#i apologize for all the grammatical errors

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 6 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Six: There's Blood On The Side Of The Mountain

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Attempted Su!c!de, Idealization of Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attack,

Word Count: 9.2k (I’m sorry this is so long wtf)

A/N: Istg. Make sure you read ALL the warnings! This chapter is going to be sad by the way. It’s extra sad. Keep your chin up, girl. You got this. Also, yes, ofc the song I chose would be Can’t Catch Me Now by Olivia Rodrigo, it makes sense tehe.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Can’t Catch Me Now by Olivia Rodrigo

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

KING’S LANDING, THE BATTLE PIT — DAY

From where you stand, the pit feels like a hollow reflection of King’s Landing itself—a stage for brutality, where bloodshed is applauded and violence wears the crown. Your sneer twists in disdain as you watch Ser Gregor "The Mountain" Clegane slice through a prisoner with disturbing ease, lifting the poor soul high on his greatsword. Blood streams from the prisoner’s mouth, his eyes wide in terror before The Mountain tosses him to the sand like discarded meat. The sound of his body hitting the ground is drowned out by the murmurs of the onlookers, but it echoes in your ears nonetheless.

Cersei watches, her eyes cold and calculating, as a line of prisoners stand chained, awaiting their fate. Each filthy, ragged figure, a nameless body lined up for slaughter. You feel a bitter twist in your gut—this spectacle, this violence—meant to terrify more than entertain.

One of the guards barks orders, shoving the next prisoner forward like livestock.

“Go on, move it,” the guard snaps, his tone indifferent to the man’s terror.

The prisoner stumbles forward, his trembling hands reaching for a meager weapon at his feet. You catch a glimpse of his wide, panicked eyes—he knows his fate. Still, he holds the weapon like it might mean his survival, like it might hold off the inevitable for even a few heartbeats longer. But the outcome is written in the blood that already stains the sand beneath him.

The first prisoner attacks The Mountain with desperation. He lunges, wild and reckless, but The Mountain is faster, his sword cleaving through flesh with a sickening ease. The prisoner’s body folds as he’s disemboweled in one stroke, his life ending in a gruesome heap at the giant’s feet. 

The next prisoner, shaking, drops his weapon entirely, sinking to his knees. Tears mix with the dirt on his face as he pleads for mercy.

“Mercy, please. Please, mercy,” the man cries, his voice breaking, filled with the kind of hopelessness that makes your chest tighten.

Cersei watches with an air of indifference, her lips curling ever so slightly as The Mountain delivers a series of savage overhead blows, reducing the prisoner to nothing more than a broken corpse. The sand beneath him darkens with blood, and you force yourself to keep watching, not out of morbid curiosity, but as a reminder. This is the city you’re in. These are the people who rule it.

Cersei steps forward, her gaze fixed on The Mountain. “Ser Gregor,” she says smoothly, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. “Welcome to the capital. Thank you for riding here so quickly.”

You note the lack of warmth in her tone, the way she speaks to him as though she were addressing a weapon, not a man. In truth, that’s exactly what The Mountain is to her—just another tool.

Cersei’s gaze flickers down to the bodies strewn about the pit. “You seem to be in good form.”

The Mountain’s reply is as cold as it is simple. “Who am I fighting?”

Cersei raises a brow, her expression as detached as ever. “Does it matter?”

The Mountain shakes his head. To him, it truly doesn’t. Flesh is flesh, no matter whose body it belongs to.

But you think otherwise.

As you stand there, your eyes narrowing at the towering figure of The Mountain, you wonder how many lives he has ruined, how many people have died in his shadow. A thought sharpens within you—among the things victims have lost, how many things can they ever truly reclaim? You can’t help but wonder if any of these prisoners were thinking the same, if their last thoughts were of the homes they’ll never return to, the families they’ve left behind.

It’s not justice they seek in these final moments. There’s no glory here. The only thing left to reclaim is their honor—what little remains of it. Some might hope for forgiveness, for mercy. But you know better. In King’s Landing, where the powerful feast on the misery of others, revenge is often the only way to regain even a fraction of that lost honor. Only then, in the pursuit of vengeance, can one truly begin again.

You look at Cersei, at The Mountain, and think to yourself, Forgiveness has no place here. Not in this city. Not when men like The Mountain are allowed to walk free, spilling blood for sport, for the amusement of those in power. No, here, revenge is the only way to claim victory, to bring balance to the scales. You keep your thoughts to yourself, but deep down, you know—glory through revenge may be the only true path to the starting point.

There are no second chances.

