Lisa Carew, she somehow describes her father like an overprotective one, and Mr. Carew admit himself in Letting Go that letting her go is "the last thing in life [he]'ll ever want[s] to do". Getting married is a way for her to become free, and she can't stress enough to Stride that she's not a "weak young thing" nor "someone seventeen, obedient and sweet". Jekyll in this aspect is the perfect opposite of Stride: he have absolutely no interest in controlling Lisa, honestly he just wants her to let him pursuing his experiments. And if Lisa wasn't so in love with him, she could see how much time and freedom he would let her have! I think he would give her the attention she seeks too (when he's not absorbed by his research), but he won't be breathing behind her back and spying on everything she does like Stride would probably have.

That's probably cruel of me to say that, but at the end of the show, she is married, so she isn't under her father's guardiandship, and since Jekyll just died, she isn't under his guardianship either. She is as free as a woman from the 19th century can be. Her dream to live with her loved one is now inacheavable, but she is finally free. And I headcanon that having this freedom is one of the dreams she's talking about in Possessed.

This could be the end of my little meaningless essay. But no! There's always more to say.

In term of symbolism, I think Lisa is the only character of the whole show who doesn't wear a façade.

And when you think ot it, it's probably what makes her character so interesting. In this society, appearance are everything, no one can show their true self without being immediatly eaten by other, people are divided into two side of the same coin, their true selves and the persona they have created for everyone else to see. It's the very theme of the show, the very thing that Jekyll is trying to destroy. And yet, even he wears a façade, even he doesn't say what he thinks of people like Stride when in public (as we can see in The Engagement Party).

Maybe Utterson doesn't wear a façade either, but we know too little about him to know for sure. At least, dealing with hypocrites doesn't seem to set him off. In The Engagement Party again, he seems like a fisch in water (or at least he's not the one who brings about a dramatic change in the music.)

Lisa on the other hand, is always very clear about what she wants and about what she thinks of people's actions. She says repeatedly that she wants to marry Jekyll, that she loves him and that she will defend him until the end. She says very clearly that she won't change her mind and that nobody, not even her father, can make her. She doesn't sugarcoat Stride when she pushes him away: she finds him boring, and she tells him. She finds her father unjust with Jekyll in Your work and nothing more and she calls him unkind. Not once in the whole show she appears like something she's not. Even in The Wedding Reception she doesn't hide her fears, and she stays true to her conviction that Jekyll is here and that he wouldn't hurt her, that he wouldn't kill her.

In the end of the day, Lisa is a strong woman who seeks freedom, love and belongong. She thought she had found it in the person of Jekyll, which explains her unwavering faith in him. And until the very end, she is the only one who stays true to her faith, and to herself in the process.

I can know say that I have said everything I could think of about Lisa, and if someone read this, well, congratulations for coming this far! Here, have a cookie 🍪. I hope you'll have a good day/night, bye-bye!

#the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #jekyll & hyde the musical #jekyll and hyde #character analysis

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bloodyarn · 11 months ago

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𝕆ℂ 𝕄𝔼𝕄𝔼

tagged by @anderwelt [ You are absolutely crazy but I love a challenge so lesgo !!! ]

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꒰ 𝗕𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 ꒱

Full name: Babette Adeline Ziromzu Gender: Female Sexuality: Bisexual + Biromantic Pronouns: She/her

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꒰ 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ꒱

Birthplace: Baldur's Gate Job: Seamstress Phobias: Everything with more than four legs. She is the token example of someone who hates bugs. Spiders and moths are her arch nemesis. Guilty pleasures: Gossiping and sweet baked goods. Combine both and you make her day.

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꒰ 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐒 ꒱

Alignment: Lawful good.

Sins:

Aimless: Babette never really learned to do her own thing besides following orders or occasionally working on own little projects in the past. The first thing she wanted to do after the Nautiloid accident is to go home because she was shit scared of what to do else. Imagine a house cat suddenly dropped off in the wild and having to figure things out. She only knows how to be a seamstress, thus her goal was and is reaching the city. Blue-eyed: Oftentimes, she refuses to believe one would have only ill intentions. She gives chances way too often and wouldn't it be for her companions, this most likely would have cost her her head in the past. Impressionable: You can talk her into almost anything. Refusing commands only led to bad outcomes in her childhood. One example would be when the party arrives at the Gate and meets their first Steel Watcher, Babette was pretty much convinced it was a great idea and a wonderful change to have these machines walking around the city. Even after destroying the facility, she was sure Gortash had good intentions in making the city safer. She is a bit slow . . .

Virtues:

Forgiving: The kind of good part of being blue-eyed is that she does not hold a grudge for too long. She can very much be explossive if someone did her wrong but the girl is not one to not accept an apology. Compassionate: Compassion was a huge deal in her childhood. Her sisters had to stick together, a friendship of seven that was even bound by blood. Caring for others and helping them out comes naturally. Polite: Babette comes from a rich family. Politeness is her bread and butter. She even worked at the shopfront for a long time before turning into a hexblood and has exceptional negotiation skills.

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꒰ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 ꒱

Introvert / Extrovert

Organized / Disorganized

Close-minded / Open-minded

Calm / Anxious / Restless

Disagreeable / Agreeable / In between

Cautious / Reckless / In between

Patient / Impatient / In between

Outspoken / Reserved / In between

Leader / Follower / Flexible

Empathetic / Unempathetic / In between

Optimist / Pessimist / Realist

Traditional / Modern / In between

Hard-working / Lazy

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꒰ 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 ꒱

This is a hard one since I did not create Babette with shipping intent. The following answers are my gut feeling and what I imagine could be cute. The ships are in nor specific order, just babbling about it. Why I definitely ship her with non canon muses from BG3, I will only name canon characters here.

OTP:

✮ Gale : You can tell me what you want but they would click in my opinion. Not knowing how to handle his whole Mystra problem at first, he would still have an open ear that listens to his problems unconditionally. Funnily enough, Babsi would remind Gale to take things easy after every fight because of the orb, not entirely understanding how it works but still trying to be of help. It would probably often end up in conversations like ❝Hey, it's alright, I can lift this myself.❞ ❝Oh, but the ORB Gale. Better safe than sorry. I help you.❞. What only fuels this whole ship is that Gale is the token husband her mother always told her children about. He is smart, kind, polite, influential. This definitely plays a big role in her preferences too. Godhood would be sad and hard. I don't think Babette would try and talk him out of it. He often sounds reasonable, and if the best outcome is becoming god, in his opinion, she will nod like ❝Oh you have a point, that makes sense.❞. Yes, it would break something inside her but who is she to object? He is the smart guy. ⚔︎ Wyll : She is a hopeless romantic. Wyll would have the easiest fucking game. The woman never learned how to dance - perfect opportunity to bond. And oh dear lord would she bond. She could also relate to a degree with his family problems, ending up feeling a huge amount of empathy for Wyll and invested in helping him where she can. What many people (somehow) judge him for is that he is so untruthful in the beginning. Not a big deal for her. That girl won't call him out, she understands very well. Hells, when babette joins, she is disguised as a tiefling herself for the first few long rests, fearing to be treated differently if people found out about her pact and her hexblood ancestry. I feel strongly about them.

Acceptable Ships:

🗡 Astarion : Obviously a good contenter. Girl is easily manipulable which makes her a perfect target in act 1 but I think the whole plot between them can turn out awfully sweet when the journey goes on. Babette canonically also volunteers to being a bloodbank after Tav found out about him being a vampire spawn for the group's sake lmao. Not because she finds the idea hot, just so Astarion doesn't have to be hungry. ⛓ Karlach : Babette can easily fall victim to the big lady's confidence and the charm that lies behind it. Since touch is a huge thing for her in a relationship, romantic or not, she would be more than eager to try and figure out how to handle the infernal engine and the whole Avernus spiel. There is also just a huge itch that is being scratced about big strong woman and petite small one. Imagine the huuugsss *melts* *like litererally because Karlach, ya know ya know?* Note: Ships don't only have to be companions. I just picked them to keep it clean and consistent. I am a huge sucker for clashing personalities. Gortash for example could be interesting, since she is awfully easy to manipulate. Volo is more of a crackship but still awfully fun to think about! Apparently Rolan made it into the roster too [thanks Bean ig uwu']. If you want me to write some more about it feel free to boop me :)

OT3: Babette does not really enjoy the idea of polygamy so I will leave this blank :x

Brotp:

ฅ Minsc: Bimbo and himbo. These two share one single braincell and would be seen talking and theorizing about the most mundane shit. She would always call him first when there is a big bug in her tent and I believe he would be elated to help on this mighty quest. They are both not the brightest in the most charming way possible. Babette would be around his tent a whole lot just to hear about battles and stories.