KING'S LANDING, TYRION'S CELL — EVENING

You knew Bronn was smart enough to fear the Mountain. One misstep, and anyone facing that monstrous man would be dead in an instant. Yet, as you moved quietly through the shadowed halls, following Oberyn down to Tyrion’s cell, an unsettling dread filled you. Oberyn had already made up his mind. His determination was palpable, and it terrified you.

You’d trained yourself to move unseen, your footsteps silent on the cold stone floors of King’s Landing. Perhaps Oberyn knew you were trailing him, but he didn’t seem to care. His confidence radiated from him like the warmth of the torch he carried, unwavering, even as you concealed yourself in the shadows.

Inside the cell, Tyrion sat in the dark, his posture heavy with defeat. The door creaked open, and you pressed yourself against the wall, listening intently.

Oberyn stepped inside, his torch casting flickering light across the damp, narrow space.

"I imagined you'd be back at the brothel at this hour," Tyrion remarked, his voice filled with a bitter, tired amusement.

Oberyn’s tone was smooth, as it always was, with a hint of mischief. "I did spend some time with an absolutely stunning blonde the other day."

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly at the mention, a sharp twinge twisting in your chest. But you kept your eyes on the scene before you, your heart quickening as their exchange continued.

"Do tell," Tyrion replied, managing a slight smirk. "I've got every kind of filth down here except the kind I like."

Oberyn placed his torch down, the flame casting shadows that flickered along the walls as he took a seat beside Tyrion. The light softened his features but couldn’t chase away the gravity in his words. 

"Your sister," Oberyn said.

"Oh," Tyrion replied, his expression falling.

You relaxed slightly as the realization settled within you. Oberyn had meant Cersei. The tension in your chest eased, but the conversation soon shifted, becoming darker.

"Cersei approached me. We spoke a great deal about her daughter," Oberyn explained, his voice lowering. "How worried your sister is about her. She was trying very hard to pretend she had not come to sway me against you. I think she may have even believed it herself."

A small smile tugged at your lips. Oberyn was always clever, always able to see through the intricate webs of deception spun by those in King’s Landing. It was a quality you both admired and envied.

"Making honest feelings do dishonest work is one of her many gifts," Tyrion said with a grim chuckle, leaning against the wall.

"It was difficult for her to hide her true intentions," Oberyn continued, his voice calm but full of insight. "It is rare to meet a Lannister who shares my enthusiasm for dead Lannisters. She desperately wants to see you killed."

"She didn't need to bother you," Tyrion responded with a bitter laugh. "It looks as though I've taken care of that myself. The joy she will feel when my head leaves my neck... She’s wanted this for a long time."

Oberyn’s gaze darkened slightly, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. "Yes, I know. We met, you and I, many years ago."

Tyrion blinked, looking puzzled. "I think I would have remembered that."

"Unlikely," Oberyn replied, his tone shifting as he recalled the memory. "You had just been born. Our father brought me and my sister Elia with him on a visit to Casterly Rock. My first time away from Dorne. I didn’t like anything about the Rock. Not the food, not the weather, your accents. Nothing." His voice hardened as he continued. "But the biggest disappointment... was you."

Tyrion’s face fell, his usual armor of sarcasm failing him. "You and my family have more in common than you might admit," he muttered.

You watched closely, frowning as Oberyn recounted his tale. You understood disappointment more than anyone. After all, your own mother had cast you away the moment you were born, sending you to a life of servitude.

Oberyn continued, "The whole way from Dorne, all anyone talked about was the monster that had been born to Tywin Lannister. A head twice the size of his body, a tail between his legs, claws, one red eye, the privates of both a girl and a boy."

Tyrion forced a smile, though it was joyless. "That would have made things so much easier."

"When we met your sister," Oberyn said, leaning forward, "she promised she would show you to us. Every day we would ask. Every day she would say, ‘Soon.’ Then, finally, she and your brother took us to your nursery, and..." He paused, his gaze intense as he spoke the next words. "She unveiled the freak."

Tyrion’s expression remained stoic, though you could see the faint hurt in his eyes. Oberyn continued, his voice cold but full of truth. "Your head was a bit large. Your arms and legs were a bit small. But no claw, no red eye, no tail between your legs. Just a tiny pink cock. We didn’t try to hide our disappointment."

Oberyn’s face hardened as he remembered the moment. "That’s not a monster," I told Cersei. "That’s just a baby."

You swallowed hard, fighting the wave of emotion as you listened. You knew cruelty well—perhaps better than anyone in that room.

"And she said," Oberyn continued, his voice heavy with disgust, "‘He killed my mother.’ Then she pinched your little cock so hard, I thought she might pull it off. Until your brother made her stop. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she told us. ‘Everyone says he will die soon. I hope they are right. He should not have lived this long.’"

You felt a lump in your throat as tears threatened to well up in your eyes. How cruel could Cersei truly be?

Tyrion’s voice cracked slightly, though he tried to keep his tone casual. "Well... sooner or later, Cersei always gets what she wants."

"And what about what I want?" Oberyn’s voice was sharp now, full of purpose. "Justice. For my sister and her children."

Tyrion’s gaze darkened, his voice low. "If you want justice, you’ve come to the wrong place."

"I disagree," Oberyn said, rising to his feet. The flickering torchlight cast deep shadows on his face, highlighting the fierce determination in his eyes. "I’ve come to the perfect place."

You watched him closely, your heart racing. You knew what was coming, but you were powerless to stop it.

"I want to bring those who have wronged me to justice," Oberyn continued, his voice steady, each word a promise. "And all those who have wronged me are right here. I will begin with Ser Gregor Clegane, who killed my sister’s children and then raped her with their blood still on his hands before killing her too."

Oberyn turned to Tyrion, his voice echoing in the dim cell. "I will be your champion."

Your heart plummeted, the weight of his words crushing you. No. You’d seen it—the vision that haunted your every step. Oberyn’s demise. His fate, as cruel and certain as the tides.

As the heavy door creaked open, the flickering torchlight danced across the stone walls, casting deep shadows in Tyrion’s cell. You watched from the darkened corridor, your breath shallow as Oberyn stepped out, the light fading with him as the door slowly shut behind. Darkness swallowed the room once more, the soft click of the latch sealing the quiet tension that hung in the air.

For a few heartbeats, you stood there, your hand pressed against the cool stone wall, the lingering warmth of Oberyn’s presence still felt in the space he had just left. Then, with silent determination, you slipped into the cell.

Tyrion, huddled in the shadows, looked up at the sound of your approach, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. The small torch outside barely cast enough light to illuminate your figure as you slowly pulled back your hood. His tense expression softened with relief.

“I thought you were an assassin sent by Cersei to kill me,” Tyrion murmured, his voice a mix of dry humor and genuine fear.

You tilted your head slightly, a faint, cold smile playing on your lips. “You’re wrong on one of those things.”

Tyrion’s face tensed, the weight of your words unsettling him for a moment. His sharp mind was already working through possibilities, but before panic could fully settle in, you took a step closer.

“I’m not here to kill you,” you said softly, your voice calm but with an edge of bitterness. 

Tyrion let out a shaky breath, his shoulders easing slightly as he watched you carefully. You walked across the small cell, the sound of your steps soft on the cold stone. Taking a seat near one of the wooden poles, you leaned back against it, the silence between you both thick with unspoken truths.

“Do you recognize me?” you asked, your voice low, a challenge hidden in the question.

Tyrion furrowed his brow, studying your face. “You’re one of Sansa’s maids,” he finally said, his tone uncertain.

You nodded slowly. “Just a servant, if anything. But yes.” Leaning forward, you began rolling up your sleeves, exposing your arms in the pale sliver of moonlight that crept through the small barred window. The scars, the burns, every mark of torment etched into your skin told a story of survival. 

“Do you know the rumors?” you asked, your voice harder now.

Tyrion’s face shifted, a shadow of horror crossing his features as realization dawned on him. “You… you survived…”

Your eyes, cold and lifeless, met his. A small, bitter smile flickered on your lips as your jaw clenched. “Yes,” you said, leaning back against the wall, your arms folding across your chest. “Your reputation becomes rumors, and rumors become your reputation. That’s how it works, doesn’t it?”

Tyrion swallowed, clearly unsettled by the weight of your words. "Did you… did you poison Joffrey?" His voice was quiet, but the question held a note of accusation.

You shook your head, your expression flat. “No. I may have set the plan in motion, but they caused their own ruin.”

Tyrion’s eyes searched yours for deception, but when he found none, he nodded, accepting your words as truth.

“No one recognized me, not for the longest time,” you continued, your voice quiet, introspective. “Until… Prince Oberyn. Of course, he would. Every bit of information about his sister’s death... he sought it all. His own kind of hell.”

Tyrion remained silent, watching you closely as you spoke. 

“I sometimes wonder,” you mused, your eyes distant as you stared at the stone floor. “The solidarity between victims, and the solidarity between perpetrators. Which of them is stronger?”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, the sound hollow. “I’ve spent years in this place. Pouring wine, slicing pies, fetching, folding. Day after day, step by step. Every moment leading to this point.” You scoffed softly, your frustration evident. “Keeping myself going… it’s exhausting. I’m so tired of it.”

Tyrion exhaled shakily, his eyes filled with a deep understanding of that particular weariness.