Notp: Wulbren Bongle >:( We hate Wulbren Bongle in this household.

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꒰ 𝗕𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 ꒱

Let me just ctrl + v the backstory here :3c

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𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓[ ✂ ] [CW: Child labor]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝘆𝐨𝘂𝐧𝐠𝐞𝘀𝘁 𝐨𝐟 𝘀𝐞𝘃𝐞𝐧 𝘀𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝘀. Babette was born into a strict family. Playing outside like her peers, getting dirty in puddles on the street after summer rains, nothing that she could afford. It was her own mother, who treated their children like workers, teaching them knitting, crocheting, sewing only to prepare them to ’help out the family’. Both of her parents endured a childhood in poverty. It was their way of keeping the family’s life standards above average, no matter the cost.

The girl had trouble, picking up the family’s craft. Never terrible but never perfect either. A wrong stitch here, a forgotten button on a vest, keep your gods damned head together ! Why couldn’t she be as good as her sisters ? Why does mother threaten to send her off, send her to an orphanage, if kind enough ?

No matter how long Babette practiced, time only rewarded her with more bloody pokes in her hands. Clumsy. Slow. Lazy.

A hag got wind from the girl’s troubles and bitter thoughts. Babette’s fears enlightened, amused the fey. Sweet-talking her way into the child’s heart, feigning compassion, offering solutions, quick ones. One of their circle was killed recently. A replacement was needed. If the young lady would agree to a pact, she would gain impeccable skills in her craft. Everyone would be enticed by her future works, the needle like a brush to the artist. Only a small touch of her own body, a hair, a droplet of blood in her work, would do the trick. In return, the seamstress would comply to turn into a hag, one of the arch fey’s kin, in time.

And the desperation cried louder than the girl’s common sense. The need for admiration, for praise, was too much to bear living without it any longer.

Babette left the forest with a crown.

A token of her pact.

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𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓

𝐀𝘁 𝐟𝐢𝗿𝘀𝘁, 𝘁𝐡𝐢𝘀 𝐛𝐚𝗿𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝘄𝐢𝘁𝐡 𝘁𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝗿𝐜𝐡𝐟𝐞𝘆 𝘄𝐚𝘀𝐧'𝘁 𝐛𝐚𝐝; 𝐧𝐨𝘁 𝐚𝘁 𝐚𝐥𝐥. The pact altered the girl's appearance; hair & skin now holding a soft lavender tone, pale and almost sickly. The eldercross around her head now one with her body. Hers, just like the fey blood pumping through her veins. After the first shock settled when returning to her family, it didn't take long for her parents to see the potential of their youngest child. Only by attaching something from Babette, sewing in a hair between fabric, the craft would carry a mesmerizing touch. Clearly, anything would sell now. Obviously, the nestling was a pot of gold.

Did she really have the privilege to argue about it now ? About that exploit, which only got worse because of decisions, made with her own intentions ?

Her work for her family continued, happy to help, happy to be needed at least. It was . . . strangely nice.

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𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐇

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝘄𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝘁 𝗿𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝗿 𝘁𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝘄𝘀, 𝘁𝐡𝐞 𝘄𝐡𝘆𝘀, 𝘁𝐡𝐞 𝘄𝐡𝐞𝗿𝐞𝘀. Stranded, far away from her hometown, she found herself at shore. The devastating pulsing inside her head, the twirling of her vision, the nausea. Everything was scary. Not only that, but finding herself anywhere else instead of home made her anxious. Her appearance could easily be identified as a hag in the making, her reason why she disguised herself as long as needed.

Following a group of tiefling refugees on their way to the Emerald Grove, Babette blended in marvelously. From there, the hexblood would have to find a way to Baldur's Gate. The thought about . . . returning . . . seemed strange. An awkward stir and turn. It inflicts worry and second thoughts. Maybe This was a sign. Maybe it was just foolish.

Whatever the future brings, it is inevitable anyway.She should stop thinking and start following her instincts.

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I am not tagging anyone but feel free to do it too! It was awfully fun and I most likely will link this somewhere in my pinned. ♥

#✂ ˚ camp activities ˚⠀⠀/ dash games .#✂ ˚ It lays in the mind ˚⠀⠀/ hc .#tysm for tagging me I had a blast doing this ;w;

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ladysternchen · 3 months ago

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“What are you doing, my love?”

Beren’s voice sounded mildly amused, which Lúthien chose to ignore as she placed the lamp before their door, playing for time. Would it be easier, she wondered, to play astounded and claim that they had put the lantern up every year since Dior had been born, after all, rather than admit to her behaviour being strange, now that they were all gone from Tol Galen? It was, after all, a tale that the Secondborn told, Lúthien reminded herself firmly, and she herself most certainly did not believe in it.

“It has become a tradition, has it not?” she replied evenly, opting for something of a mid-way between the two.

Beren chuckled some more.

“Verily. But it is a children’s tale, and alas, the children are no longer here.”

“No.” Lúthien agreed, bending down to light the flame within.

The evening seemed to have gone suddenly cold, even though it had been an unusually warm day. But the chill of being left behind, nothing could chase away.

“They will be alright.”

Beren’s grip on her shoulders was firm, and she fled into his embrace, doing her best to ignore how age had already started to bend him like a gnarled tree, had made his joints stiff and his bones brittle.

She knew not whether the gloom that gripped her was foresight or just the age-old grief that ailed all Elvenkind when autumn passed slowly towards winter and took all life with it, but in any case, she could not bring herself to answer her husband.