“Oberyn… he has been kind to me. He is the only joy in my unfortunate life,” you said, your voice softening at the mention of him. “He has eight daughters waiting for him. Depending on him. I can’t let him throw his life away. Not for this.”

Tyrion’s brow furrowed, confusion and disbelief crossing his features. “So… you plan to kill me yourself, then?” His voice held a strange mix of resignation and curiosity.

You shook your head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “No.”

Tyrion’s confusion deepened as you met his gaze, your voice steady as you spoke the next words. “I will be your champion instead of Oberyn.”

For a long moment, there was only silence. Tyrion stared at you, incredulous. “Forgive me for saying this, but… Oberyn would never allow a lady such as yourself to fight a beast like the Mountain.”

Your eyes darkened slightly, a flicker of something dangerous flashing across your face. “You of all people should know what it means to be underestimated, Lord Tyrion.” Your voice was cold but not unkind. “It just means I have nothing left to lose.”

Tyrion’s gaze softened as he understood the gravity of your words. This was no grand act of heroism. No selfless gesture. “I’m not fighting for you,” you admitted, your voice low. “This is purely selfish. Oberyn deserves justice, as much as I do, but I can’t let him die. Not when I’ve come this far. I will die on my own terms.”

“He has a chance. How are you so sure that he will—”

“I’m sure. I’ve seen it. Gods, I’ve seen it.”

Tyrion studied you for a moment longer, his face unreadable. “And how, exactly, do you plan to convince Oberyn to take your place?”

You smiled then, a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Leave that to me.”

The door to your quarters closed behind you with a soft thud. You leaned against it, letting out a long sigh. Tomorrow would be the day—victory or defeat, life or death. The weight of it pressed down on your chest, heavy as armor.

You took a step forward, lost in thought, when a figure in the shadows caught your eye. Heart racing, your hand instinctively reached for the dagger hidden beneath your cloak.

“Oberyn?” you breathed, startled. 

He emerged from the darkness, leaning casually against the wall with that familiar, mischievous grin. “Relax, little dove. If I wanted to surprise you, I’d have done a better job,” he teased, his voice smooth and playful.

Your breath caught in your throat. The sight of him here, in your private space, unnerved you—but not in the way you expected. “What are you doing in my quarters?” you asked, trying to steady yourself, your pulse still racing. 

Oberyn’s smile widened as he pushed away from the wall and stepped closer. “I came to see you. Is that not allowed?”

“I—” you stammered, the shock of his sudden appearance blending with the rising tension in the room. “You scared me.”

He chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Good. You’re far too comfortable sneaking around King’s Landing. It’s time someone made you nervous.” His tone was light, but there was a warmth in his gaze that made your heart ache.

Your momentary fear melted away under his charm, but then your mind shifted, weighed down by the question that had been gnawing at you. You couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Oberyn,” you began, your voice growing serious, “have you known all along that I… approached you on purpose?”

His teasing expression faded, replaced by something softer, more knowing. “Yes,” he said quietly.

You blinked, thrown by his straightforward answer. “Since when?” you asked, stepping closer, your voice lowering. “How did you find out about the connection between me and your sister?”

Oberyn watched you for a moment, as though weighing how much to reveal. “I knew every detail of when and how she died along with every single rumor,” he said, his voice soft yet deliberate. “And you—” he gave you a small, almost fond smile—“you seem to be around the age that the child who served her would be now. I figured it out the moment I heard your accent.”

His words hit you like a sudden gust of wind. You had been careful, so careful, but of course Oberyn had seen through you.

“I knew from the start you would want to use me,” he continued, his voice like silk, though there was no accusation in it. “The brother of Elia. It made sense. When I put all the pieces together, I realized I was the man you needed. The one who would do your bidding without question.”

You swallowed, his words twisting something deep inside you. “And you were fine with that? Knowing I was using you for my revenge?”

He smiled, a sad, knowing smile. “I told myself I’d be of use to you. That I’d come running whenever you wanted to use me. Wherever it was, whatever it cost.” His dark eyes held yours, no longer teasing. “But I wanted to be there before your guilt caught up with you.”

Your breath hitched, the honesty in his voice cutting through your defenses. You tried to speak, but the words tangled in your throat. Oberyn’s hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch grounding you.

“When your sister died,” you finally whispered, “I thought I’d find someone to latch on to. So I approached you. Then I realized something—how could I even think of doing such a thing, just because I’m a victim? You’re a victim too.”

Oberyn’s gaze softened, and he let out a slow breath. “For a moment I thought I wasn’t your type,” he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “But now… you have no reason to use me anymore. If you refuse me, it’ll be for love. Not for revenge.”

Your chest tightened as his words washed over you. Tears welled in your eyes, the weight of tomorrow’s trial pressing down like an iron hand around your throat. You knew what you had to do, the price you’d pay to save him.

Your voice trembled as the tears slipped down your cheeks. “Then… help me. Until the end.”

Oberyn stepped closer, cupping your face with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear. His dark eyes held yours, filled with a tenderness you hadn’t allowed yourself to see before. “I will serve you,” he said, his voice a quiet promise, “until the end.”

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP – EARLY MORNING

The first light of dawn filtered through the narrow window, casting a soft glow over the room. You had half-expected Oberyn to have slipped away in the night, seeking the comfort of Ellaria or losing himself in his vices. But when you woke, he was still there, lying beside you in the small, cramped bed that barely fit you both. His arm draped around your waist, holding you close as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

The night before had been unexpected—no grand seduction, no teasing beyond his usual wit. Instead, you’d stayed up talking, sharing dreams and desires you thought long buried beneath the weight of revenge. It had been… peaceful, in a way you hadn’t known in years. For once, sleep had come easily, a deep and untroubled rest. But now, the morning was here, and with it came the knowledge of what you had to do.

You shifted carefully, trying to untangle yourself from his embrace without waking him. Oberyn mumbled something in his sleep, his grip tightening briefly before loosening as you gently pulled away. Slipping from the bed, you began dressing quietly, moving with the practiced ease of someone who had learned long ago how to move in the shadows.

As you buckled your tunic, you felt his eyes on you. Turning, you found Oberyn watching you from the bed, his dark eyes half-lidded and full of sleepy mischief. “Leaving me already?” he teased, his voice a husky murmur. “I was just getting comfortable.”

You couldn’t help but smile, though your heart ached with the weight of what you were about to do. “Someone has to get ready for the day,” you replied, forcing a lightness into your tone that you didn’t feel.

He sat up, the blanket falling from his chest as he stretched lazily. “You know, you could stay a little longer… I wouldn’t mind.”

Your throat tightened, but you masked it with a chuckle. “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” you said softly as you crossed the room. The closer you got to him, the harder it became to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

Oberyn reached for you as you approached the bed, his fingers brushing your wrist before you leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss. It was passionate, raw, as though it carried every unsaid word between you—every regret, every longing. For a moment, you allowed yourself to drown in it, to feel the warmth of his skin, the press of his lips. But you knew you couldn’t stay there.

With a soft gasp, you pulled away, your heart hammering in your chest. His eyes were still clouded with desire, his breath uneven, when you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Before he could react, you pressed your fingers to a pressure point at the base of his neck. His body stiffened for a heartbeat before his eyes rolled back, and he slumped into unconsciousness. Your hand trembled as you laid him gently on the bed, your chest tight with the enormity of what you’d just done.

Tying him up was harder than you expected. The sheets you wrapped around his wrists felt like chains around your heart, binding you to this moment of betrayal. But it was necessary. He couldn’t stop you, and you couldn’t let him die for you. Not today. Not when he had so much left to live for.

You left a note by his side, your hand shaking as you scrawled the words. You told him the truth—Dorne needed him, his daughters needed him. He had a future. But you… you were already ruined, with no family, no purpose left beyond vengeance. If things had been different, perhaps you would have let yourself love him fully. Perhaps you could have been more than the ghosts of your pasts. But now… now you had to see this through, and he couldn’t follow you into the fire.

When you met Serena in the hall, she was waiting with a worried expression. You pressed a pouch of coins into her hand, whispering instructions she already knew. “Untie him when the trial ends,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "He must live."

Tears welled in her eyes, and she gripped your hands tightly, her voice breaking. “Please… don’t die. Come back.”

The words struck you harder than you expected. For a moment, you stood frozen, unsure of how to respond. She pulled you into a hug, clinging to you as though she could stop you from leaving, from walking into the jaws of death. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you wrapped an arm around her, patting her back awkwardly. “Thank you,” you whispered, the words heavy with finality.

KING’S LANDING, FIGHTING PIT – DAY

The bells tolled in the distance, a grim reminder that the day had arrived. Tyrion shuffled out toward the arena, his chains clinking with every step. The Lannisters watched from their seats, and Ellaria stood nearby, her eyes scanning the crowd for Oberyn.

You stepped into view, the sunlight glinting off your armor. It was simple but well-made—light enough for movement, but sturdy where it mattered. No helmet yet, your hair loose as the breeze tugged at it. A dagger was strapped to your thigh, hidden from view, while your hand rested on the hilt of a long, slender sword—a weapon you had saved for, piece by piece, over the years. 

Tyrion’s gaze flicked to you, his brow furrowed with worry. “Look like very light armor,” he commented dryly.

You shrugged. “Not really.”