“Let us go inside.” she said instead, shivering slightly. “It is getting cold.”

~~~

“We do what?” Elmo asked aghast, making Elu wince slightly. This was not the way one spoke to the lord of Mandos, and though Elmo’s manners had not been his problem for many thousand years, it still made him blush. Or it would have done, had he had a body. His embarrassment notwithstanding, he too was sure that he had misheard Lord Námo’s words, and by the incredulous expression on his face, Mablung could not believe his ears either. Surely this could not be true? How could it be, when not so much as a whisper of it had ever reached his ears?

Námo, however, seemed not at all surprised at their astonishment, for surely he had been met with it many times before, both on this evening and in the uncounted evenings that had proceeded it.

“You will not remember.” He said calmly, as though there had been no interruption. “No Fëa in these halls will know aught of it tomorrow. And still it is the first -and most important- step to acceptance. And without acceptance, there can be no true healing, no growth of the mind. Fear not what you may see, fear no grief nor pain. Olórin here is a servant of my sister, and he will guide you and keep you from going astray. You will not remember.”

And with these words, he moved on, leaving Elu, Elmo and Mablung to bow hastily before him.

“Shall we, then?”

Elu had not noticed the Maia before, the one whom Námo had named Olórin. Memories stirred, swirling out of his reach like furls of dust on water. Melian had spoken of Olórin to him, Elu was sure of it, but try as he might, he could not recall it. He had learned the hard way that one left not only one’s body behind at death, and that things like time and memory worked very differently within the Halls.

“Memory will return to you, Elwë.” Olórin said gently, making it very clear that he had been listening to Elu’s thoughts. “You only have to be patient. This first year marks too raw an experience for almost everyone to reclaim lordship of their senses. It will be easier after tonight.”

None of them spoke as Olórin cloaked each of them in a cloak that shimmered in every colour and yet none, a fabric clearly of Lady Vairë’s weaving. Olórin proved Elu right soon thereafter, when he explained to them that these cloaks were made to shield the unclad Fëar on their journey. At last, he also handed each of them a small lantern, glowing within with a light Elu knew well. It was the same light that seemed to shine within those one loved and sought within the Halls, visible only to the eye of the seeker. Lady Nienna called it ‘The Light of Love’, and Elu very much liked the term. It was this light that had guided him to his brother, and Mablung, too, when the recently fallen Fëar had been called before the throne of Mandos. Much though it grieved him to know that Elmo and Mablung had died so soon after him, that in fact they had gone after him, their grief too vast to bear, having them by his side still was a comfort beyond words now, as they were about to set out onto this unlikeliest of journeys- his little brother, whom he had ever kept close, and Mablung, who had never once left his side in life safe by his order.

“Where to shall we go?” Mablung asked in a subdued voice once they were clear of the Halls, making their way through Lórien among all the other bouncing lights.

“That is up to you to decide. I shall come with you regardless of where you go. Most decide to go where they found their death first, but that is by no means a rule.”

The three looked at each other.

“To Menegroth, then.”

It was strange to cross the sea once more, and stranger still to move in the world one had so long walked bodiless, free from the confines of time and space. Ghostly bridges seemed to lead them over the sea, many of them, arising from the waves before their feet and sinking back into them soon after they had passed.

It seemed to take no time at all to cross Belegaer, and soon they saw the ships of the Falathrim sailing among them, lights upon the prows, passing close by. Elu knew whom he would see on one of those ships, knew that their strange bridge would have lead them straight to Círdan. Farewell indeed.

Elmo sought Elu’s hand as they at last beheld their cousin, standing under the light cast by the lamp, looking grim and tired. If only there was a way to reach him, to comfort him. But this they could not, and so they had no choice but to watch his ship pass into the evening-mists and out of sight, and continue on their way with heavy hearts.

Covering the many leagues between the shore and the River Aros took them just as unsettlingly little time as crossing the sea, and beyond Aros lay still the forest of Region. Elu’s heart ached as they passed through what had so long been the Girdle. He still felt its remains, like one ghost greeting another in the quickly falling darkness. There were guards, many of them, many more than he himself had once placed upon their boarders. It was good to see that his people had accustomed already to being unshielded, and that Dior knew how to keep their kingdom safe.

They reached the Esgalduin almost too soon, and trod now on paths that were so achingly familiar that it marked a physical pain not to linger.

This had been home.

When they reached the gates of Menegroth, Elu could not go on, and nor could Mablung, and so Elmo and Olórin halted, too and gazed upon the hill in sorrow. The horse of a guard spooked as it felt their gaze, so they quickly averted it.

Now he came to think of it, there had always been a time in autumn where the animals seemed to have been restless, but he had never thought that they quite literally were seeing ghosts. Elu glanced at his brother. Had Galadhon visited them, then? Had he wandered among them once more without their knowing, and Thônwen, Celebren and all the others, without them being any the wiser? Oh, this was a thought that was as cruel as it was beautiful.

And Melian? Had she known? Surely, if she had, she would have spoken to him of it, would have told him. Unless, of course, she was forbidden to speak of the matter, which, upon consideration, she probably was. But Elu could not think of his wife just now. It hurt too much.

Laughter tore Elu from his silent musings, and he watched with renewed pain in his heart as the two boys frolicked around on the bridge, throwing leaves at each other, before his eyes wandered on to Dior and Nimloth, and Galathil, who carried his little granddaughter. Little Elwing was the image of her mother in face, but her hair was raven as Lúthien’s. Oh, how they had looked forward to getting the news of her birth, so much so that the anticipation had pierced even through Elu’s madness and obsession. But alas, this had not been fated to be.

Elmo eyed Elwing with equal emotions displayed on his face, prompting Elu to lay an arm around his brother’s shoulders. So he had not met the baby, either. Elu had feared that.

Dior now placed a lamp onto the steps that lead up to the doors, a lamp that was oddly reminiscent of the lamps that they themselves carried, with the same light burning inside it, though surely… surely that must be a normal candle? Why then did it shine so strangely then? Elu glanced at Olórin, but the Maia only smiled mysteriously.

“Do you think they will come?” the boys now asked their father, having come to a halt at last.

Dior and Nimloth both smiled down at them, each ruffling one of the twin’s hair.

“’tis a human tale, Eluréd. But who knows? It seems wrong not to put out a lantern on this day, and it will most certainly do no harm. But whether they visit us or not, we can still remember them tonight, and hope that our love crosses the sea, and reaches them in Mandos. But let us go inside now. There is a feast waiting for us.”

With that, Dior turned to take his daughter out of his father-in-law’s arms.

“You must think this lantern so very foolish, and it surely is, as the idea of the spirits of the fallen revisiting us one more time on this day is a mortal fairytale, but…”

“Not at all!” Galathil hastened to reassure Dior. “I find it an adorable idea, an idea that… that is a light in this darkness. As are you, all of you.”

He bowed slightly before his daughter and son-in-law, a sight that greatly moved Elu. Elmo beside him made a noise that caused Elu to hold him tighter still, the touch nothing more than memory, but nonetheless comforting.

“Elu… they… they are waiting… for us.”

Elu nodded, words utterly failing them. So it most certainly seemed, but how was it that Men apparently knew what Elves did not? Did that mean that both kindreds, allnthree perhaps, were guided back on this day to the houses of their loved-ones, guided by the Light of Love? He glanced at Olórin, who nodded solemnly.

“So it is indeed. For mortal beings, this night is their farewell also from the confines of Arda. It has ever been so.”

Elmo sobbed helplessly as they watched the royal family step over the threshold at last and the doors being pulled shut behind them, and Elu cradled him, reaching out to grasp Mablung’s arm as well. There could be no doubt that toasts would be spoken to his name as well, and that the captain was no less gravely missed among his men than Elu was himself.

It was a mark of the depths of their friendship that Mablung chose to accompany them yet further, wandering the slopes of the Ered Luin, where in a secluded cave they found Galadriel and Celeborn, huddled together under warm furs and sleeping soundly. They had not awaited them, nor could they have, but neither Elmo nor Elu would pass over this farewell, even if seeing Elmo kneel beside Celeborn and stroke his hair with a ghostly hand before gently kissing Galadriel’s brow as well all but broke Elu’s heart.

“They will be safe.” Olórin assured them once they had torn themselves away from the sleeping couple once more. “Melian’s teaching shall come to bloom within Galadriel, and that and Celeborn’s wisdom will guide them both. Their time is as yet to come.”

Following the rushing Adurant down to Tol Galen was perhaps the hardest journey Elu had ever made, each step sending longing and dread through his being in equal measure. How was he to do this? Where from should he get the strength to lay eyes upon his girl once more, and far worse, to tear them away from her again?

Tol Galen lay still and silent in the moonlight, and though Elu knew the archers of the Greenelves must be perching in the trees, he did not see them. What Elu did see, however, was the selfsame light that now shone beside the gates of Menegroth, and a lone figure moving beside it. His heart clenched as they came closer to the door, and Elu realised that it was the lord of the house himself who stood beside the flickering lantern, a wooden shawl wrapped over his shoulders and his face lined with pain.