The Mountain loomed on the other side of the pit, fully armored and wielding a massive sword that seemed to cleave the air as he moved. Ellaria’s eyes widened as she looked between you and the towering figure before her. “You’re going to fight that?” she asked, alarmed.

You let out a sigh, your grip tightening on your sword. “Hopefully, I’m going to kill that.”

Ellaria’s hand shot out, gripping your arm. “Where is Oberyn?”

You met her gaze, your eyes steady. “He’s safe. I swear it.” You paused, glancing at the Mountain and then back at her. “Take care of him.”

Pycelle’s voice rang out across the arena, ancient and raspy. "In the sight of gods and men, we gather to ascertain the guilt or innocence of this… man, Tyrion Lannister. May the Mother grant them mercy. May the Father give them such justice as they deserve. And may the Warrior guide the hand of our champion..."

Tywin, bored and impatient, gestured for the fight to begin. The horns sounded, echoing through the arena.

You met Tyrion’s gaze one last time. He nodded to you, his voice barely audible as he whispered, “Good luck.”

You gave a small nod in return, your hand tightening on your sword hilt as you stepped into the pit. The Mountain loomed ahead, but this wasn’t about fear anymore. This was about survival, vengeance, and the weight of every choice you had ever made.

Today, you would fight. And one way or another, everything would change.

MAIDENVAULT, GUEST CHAMBERS

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP — DAY

Oberyn awoke slowly, blinking against the morning light that filtered through the window. A dull ache settled in his neck, and when he tried to move, he found his arms pinned, bound to the bed with sheets tightly knotted around his wrists. His mind raced for answers, and then it hit him—you. He had kissed you, and then… darkness.

The sound of soft footsteps drew his attention. A young woman stood by the door, wringing her hands nervously. She was small, her eyes wide with a mix of guilt and fear. Oberyn narrowed his gaze, his voice hoarse. "Who are you?"

"I—I'm Serena," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m… a maid. She—she told me to wait until after the battle. I promised."

Oberyn’s heart pounded, realization dawning on him. “Untie me,” he demanded, his voice steady but urgent. “Now.”

Serena shook her head, biting her lip, tears welling up in her eyes. “I can’t. I swore I wouldn’t, not until it was over. She made me promise. I—I’m sorry.”

Oberyn tugged against the bindings, frustration growing with each passing moment. His eyes scanned the bedside table, where a crumpled piece of parchment lay. His heart clenched. “What is that?” he asked, his voice barely a breath.

Serena hesitated, then stepped forward, placing the note in his hand.

Oberyn quickly unfolded the paper, recognizing your hurried scrawl. His eyes moved over the words, and with each line, the pit in his stomach deepened.

Oberyn,

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. I couldn’t let you fight, not when so much depends on you. Dorne needs you, your daughters need you. You have a future, Oberyn. I can’t let you throw it all away for my revenge.

This is my fight, not yours. I’ve been ruined long before we met, and there’s nothing left for me but this. No family, no husband, no purpose beyond this one thing.

If things had been different, maybe we could have found a better life together. But now, all I can do is ask for your forgiveness. You were the one good thing that happened to me, and for that, I thank you.

Serena will untie you when the trial ends. Don’t come after me. Please. Live, for Dorne, for your daughters. For the future you still have.

Goodbye, Oberyn.

The note trembled in his hands as Oberyn read it, his heart shattering with every word. His chest tightened, breath coming short as if the air had been stolen from him. "No," he muttered, shaking his head. "No, no, no!"

He turned to Serena, his voice breaking. “Untie me. I beg you. I have to stop her.”

Serena’s eyes filled with tears, her lip trembling as she clutched the hem of her dress. “She—she made me promise. I’m supposed to wait until—”

“Damn the promise!” Oberyn roared, his desperation clawing at the edges of his voice. “She’s going to die, Serena! Do you understand that? She’s going to die, and I can’t let that happen. Please. Please, untie me. I can save her.”

Serena’s hands shook violently, her resolve crumbling. She looked at him, at the raw pain in his eyes, the pleading in his voice. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she struggled with the weight of your last request. “She said Dorne needs you,” Serena whispered. “She said you have so much to lose. I—I can’t...”

Oberyn’s voice cracked, softer now, filled with a grief that was almost unbearable. “I’ll lose her. Don’t you see? If you wait… it’ll be too late. I’ll lose her forever. She’s… everything. Please… untie me.”

Serena’s hands moved to the bindings, her fingers trembling as she hesitated one last time. “Promise me… promise me you’ll save her,” she whispered, choking on her sobs.

“I swear it,” Oberyn said, his voice raw with emotion. “I swear on my life. I will save her.”

With a deep breath, Serena finally gave in, loosening the knots and setting him free. As the sheets fell away, Oberyn leapt from the bed, his heart racing as he grabbed his cloak, his mind already on the trial and the bloodshed to come.

Serena watched him go, her hands trembling, knowing that she might have just sent him to his death.

KING’S LANDING, FIGHTING PIT — DAY

The sun beat down on the fighting pit, the crowd's chatter falling into murmurs as you stepped into the arena. Eyes followed you, curious, some confused. You were no one to them, just another faceless fighter stepping up to die. But you felt the weight of their stares, especially the piercing gaze of the Lannisters, high above on their platform, surveying the pit like vultures. They didn’t know who you were, not yet.

Your eyes found the Mountain, hulking and monstrous, towering over you with cold indifference. You raised your voice, cutting through the air, “Do you know who I am?”

Gregor Clegane’s laugh was deep and cruel. “Pity,” he spat, his voice loud enough to carry across the pit. “Some dead whore.”

He lunged. His sheer size made the earth quake beneath your feet, but you were ready. You dodged, his sword cleaving through the space you had been a heartbeat before. He was fast, impossibly fast for someone of his size, but you had spent years preparing for this moment. All those nights spent training, fighting men four times your size, all of it led to this.

As you spun out of his reach, you screamed out to the crowd, “I was the maid of Princess Elia Martell!”

A ripple of whispers spread through the spectators. The name Elia Martell always had that effect, even here in King’s Landing. The Mountain charged again, his blade whistling through the air. You blocked his strike, feeling the force of it reverberate through your arms, but you pushed back, slashing at the vulnerable joints in his armor. The soft spots.

Gregor stumbled but recovered quickly. He came at you again, enraged. “I'm going to hear you confess to all these people before you die,” you spat, circling him. “Tell them how you raped her. How you murdered her. How you killed her children.”

His next attack was brutal, a wild swing that glanced off your arm, leaving a burning line of pain. You gritted your teeth, ignoring the blood soaking into your sleeve. You were faster, smaller. You had to be smarter. And so, you fought, with the fury of someone who had waited their entire life for this moment.

“You raped her!” you screamed again, your voice ragged with rage and pain. “You murdered her! You killed her children!”

You moved in, quick as a viper, stabbing him deep in the gut. He faltered, his massive body reeling from the blow. But you knew better than to get close to a wounded beast. He caught you off guard, his enormous hand closing around your throat. You gasped, your sword clattering to the ground as you struggled in his grip. The world narrowed, the crowd’s roar fading into a dull hum as your vision blurred.

But then, with a final burst of strength, you reached for the daggers hidden at your thigh. In one swift movement, you sliced through the ligaments in his knees, then his ankles, his elbows, his shoulders—every joint you could reach. The Mountain dropped to his knees, immobilized, his weapon far from his reach.

The crowd gasped. You kicked his sword aside, watching as he floundered, his monstrous frame now reduced to helplessness. You sliced off his right hand, the brutal act met with stunned silence from the spectators.

Your boot pressed down hard against his throat, your voice raw with fury. “Confess!” you shouted, eyes blazing as the crowd murmured in shock. Leaning in closer, your voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “You may have forgotten but these people haven’t.”

The Mountain coughed, blood splattering from his lips, but still, he refused. So you pressed harder, forcing the confession from his broken body. “Confess!” you screamed, your voice cutting through the stillness.

“Elia Martell,” he rasped, his voice thick with blood. “I killed her children. Then I raped her.”

Your chest heaved, your body shaking as you stood over him, your heart pounding in your ears. “Do you remember me now?” you asked, seething, your voice a low, dangerous whisper.

Gregor’s eyes flickered with the faintest recognition, and then he growled, his voice thick with venom. “You’re the bitch I burned. I burned you, and I enjoyed every moment of it.”

The words hit you like a slap, a fresh wave of rage rolling over you. But this time, it wasn’t uncontrollable. It was cold, calculating. “That’s right,” you muttered, your eyes narrowing as you stared down at the man who had haunted your nightmares for so long.

Gregor Clegane, the monster you had spent your life waiting to kill, was bleeding out before you. The crowd was silent, frozen in shock, their disbelief palpable. You could feel their eyes on you, but you didn’t care. This wasn’t for them.

“Ser Gregor,” you sneered, “death is too kind of a punishment for an animal like you. I’m not a good person—I plan on becoming worse every day. But today, I will be kind.”

With that, you raised your longsword high and brought it down, severing his head with a clean, decisive stroke. Blood splattered across your face and armor, but you didn’t flinch. You stood there, breathing heavily, caked in dirt and blood, staring down at the lifeless body of the Mountain.