Without thinking that he could in truth not touch his son-in-law, he reached out, stoking his hair that had turned white as snow.

“You have grown old, Beren.” he said gently, and unlooked for tenderness spreading within him. Of course, Beren would not hear him, but the words had passed his lips almost unconsciously, naturally. All the greater the shock when Beren turned his head towards him, reaching up to run his hand through his hair where Elu had just touched him, so that their hands seemed to meet for a moment.

“Have you come to bid farewell to your little girl, Adar? I knew you would not keep her waiting.” he whispered into the darkness.

Elu stood as though struck by lightening, not knowing whether he was more deeply shaken by the fact that Beren seemed to sense his presence, or being called ‘father’ by the man he had sent to hell itself. He supposed that Beren doing as no Mortal had done before and returning from the dead may be an explanation for the former, but at the latter, Elu could but marvel in gratitude.

But then Beren turned away, shaking his head with a chuckle.

“And there I old fool am, still believing in children’s stories and talking to the night’s breeze. Ah well.”

“But I am here, Beren, I am, to say farewell to you both.”

His voice sounded pathetic even in his own ears, with his sobs rendering him all but incoherent.

The inside of the house was dark when Elu at last managed to drag himself through the door, and yet he saw Lúthien clearly, lying curled under her blankets. Glowing embers still warmed the room, and though Elu could not feel it on his ghostly skin, he felt it within his heart. She was safe. She was well. Nothing else was of any importance.

“Ada…”

Elu knew that she but mumbled in her sleep, that she had likely thought of him when she had put up her lantern tonight and now must dream, but there could be no doubt now that both Beren and Lúthien felt his presence, and oh, was this bliss and torment alike. Nonetheless, he crouched down beside her bed and carefully stroked her back.

“I am here, little one. Sleep on.”

He had no idea how he had left their house, or Tol Galen, or indeed Middle-Earth, only coming to again when the lights of Alqualondë were already visible in the darkness. Both Elmo and Mablung lead him as if he were a sleepwalker, and when he stirred and they realised that he was once again with them, they both sighed in relief.

“It was better like that, Elwë. Trust me.”

Elu bowed his head to Olórin, silently signalling his agreement.

Alqualondë was almost, almost worse than Tol Galen. Elu walked the streets of his brother’s fair city in wonder, trying with all his might to take in every detail of the harbour his brother’s people -his people- had built, marvelling at the beauty of it that was so different from his own halls in Menegroth, and yet so eerily similar.

They parted from Mablung there, as he went to seek out his own family to whom he had said goodbye on starlit shores, an eternity ago, while he and Elmo went to look for the king himself, finding him at last on his own balcony. The wind played in Olwë’s snow-white hair, mingling with his night-gown, a sight so fair, so achingly familiar, so pure.

Both Elu and Elmo rushed towards their long lost brother, hugging him, bestowing kiss after kiss on him, but Olwë took no notice. This hurt, yes, but it was also a relief to find him so calm and serene, standing there completely at ease, taking a cherished moment by the sea and under the stars that belonged to him alone, his mind untroubled- or as untroubled as the mind of a king could ever be. Olwë was well. And that was what mattered most in this moment, though how Elu was supposed to ever leave his side again now, he had no idea. He simply had no strength left for sny more goodbyes.

For how long they stood side by side with Olwë and watched the gushing waves, Elu did not know. Time behaved in the most peculiar way tonight, anyway. He only knew that at some point, Olórin stood by him once more.

“The night is late, and there is one more you still may want to meet, Elwë.” the Maia mumbled quietly.

He turned in amazement and an emotion that remarkably resembled fear. Surely not? Surely the farewells did not include Maiar? Elmo had sunken into a slumber with his head on Olwë’s shoulder, and with a last, wistful look at his brothers, Elu left to follow their guide. Could this really be?

“I shall answer the questions you have on your mind now, Elwë, rather than suffer them to eat away at the time you have left with your wife.” Olórin said quietly as Elu fell into step beside him, heading back to Lórien. ”Now, as you guessed, Melian knew nothing of the events of this night, nor will she know in the future. When Arien rises, she will be none the wiser, quite like you. But in this moment she knows, and she cannot bear to wait a moment longer.”

“Neither can I.” Elu rasped, feeling suddenly dizzy. Had he known, had he even thought… but then, had he known that he would be granted his farewell from Melian as well, he would not have put one foot in Middle-Earth, nay, not even Alqualondë, and there could never have been any closure. It was better the way it was, surely. Only why did ’better’ always have to hurt so much?

They found the way into each other’s arms blinded by tears, stumbling as if drunk with emotion. Nothing mattered to Elu as he found himself once more in the arms of his beloved, whose touch he could feel, spirits though they both were now. The bond of their marriage was stronger than the laws of life, stronger than death itself. Neither of them spoke a word, for words could never be enough, must always fall short of the vastness of their love and grief, so they held each other wordlessly instead, tightly enough to make it hurt.

This would be enough, Elu thought, if only he were allowed to remain so into all eternity. He longed for nothing, wanted nothing but to stay with his beloved, and he knew through their bond that she yearned for the same.

It was merciful that in the end they never knew of their renewed parting, that they still stood entwined in their embrace as Arien rose, and chased away the last remnants of the night, and with it all memory

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yesmaddyposts · 7 months ago

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Tell Me the Truth (Even If It's a Lie)

Fandom: Drive (2011) Word Count: 1.9K Relationships: Irene Gabriel x Standard Gabriel Tags: Autistic ! Driver, Asexual ! Driver, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Toxic Masculinity, During Canon, Ableist Language AO3 Link

Description: Standard has some questions for Driver that he isn't sure he can answer.

Things have been good with Irene. Almost too good, if you were to ask him. Driver doesn’t often get good things. He gets steady work, makes enough money to comfortably eat take out on the regular, and garners enough respect from his peers that nobody sticks their noses too far into his business. But this—the real, home cooked meals shared at a real dinner table with Irene and Benicio, the scenic drives with someone else’s laughter in his ears—this isn’t something he’s ever been given the opportunity to enjoy.

When Standard returned from prison, he’d been ready for it all to end. For the other shoe to drop. Irene had a husband and a son, and even though they never really did anything together that could constitute as more than friendly, he would understand if he was considered The Other Man. As much as it would sting for a while, he could go back to being just neighbors. But that’s not what happens. Irene still invites him over for dinners regularly. Is it partly his fault for accepting every time? Should he be more put off by the closed-lipped smiles Irene sends his way when Standard makes a comment about how “helpful” Driver was while he was inside?

He made those comments a lot. Driver isn’t sure what to make of it. He has never been the best at reading people, which is why he always appreciated how straightforward Shannon is. Even if Shannon could be a bit of a pushover sometimes, and an oversharer, he always says what he means. So many people weren’t like that. It's probably why he likes cars so much. Cars are an open book, all you had to do was be willing to take the time to read them.

When Standard spoke to him his tone was always curious and quiet but with an underlying edge. His smiles were crooked, and he would pause in random places mid-sentence. Driver could never tell when he wanted a response. Sometimes this led to Standard repeating himself at the dinner table, that or he’d ask Driver, “Hey, are you listening?”

“Mhm,” Driver would respond.

He hates when people ask if he is listening. He always was. He just didn’t always know when it was his turn to speak. This had been a common starter of arguments between him and his parents when he was a child, and it continued on into his youth in the foster system.

He’s always got his head in the clouds, is what his social worker said. He has a tough time connecting with his classmates because he is always daydreaming, his teachers explained during parent-teacher conferences. He never bothered to correct anybody. Nobody seemed to want to hear his side.

Over time, Driver picked up a few things. Habits that were deemed socially acceptable and that made people feel less uneasy around him. He learned that shaking hands with new acquaintances was expected, and he shouldn’t squeeze the other person’s palm too hard even if their grip felt like they were trying to grind his bones to dust. He also learned that people loved eye contact. He didn’t understand it really, it was hard to comprehend what others were saying when he had to focus so hard on holding their gaze. But he got it. Blink after they blink, look at them but don’t stare too hard or else you’ll scare them away. He’s still working on the last part.

Maybe that’s why he took to Irene so quickly. She never seemed to expect anything from him. She never commented on it when his gaze wandered up to the crown molding of her living room, or when he flexed his hands over and over to feel the drag of his leather gloves against his skin.

She was patient with him in the same way she was patient with Benicio. Benicio who wore Sillybandz up to his elbows and would regularly count each and every one, listing off the color and shape of them in the backseat of Driver’s car during rides. Who sometimes interrupted playtime to pace figurative tracks into the carpet of the living room while he hummed to himself the same wordless tune.

Once, Benicio got up from the dinner table halfway through their meal to go do his pacing-and-humming routine. Standard huffed and asked Irene, “Why the fuck is he doing that right now?”

That’s one of the only times Driver has ever seen Irene angry. But her anger was a different type compared to what he was used to. His own father’s anger was loud, and extended out to the nearest object. The anger of some directors on movie sets he’d worked on was colorful in language and targeted at unfortunate PA’s in the wrong place at the wrong time. But Irene’s anger was muted, tired. Like a rain cloud that had exhausted all of its moisture but was still just hanging around.

“You know why,” Irene snapped. That had been the end of it, but the rest of the meal was the kind of tense that even he could feel. For once, Driver didn’t stay after to help clean up.

He isn’t sure what compelled him tonight to stick around so late. Irene was already asleep since she had an opening shift at Denny’s in the morning, and Benicio had been put to bed a while ago. So it’s just him and Standard out in the living room, the only light coming from the small television set playing black and white Westerns. Driver sits at attention on one side of the couch, tugging relentlessly at a loose thread on the arm. Standard sits next to him nursing his third beer of the night, straddling two couch cushions and ignoring all sense of personal space. Every time he readjusts his knee knocks against Driver’s.

No one had explicitly asked him to leave, and he didn’t have any jobs lined up the next day. So he stayed, sat on the couch in this apartment that wasn’t his but that was so full of life that it practically screamed it from every corner. From the toys left on the living room rug to the small collection of houseplants arranged on a low shelf right by the door. This is somebody’s home, and he has never experienced anything quite like it.

Driver fishes a toothpick out of the breast pocket of his denim jacket. Enough time passes that he gnaws it down to the final nub and is about to get a new one when Standard speaks.

“So. Irene and Benicio really depend on you, huh?” The question at the end is Driver’s hint that Standard wants a response this time.

“I guess so.” Driver doesn’t take his eyes off the television even as a commercial break cuts into the film. This late it is an infomercial treasure trove: As-Seen-On-TV kitchen gadgets, life insurance ads, class action lawsuits.

Standard drops a heavy hand onto his thigh. His other hand lifts his beer to his lips, and he finishes the last of it in one go.

“You’re a good guy.”

A pause, no open ended question. Driver doesn’t answer. Standard’s hand doesn’t move from his thigh. He considers shaking it off himself as he tugs harsher at the loose thread on the couch’s arm. The commercial break ends, and the cowboys in the film resume their meandering journey on horseback through a sandy plane.

“Did you fuck her?” Standard keeps his voice low.

The thread on the couch arm snaps off in Driver’s hand. When he turns his head to the left, Standard is staring right at him.

“N–”

“I’d understand if you did. She’s a beautiful woman, and she’s got needs. Don’t worry.” The way his grip tightens around Driver’s thigh makes him wonder if he should, in fact, worry. “You can tell me.”

But there’s nothing to tell.

“We didn’t—”

The toothpick falls from his mouth and disappears between the couch cushions when Standard grips the back of Driver’s neck, pulling him in close and holding him there so he’s half bent at the waist. Driver could get out of it easily, he’s strong and knows how to fight. Not extremely well, but enough that he could make it hurt. He doesn’t move.

“Was she ever this close to you? Did she kiss you like she meant it?” Standard’s breath smells like beer and nicotine gum. Driver knows he’s been trying hard to quit since he got out of prison. “Are you in love with her? Huh, stunt guy, are you in love with my wife?”

Driver isn’t good with people, but he has a feeling this accusation goes a lot deeper than just Standard wanting to know if Irene has been cheating. He could tell the truth, that he has no attraction of any sort towards Irene. He really likes her and Benicio. But in an easy, familial way. It’s nice to have someone waiting for him when he gets back from work. To know that just down the hall there’s not one, but two people that would think twice if he were to disappear suddenly without a word.

With that being said Driver has never, not even once considered doing any of the things Standard is suggesting right now. Not just with Irene, but with anybody. He could tell Standard all of this, could try to put into words his relationship with the concepts of sex and romance, but he knows it won’t go over well. Standard wants a very specific answer that Driver can’t provide.

He’s entertained this for too long. Standard can’t react fast enough when Driver takes hold of his restraining arm and twists. He gasps like he expects pain, but Driver lets go as soon as he frees himself, rising to his feet and shoving Standard firmly down into the couch below him.

“I knew it,” Standard spits, glowering up at Driver. He knows nothing.

“You’re drunk.”

Driver reaches down and Standard tenses up expectantly, but he’s only reaching over to the other arm of the couch for the television remote. He clicks the off button and the cowboys shrink to blackness in the middle of a shootout with masked bandits. The living room is dark save for a hint of yellow light through the curtains from outside. It’s just enough for Driver to be able to see the outline of his own shoes as he finds the front door. He knows Standard stays lying there on the couch, can hear his hitched breathing right up until he shuts the door behind him.

It’s late. Some time past midnight but not quite close enough to four in the morning that anyone in the apartment complex has awoken for their early bird shifts. If he had to hazard a guess, he thinks Standard will probably pass out on that couch and stay there for the rest of the night. Irene might find him there as she heads into the kitchen before work, maybe she’ll even lay a blanket over his sleeping form. Driver really should try to get some rest.

But instead of walking those twenty steps to his apartment door, he continues right past it. Sticks his hands deep into his jacket pockets, rubs a thumb over the worn softness of his rabbit’s foot keychain as he shoulders open the door to the stairway. Headed down, down, all the way down to the parking garage.

#yes maddy writes #archive of our own #fan fiction #drive 2011 #driver #irene gabriel #standard gabriel

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vizthedatum · 1 year ago

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That moment in the Namesake where Ashima starts looking for Ashoke all over the house… and then searches outsides and cries.

I have watched this movie so many times, but last night I was just crying holding my girlfriend….

The whole movie and story is so beautiful. I’m so glad that I introduced it to my girlfriend… and that we were able to share and feel that love and process that together.

—

That scene though….

It feels like I have felt that pain - that loss. And even though she was fine afterward, he was still her best friend, her confidante, her supporter, her admirer, her patient partner, her husband, her teammate, her co-parent, her co-navigator, her support, her family, her equal, … her person.

—

It feels like I’m closer to having all of that now with the people in my life now.

And every time I open myself up to love now (even if those connections end), I’m opening myself to that loss. That profound loss. It’s not even the loss of love (that’s my theme of trauma instead - a loss and lack of love)… it’s the loss of that peace of being able to talk to someone who loves you.

—

I know I have felt that with people - the peace in the love we share(d). It is one of the most important things to me.

—

But it hurts for me especially because in our pre- and post-marriage, we were NOT AT PEACE.

But… I miss you. I miss showing you things. I miss talking to you. I miss smiling because of something you did or said. I miss saying goodbye to you. I miss the anticipation of seeing you. I miss us processing things together. I miss learning things just to talk to you about something you wanted to talk about. I miss telling you about all my crushes. I miss telling you about my friends. I miss walking with you. I miss going to places with you. I miss listening to you. I miss playing games. I miss watching shows and movies. I miss making you laugh. I miss your hugs. I miss your joy - I really tried to make you happy. I miss being your best friend.

And now I have to be careful who I give my love to. I have to remember how deeply I felt every time I feel it for someone else. It’s not my fault that I love my friends and partners so deeply - I have always been that way, and you knew that.

I have to remember that I gave you that love and trusted you so blindly. I didn’t have to even try to give you that love - I had to try to prove how I was instead. You couldn’t love me for me?

I have to remember how hard I spent my time hoping and wishing you’d look out for me - and telling myself that you were. That maybe this is like Ashoke and Ashima… but it was nothing like that.

The gentleness and acceptance of the way that Ashoke radiated his love and empathy and care to his wife and children… is not just what I want, it’s what I aspire to be.

I left because I loved myself, I had lost myself, and because I didn’t want to enable you any longer. I loved you, and our relationship was one of the ugliest things about you.

#cw spoilers #the namesake #the movie #jhumpa lahiri #tabu #ashima #Ashima is a beautiful name #best friend #loss of a loved one #thoughts #my divorce #heartbreak #loss #healing #trauma #love #queer #self love #prose

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vashhanamichi · 11 months ago

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If you're still doing the ask game, I would love more about Albus Novinha, Enfia que cabe and Grande Familia. I hope that 2024 has been kind to you so far and if not, I am sorry to hear that and I wish you better days ahead

Once more I apologise for taking so long to answer! Thank you both for asking and for your patient. I hope this answer will be entertaining. So: Albus Novinha is a first pov story about a sixteen year old Albus whose handsome and charming new transfiguration teacher is a certain time-travelling Dark Lord. The idea of a young, malleable and sweet Albus is simply too much for Voldemort to resist. Here it is:

Now I’m an adult – I like to think so – and what I came to know tints the memories I have, sharpens the details of certain dates. I can recall the pattern of Ariana’s braids the day she was attacked, the dirt on her scrapped knee, the torn sock, the torn dress. I knew that day would change me, and it did, as it changed her; I knew memory would be merciless. I didn’t know so with Tom – what was that first meeting after all but a handsome man, some flirting, the general effects one should expect, later that night, on a teenage boy teeming with hormones? But perhaps I had a hunch. You see, I had never met one of his kind, I was not inoculated against his effects. Say, a wild fox that knows not her hunter. And yet, didn’t he, or the stamp of his power, kindle some unease in me? Something I buried and would continue to bury the following months as I grew more and more enthralled by him.

No, I’m lying. The unease itself appealed to me. He didn’t come to me, crossed oceans of time to find me, as I would later learn, by ship, by consuming its crew, with soil from his home carried in coffins. His soil was the same as my own and I meet him by daylight. But his teeth were sharp and I devised a hunger in him as he looked at me that day, as he held my hair, my wrist, and it thrilled me, as it thrilled me to be called pretty. What excuse can I offer? I--

I was sixteen and liked men. Is that enough? I know I wasn’t a child. But at the age, having been earning some money for a while now, hailed as gifted by all my teachers and fellow students, I thought by my brilliance and power I’d go to the world unharmed.

He would teach me things I did not yet know.

Grande Família is a Grindeldore raises Tom story, and it's been nagging me for a almost a decade now. It's in its early stages:

Grindelwald, an only child, knew very little of it, so he entrusted Dumbledore with the minutiae around acquiring das Kind; it was Al, whose arms were accustomed to holding babies, he being an older brother of two, that chose the furniture for the room, the toys, the books (including muggle fairy tales, mobile airplanes, teddy bears, a train set) and the clothes their little antichrist would come to use. Wife chores, he’d teased, taking between his fingers one of Dumbledore’s strings of hair, kissing it. Albus had smiled, used to it. There was some truth to the joke: Albus, having insisted they expanded their family, was to play the role of mama since he was so keen on adopting the brat; Gellert was happy to be the husband coming home late, whose parenting consisted of less bureaucratic endeavours. And that was generous of him, really, because his first impulse, upon seeing Tom’s future and tasting his power with his seer’s eyes, was to kill the boy.

He had told Dumbledore of what he’d seen, whilst playing with his lover’s hair as he laid over Gellert’s chest. They weren’t in England then but in the Soviet Union, trying to make sense of how much the new state had been accepted by Russian wizards. How much Stalin knew, and thought to share with his comrades, about the existence of magic. How many had died.

“This child will grow up to be more powerful than me and you. I’ve never seen anything like it. A born Parselsprache too – though we believed they were extinct.”

The languid sinew of his lover, the fall of his hair over his shoulders, the lightness of that spindly body that turned over his to fix on him a blue-eyed stare.

“An obscurus?”

“No. Just raw, absurd power.”

“Where is he now?”

“Some muggle hovel in London.”

Finally, Enfia que cabe is a shameless omegaverse in which Tom, in the year 1943, realizes that Dumbledore is an omega and his obsession with his teacher grows exponentially.

Almost five years of virtue had not been enough to erase that first sin. Tom had pictured many revenges for Dumbledore’s crime of disapproval. But these were childish fancies. Wasn’t he shedding this skin? And yet, when the talk grew of Dumbledore facing Grindelwald, Tom felt a prick of annoyance, that his professor should be distracted by other Dark Lords. Indeed, Dumbledore had been more preoccupied lately, thinner, paler, often looking out of the window when there was still light. The furrow between his eyebrows wasn’t fear but some odd sadness, and he seemed unaffected by the cheerful holiday mood. He’d gaze at Tom sometimes, at a chance meeting on a hallway, as if through a veil. Tom didn’t dare try to [] on these moments, but he didn’t need it to guess that his teacher had slipped somewhere in his mind from which he returned, a few seconds later, putting on the [] smile, exchanging some pleasantry with Tom and then moving on. Being a creature of boundless greed, Tom wanted to follow his teacher there, to the marrow of his mystery. Many times he had felt, though his occlumency was almost as good as his [], that Dumbledore could see everything within him. And what he saw he didn’t like.

I hope you liked it!

#ask meme #my fic #asks

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stargazer-sims · 1 year ago

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Victor + Crocodile + Hamster + Smiling

Here's another one @dandylion240. I didn't realize how many there were. I'm still working my way through them.

I'm putting this one under a cut because it has a content warning

__________

Not everything has to have meaning. Sometimes a smiling crocodile figurine is just a smiling crocodile figurine. Sometimes a plush hamster is just a plush hamster.

If nursing has taught Victor anything, it's that death is a part of the cycle of life. Everyone dies eventually, whether by natural means, by somebody else's hand or by their own. He's learned to accept death, and not to tear himself apart inside, wondering if he could've done anything differently or fruitlessly wishing for things to go back to the way they'd been.

He's also come to realize sentimentality is often misguided, that too much emphasis gets placed on the wrong things. He's seen people cry over clothing, stuffed animals, jewellery or locks of hair, apparently convinced the memory of their loved one resides in that object. As much as he sometimes wants to, he can't tell them that the object is meaningless. They need to learn that on their own, as he did.

He picks up the crocodile and puts it into the plastic bag which the family will collect later. The crocodile is followed by the hamster, the baseball cap, the handful of toy cars. He doesn't linger over any of them like he would have done at the beginning of his career.

It's not that he's lost his empathy. He can still be sad, but now it's sadness in the removed, intellectual sense; the passing sadness one feels when hearing about a plane crash or a natural disaster on the news. He won't cry for this child. Now, he understands what his nursing school instructors meant by professional detachment, and it's served him well. Because of it, he can still go home to his family and have enough emotional energy left to love and care for them.

No, the echo of the lost boy isn't in the smiling crocodile any more than the echo of Victor is in any object he values. He wouldn't want Yuri and Caroline to hold onto old things of his, imagining they would somehow — as the cliché goes — keep part of him alive, just as he wouldn't want to hold onto things of theirs. That, he is certain, would ensure the wounds would never close, and he should know. He held on to that old family photograph long enough, tormenting himself with the belief that he would forget his father and sister if he ever stopped looking at it.

But, he hadn't forgotten.

Letting the picture go was freeing. Releasing it from the burden of meaning he'd arbitrarily assigned to it did not erase his memories. If anything, it strengthened them. It allowed him to give up his grief and guilt, to focus on the good things, and to let himself begin to heal at last.

He leaves the room and drops the bag on the desk at the nurses' station. He hopes the boy’s family won't hold onto the things for too long.

This isn't his last task of the shift, so he consults the patient notes and moves on.

As he works, he thinks about his own family. Even when he's apart from them, his husband and daughter are always with him in his mind. His mother, stepfather and everyone else he loves are there as well. Even his father, sister and paternal grandparents, long departed, will never truly leave him. They will always be there, intricately and inextricably woven into the fabric of his life.

That's where the meaning is, he decides. Photographs, plush animals, grinning crocodile figurines... anything physical can be lost or destroyed, but experiences cannot.

Don't try to remember me by the paintings I leave behind, his Grandma Lydia, a gifted artist, had written during her last days. Remember me by the smile my memory paints in your heart.

#sapphire answers #writing #tw death #tw death mention #victor nelson #stargazersims

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aajjks · 1 year ago

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omg is he gonna propose already 😭 https://pin.it/2EMFZjW3m

BC!JK

brunch. think brunch y/n you say to yourself as you pick out various outfits in your closet that fit both the warm weather outside and the occasion. “i’m gonna be late, stormy” you whine to your pomeranian who just so happened to be sitting by a matching green outfit. a green tank and matching skirt that you’re sure fits the occasion and will certainly have jungkook’s jaw on the floor because for some strange reason, you enjoy looking good for him.

you make sure to freshen up before putting your outfit on and when you finish doing your hair, you spray yourself down and admire your beauty in your full-body mirror.

“how do i look stormy?” you ask your pup and judging from her rapid panting, you assume she thinks you look gorgeous and you agree. the color brings out your freckles, the gifted necklace, and don’t forget your glasses.

after making sure you lathered yourself in your favorite vanilla scent and making sure stormy was okay, arrive at jungkook’s house at 10 on the dot. you’re hoping you aren’t late and for a few minutes, you sit outside until you remember you have the key to jungkook’s home.

“Hey yn!” jungkook says as you walk inside his rather large home. you’ll never get tired to his home because it is rather huge despite him being the only person that lives in it. even with you around his home still felt rather big but he takes such good care of his home and it’s obvious.

when you make it to the kitchen, you find it so hard to not burst into laughter because here is jungkook in a white tee, sweats, and an apron tied tight around his small waist but the cherry on top is the spatula. while he’s gawking at your beauty, you’re admiring his husband material look.

“morning, jungkook” you smile and like the good host he is, jungkook guides you to his kitchen table where you patiently wait for him to finish cooking.

“ouu, okay chef jungkook” you joke as you push your spectacles up and watch him cook the bacon, sausage, squeeze fresh oranges to make orange juice, and cut up the fruit for additional vitamins.

by the time jungkook finishes, your jaw is on the floor from the presentation alone. one would have thought this was a picture from a google search because that is how well jungkook cooked and organized the wide range of food options for you. it was tedious but the surprised look on your face and your reaction to the first bite is all worth it.

“this is so amazing, jungkook” you say “how did you learn to cook so well? you need to invest in having your own restaurant. people would line up from all over the world to get a taste of your food. starting with your number one supporter, me”

Please just stop making his heartbeat so crazy like this.

You are so sweet, you just called yourself his number one supporter, and it seems like you are because you’ve always supported him… that warms his heart so much. “Yn please I have a very weak heart when it comes to you..” he dramatically puts a hand over his chest. But his eyes are settled on yours.

Because the green dress is just everything, “you know I love perfection and when you’re single, you’ve got to learn how to cook, clean.. yourself.” That is true. He cannot accept anything that’s less than perfect.

Also? Jungkook needs to stop staring at your Body.

It’s really heartwarming for him to watch you actually enjoy his cooking, it’s all worth it, “well yn enjoy the food and then you’ll have fruits.” He announces as he takes a bites of the eggs, and then he shoves a sausage down his throat.

Hmm, he’s not that bad at cooking.

It’s nice to eat breakfast with you, he doesn’t eat breakfast that often. Your company is so calming, and he hopes that he’ll get to experience it often.

“Ynnnn I hope you enjoyed the food- now it’s time for fruits.” He gets up excitedly, and before you can say anything else, he’s already bringing a huge fruit tray.

There is a surprise in the fruit tray, and he’s sure that your reading skills are top-tier, he carefully sets the tray down, and he’s so fucking nervous right now.

He’s kind of artistic and creative, so he hopes he’ll get his vision because he really worked hard on this fruit tray.

Oh God, what if you say no?

“Y-Yn can you read what is written with the fruits?” of course you’re already staring with a shocked face, but here goes nothing.

it’s written “be my gf?”

#he did not graduate from tpol jk school of proposing 😭😭😭#ask: bc!jk

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sunpinktulip · 2 years ago

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this is fun! how about this, thoughts on bkdk adopting??

i feel like izuku would love kids and really want to, but bakugo is afraid of "screwing them up"? he doesnt want them to be like him. but in the end, hes the favorite dad and does matching outfits and everything

your thoughts??

a lot of projecting here from my husband and I cause we are gays who kin these two idiots in love, LET'S GO

i feel like Izuku would be supernervous but also very excited about adopting, and would try to be the best dad possible, but he would also patiently wait until they both think are ready for it (which Katsuki doesn't cause Izuku might be his partner but he is not letting him be more prepared than himself even then)

And I think Katsuki would be very careful in general with the kid, which could even make him come across as angry or a little mean at times, but he really just doesn't want the kid to have all of the problems that he had (self-esteem issues, poor handling on their emotions, all that), and growing up with that the kid would just accept it as that's the way their papa is, and they both warm up to each other with time

I also feel like the kid would think very highly of his papa since daddy (Izuku) is still very open and talkative about how amazing his lover is (Kacchan sugoi and all that), while also learning the non-verbal ways of communication that Katsuki shows, caring for both of them and showing his love throw actions and physical touch

#cause some of us are baaaad at words #kacchan is still bad at saying i love you even as an adult #bakudeku #bkdk #ask

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storytellersumayyah · 2 years ago

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THE GUIDE AND THE LIGHT: SEASON ONE, EPISODE TWO

The Guide and The Light are a series of comedic, romantic and soft short stories detailing the representation Muslims want but are never allowed to have. We all deserve to see ourselves fall in love and keep that love. We all deserve to have our beliefs respected and celebrated, instead of treated like a joke or insulted.

It’s about giving my community what they want and turning conversations that shouldn’t have happened in public into something we can all smile at. I hope you enjoy. (I'm also now hoping for monthly updates, or there about, but because this is designed to be fun, that may change. Please be patient.) Also, Eid Mubarak to everyone celebrating, and to everyone whose not, have a gift from me regardless!

read on wattpad instead! | rewatch previous episode | play next episode | view full series

EPISODE TWO: THE MORNING (AND SEVERAL DAYS) AFTER

SYNOPSIS: SO YAHYA AND NOOR GOT MARRIED! NOW THEY MOVE IN TOGETHER AND TRY TO LEARN HOW TO NAVIGATE LIFE AS A MARRIED COUPLE. IT'S ONLY A WEEK IN BETWEEN THE WEDDING THE WALIMA, BUT THEY THINK THEY'RE DOING QUITE WELL- GIVE THEY WENT FROM BEING ON LEAVE AND HOLIDAY AND MOSTLY RELAXED TO THE STRESSES OF WORK

Yahya woke up first. For a moment, he couldn’t understand why he was so warm, nor why he could definitely feel someone else’s presence.

And then the events of the previous day came rushing back to him and he couldn’t help the way his face split into a grin. He was married. He was Noor’s husband. It was a nice title. He hoped that he would get to keep it for a long time. The old anxiety of not knowing what he was supposed to do, or how to be a good husband, started rising to the surface, but he shoved it down as best he could. Noor had committed to him knowing exactly what he was like, and that was good enough. They would learn how to do things together.

Noor was still asleep, mouth slightly open and hair splayed across the pillow. He brushed some of it out of her eyes, even if it didn’t matter, and kissed her forehead. Because he could. And wasn’t that wonderful? She shifted slightly at the sudden movement occurring, but didn’t react beyond that. Yahya froze in place, not wanting to wake her. He did push the duvet slightly off his body, otherwise he was certain he would overheat. It was nice though, to be so warm.

It was only when the urge to use the bathroom was too strong to avoid that he shimmied out of bed, reminded of when he was a child staying with his grandparents and sharing a bed with one or both of his parents.

When he exited, Noor was sitting up, rubbing her eyes.

“Don’t do that, they’ll start stinging,” he told her automatically.

She dropped her hands. “Oh yeah. I forgot. Salam by the way.”

“Oh right, yes. Salam. How did you sleep?”

“Surprisingly well. You?”

“It was nice,” he confessed.

Noor smiled, and Yahya saw another reason to live. “I’m glad.”

“You look really pretty by the way.”

She snorted. “Yahya, it’s very sweet of you to try and compliment me, but I really don’t.” To Noor, it wasn’t a self-deprecating statement. It was just a fact. She couldn’t always look nice and put together. It would be impossible to do that, but it didn’t mean she didn’t deserve the same love as when she did.

“But you do. I mean- there’s more than one way to be something. And you just look so soft right now. Nothing but pretty is an accurate description.”

Noor’s eyes were as bright as her name. “That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever been told. You look really cute by the way. With your hair.”

Yahya immediately went to flatten it, his cheeks heating up. “Shut up.”

“Oh no. Not happening. I’m your wife now. I’m going to compliment you till you believe me.”

And that was the crux of the matter. Noor would take the compliments because she really did believe them to be true. Yahya couldn’t.

“Okay, fine. This isn’t me accepting it. It’s me trying to move the conversation along. What do you want to do today?”

Noor’s hand went to rub her eyes, but at the last time, she rubbed her arm. “I don’t know. What are you in the mood for?”

Yahya shrugged. “I don’t really know yet.”

“Do you want to go out? I know you prefer keeping to yourself and yesterday was very socially draining. So if you want to spend today just sitting inside and playing on your laptop until it’s time to check out, that’s fine. I think I’d like existing in silence with you.”

Noor’s ability to understand people was something that always stunned Yahya. It also took some of the pressure off him. Sometimes he couldn’t find the words he needed to explain what he was feeling, but with Noor, it didn’t seem like he needed to.

“We can go out. But something simple please?”

“There’s a really pretty park near the hotel. Maybe we can get some snacks, have a mini picnic and then come back? Yesterday was draining, and we need to be checked out by half-four because your dad is going to drop us back at yours, remember?”

In all honesty, Yahya had forgotten he had a life outside of the wedding. But Noor was right. On Monday, she would be back in the office, and he would be spending the entire day trying to remind his students that he was there to teach them about reactions and mols, not gossip about his new status as a married man.

“That sounds perfect,” he said.

Noor gave him a soft smile. He wanted to see all of them. “Great. Can I shower first? I feel sticky.”

He nodded. She kissed him on the cheek as she walked past, hesitant and doubting, but he matched her grin. He felt oddly proud when she ducked her head to hide the fact that she was flustered.

Whilst Noor was showering, Yahya made the bed and packed whatever he could up. When she exited, dressed in a blue dress and moisturiser not fully rubbed in, he went in himself.

Noor was texting when he came out.

“How are the baby gorillas?” He asked.

She looked up. “Wow. Okay. Warn me next time you’re going to look so handsome.”

He laughed. “Stop being so cheesy!”

“I can’t! I’m just saying what comes to mind- hang on, how did you know I was texting that specific group chat?”

“Because nobody else makes you smile like that.”

“You do,” she said, staring up at him from where she was sitting. It made Yahya want to protect her even more than he already did. Not because he didn’t think she couldn’t, but to him, love was making someone happy. It was keeping the worst of the world hidden. It was holding their hand so the weight of their burdens didn’t completely drag them down.

“And I’ll forever be grateful you gave me the chance to,” he whispered.

She stood up, pressing her mouth against his. It was chaste, and it was innocent, and it was slightly awkward because he still didn’t know what he was meant to do with his hands, but it was comforting.

“Shall we go?” She asked once she pulled away.

He nodded. “Got everything?”

As expected, Noor picked up her little backpack. “Yep.”

“Oh, just wait a second,” Yahya told her.

Noor didn’t move.

He tucked a loose strand of hair into her headscarf, then repositioned it so it framed her face better. “There. Now I can see you in all your grace.”

Noor pushed his hair off his head, even though it would fall back into its original place as soon as she let go. “Same.”

“I hate you sometimes.”

“I know.”

He took her hand, and together they walked to the park, armed with enough snacks that Yahya was convinced they wouldn’t need lunch either. And because they had both woken up later than expected, he ended up being right.

“I don’t understand why you needed to take so many photos of me as well,” he whined once they were back in the hotel room. Their picnic in the park had been nice. They’d sat on the grass, pointing out the clouds and munching away. At some point, he’d started taking pictures of Noor, but once she caught him, it was game over and he found himself on the other side of the camera. It had been different, but he’d found he liked the way Noor would encourage him and help him look less awkward.

He was absolutely going to take her phone and change her lock screen at the earliest opportunity though.

“For the memories! And because I want to make a scrapbook of things that the two of us do together,” she said.

He looked up in surprise. “Really?”

“Of course.”

It made his heart flutter. He was important enough for a scrapbook. “Okay.”

She laughed, and he was once more convinced she could read his mind.

The car ride back to his flat was quiet. He was desperately trying to remember how he had left his bedroom, and whether he had definitely cleaned up the mess he made in the bathroom whilst he was searching for a new shower gel, but then he realised it didn’t matter anymore. Noor was going to see his flat in all kinds of states until they found a new place together. A touch of mess had never bothered her, and it wouldn’t start.

The way she could go from so flirtatious, for lack of a better word, in private, to appropriate in front of his parents, astounded him. He was exactly the same, but it was always funny to see other people do it. They really did all live the same life.

“I left your key in there. I completely forgot to pack it. I’m sorry,” he said, as Noor leant against the wall.

“That’s okay. I’m actually quite excited about this.”

He finally managed to twist the key at the right angle, and the door opened. He walked in quickly, trying to hide any last minute things that were making a mess.

“I like your place. It’s a nice representation of you.”

Yahya smiled. “I’m glad. So, what do you want to do?”

Noor shrugged. “Do you want to start a show as a couple?”

“Sure. Wait. I need to make my lunch first.”

“Ah, I forgot. You don’t get it on your school.”

“No, I don’t. We can’t all be private sector workers.”

“Shut up. If you’re making your lunch, I’m going to get into pyjamas.”

Yahya nodded. Noor hovered in the doorway, as though she wasn’t quite sure where she was supposed to stand, dressed in an old t-shirt and bottoms with a sea themed print. She’d never looked cuter.

But something wasn’t right.

He screamed and covered his eyes. “Noor!”

“What? Is there a spider. Oh my god why didn’t you tell me you were scared of spiders? I gave my spider catcher to my parents. Wait. You’re covering your eyes. Is it that bad?”

“There’s no spider!”

“Then why are you- oh Yahya. We’re married.”

He felt his cheeks flush and dropped his hand. “Right. Yes. We are. I saw you this morning. I’m really sorry about that.”

And he did genuinely feel like an idiot. What kind of man forgot he could see his wife without her headscarf? Well, him apparently.

“It’s okay. Honestly, you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever met. Not that you’re a thing. I just- yeah.”

This time, he got to laugh at her. “Guess we’re both kinda stupid sometimes?”

“Sometimes? Yahya, I’m an idiot. Like genuinely, the lack of common sense I manage to display is astounding. Especially because I have a fully formed frontal lobe and everything. But anyways. Did you need any help?”

“I think I’ll be okay. I’m almost done. I just need to pack some grapes.”

Noor nodded, coming in and leaning against the fridge.

“Right, I’m done. Is there anything specific you wanted to watch?”

“Not really, let’s just look for something that seems decent?”

He nodded. But as was always the case, by the time they had finally settled on something, they had to go to bed. The previous night, they’d been so tired that they had just gotten into the bed and fallen asleep without a second thought.

This time would be different.

“Are you- so are you a cuddler?” Yahya asked, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

Noor tilted her head up. Yahya liked that she needed to do that. “I don’t know Yahya. I haven’t exactly been in this situation before.”

It eased the tension. And when Noor automatically went for the left side of the bed, because Yahya had moved his entire room around so he could push the bed away from the wall and place it in the middle of the room, he felt like the pieces of the puzzle had just fallen into place.

And as it turned out, Yahya was the one who subconsciously initiated the cuddles, but Noor liked them enough to not tease him.

The week between the wedding and the walima was a work one. Yahya had missed the kids, but being bombarded with questions almost made him wish it was May half-term once again. Noor had a much more peaceful time, with her colleagues simply giving their congratulations and asking if she had any photos, or if they would be waiting for the professional ones to come in.

Each day, Noor would get back ten minutes after Yahya. He would immediately open his arms so she could lie on top of him. She liked hearing his heartbeat. In the same vein, he liked pressing his fingers to her pulse point. It was always steady, and he would find himself breathing to match it. After she felt like she’d recovered- because as much as she was an extrovert, the socialising at work was different, she would climb off him and go make up the prayers she had missed.

Then they would make dinner together, eating wherever they wanted. Yahya would actually take his Vitamin D tablets, because Noor would take one bite of her food and then take both her iron and vitamin supplements so the rest of the meal was not ruined. After they put the leftovers away, and loaded up the dishwasher, Yahya would pack up his lunch. And then they would watch one episode, get ready for bed, and fall asleep with Noor safely in Yahya’s arms.

It was nice. On Wednesday, Noor thought they deserved a little treat for making it to the mid-way point of the week. She loved getting little treats, whether it was a coffee in the morning or a bar of chocolate at lunch. Yahya liked the idea of little treats, so he had started doing the same. Noor’s point had always been that money would not follow them to the grave- which was definitely something she’d picked up from her parents- so he didn’t feel any guilt about getting them. The only issue was that she brought lemon muffins. Yahya hadn’t even been able to try and hide his intense dislike for lemon.

She’d gone quiet.

“I shouldn’t have reacted so harshly,” he whispered once they were under the duvet. Some conversations were easier to have in the dark.

Noor shook her head. “It’s my fault, I should have known better.”

“You can’t be expected to know everything about me. My dessert dislikes have never come up before, it’s not like you did it to be malicious. The moment you realised it was something I wouldn’t want, you let that be the end of it. It’s fine. You’re still a good person.”

Even in the dark, he could tell she was smiling. She shifted back so they could be as close as they had since Sunday. “You always know what to say.”

“You’re teaching me to say whatever feels right.”

There was a brief pause.

“You’re not a bad person just because you showed your emotions.”

It could hardly be considered an emotional display, but Yahya was so used to saying yes to keep the peace that it had been a difficult boundary to set. Noor’s understanding and respect had made it easy.

He didn’t know what to respond with, but that was the beauty of it all. He didn’t always need to speak. Noor would know what he was trying to get at but didn’t have the words for. But he wanted to let her know, in whatever way he could. So he placed his hand on her hip, having finally realised it wasn’t a lie that some people were made to fit together, shifted her so he could hold her.

And then he pushed himself up the bed so he could kiss her forehead. He felt her laugh, and it was the best sleep he’d had since the wedding.

The walima took place on Saturday. It was a lot calmer. Noor got ready in his flat, dragging a chair from the dining table into the bedroom so she could do her make-up with the better mirror, but without sitting on the floor. When Yahya asked why she didn’t just get dressed after doing her make-up, he got the most confused look. He then realised there was no way she would change her routine on such an important day, and he sheepishly left the room to make sure his shoes were shining.

It was less formal, and more of a grand dinner party than anything else, so he didn’t feel so anxious. But even when he started to worry that he looked stupid, or that everyone could tell he wasn’t as confident as he was pretending to be, Noor just gripped his hand tighter, and that pressure would ground him in the moment.

“Remind me when the honeymoon is,” Khadija asked.

Noor barely avoided rolling her eyes, but only because everyone was smiling and she didn’t want the photographer to unknowingly capture the moment.

“The first week of July. And before you ask, it’s because there’s a bank holiday, it’s the summer holidays and my annual leave would have rolled over so I’ll still have a decent amount of time left over.”

“Are you looking forward to it?” One of Yahya’s parents friends asked. Yahya didn’t really like them that much, but they had been cut from the wedding list they had to be invited.

And because Noor could never let stupid questions be, she put on her most innocent smile. “We can’t wait.”

Yahya coughed into his drink to cover up his laugh, but he clearly hadn’t done a good job. And Noor hadn’t looked very innocent.

She grinned at him, and he grinned back.

He couldn’t wait for the honeymoon either, if only because he would get to see that smile with no interruptions.

buy me a ko-fi!

#sumayyah writes #the guide and the light #writing #original story #original characters #muslim #islam #muslim romance #romance #rom com #short story #it's midnight i will add to the glossary later if that's okay!!

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