The crowd erupted into chaos, screams and cheers echoing around the pit. But you barely heard them. You turned slowly, your gaze drifting to the platform where Lord Tywin and Cersei stood, their faces pale with shock. They hadn’t expected this. No one had.

As you began to strip off your armor, the crowd’s cheers faded into a stunned hush. Piece by piece, you removed the heavy metal, letting it fall to the ground until you stood in the pit, exposed. Your skin, marred and scarred, told the story of your past, of the torment you had endured. The crowd gasped, some weeping at the sight of you. But your eyes—your eyes were empty, a void where once there had been pain. Now, there was nothing but calm.

Oberyn pushed through the throngs of people, heart pounding, eyes wild with panic as he scanned the crowd. The moment he stepped into the pit’s edge, his breath caught in his throat. His world stopped. You were there, in the middle of it all, a figure painted in blood and dust, screaming out for justice with a voice that could tear the heavens apart.

His heart clenched painfully at the sight of you, fury blazing in your eyes as you danced around the Mountain’s monstrous frame, every strike of your sword precise, every movement a testament to the fire that burned within you. You had trained for this. You were prepared. But watching you battle the creature who had haunted his nightmares, who had torn apart his sister and everything Oberyn held dear—it was more than he could bear.

His body surged forward on instinct, but Ellaria’s grip tightened around his arm, her fingers digging into his skin. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear and anguish. “She’s chosen this.”

Oberyn’s breath hitched, his mind warring with itself. How could he stand here, watching the woman he cared for, the one person who seemed to understand his pain, fight alone? His every instinct screamed at him to run to you, to stop this madness, to be the one to end it for you. But Ellaria was right—this was your choice. You were fighting not just for Elia, but for yourself.

His prayers, silent and desperate, echoed in his mind. Keep her safe. Please, gods, let her live.

And then, just as the Mountain loomed over you one last time, bloodied but still alive, you moved like lightning. One moment, you were in his grip, your life hanging by a thread, and the next, you were free, your daggers flashing like vengeful stars as you cut him down, piece by piece, until the Mountain—the monster who had destroyed so many lives—fell to his knees, defeated.

Oberyn blinked, his heart in his throat, as the Mountain’s confession rang out across the arena. “Elia Martell. I killed her children. Then I raped her.”

A sickening wave of relief and horror washed over him. It was done. The Mountain had confessed. But you—gods, you were still standing, barely. Covered in blood and dirt, your scarred arms laid bare for the world to see, the evidence of the hell you had endured etched into your skin.

Tyrion, still chained but now free of the weight of death, was weeping with joy, unable to believe the miracle before him. You had won. The gods had chosen justice—your justice.

But Oberyn’s eyes flickered to the Lannisters. Lord Tywin, sitting stone-faced on his perch, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrest of his chair. Cersei, beside him, her face a twisted mask of rage and disbelief. Their plans had crumbled before their eyes, and there was nothing they could do.

“The gods have made their will known,” Tywin said at last, his voice cold and measured. “Tyrion Lannister, in the name of King Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, you are hereby granted mercy.”

The words dripped with bitterness, but Tywin could do nothing to change the outcome. His gaze shifted to you, and the venom in his eyes was palpable. He stared at you as if he could will you dead on the spot, but you, bloodied and exhausted, raised your chin defiantly. Your shoulders straightened, and despite the pain, you walked with purpose, never looking back at the crowd.

Oberyn could see the weight of the battle on you, the way your steps faltered slightly as you moved toward the edge of the arena. But before you could collapse, before your body gave in, you found him.

“Oberyn,” you breathed out, a ghost of a smile on your lips, just as your vision blurred, the world spinning out of focus. You reached for him, and he ran toward you, catching you before you fell.

“My beloved,” he whispered, cradling your head in his arms, panic flooding his veins. He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice thick with emotion. “Stay with me. You’ve won. You’ve won.”

But your vision darkened, his face fading into shadows as you whispered, barely audible, “I’m sorry. For all of it. I’m sorry.”

Then everything went black.

Oberyn held you tighter, his heart racing as he carried you away from the pit, the cheers of the crowd fading into a distant roar. Ellaria trailed behind him, her face streaked with silent tears. And as the sun began to set over King’s Landing, Oberyn prayed once more, but this time, it was not for vengeance.

It was for you.

A FEW DAYS LATER...  

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — DAY

You inhale slowly, your eyelids fluttering open as a heavy fog of disorientation lingers. The cushion beneath you feels impossibly soft, too luxurious to be real, and the silk sheets that drape over your body are unfamiliar against your skin. For a moment, you wonder if you're still dreaming. Blinking against the blurriness, you take in the room—this isn't your quarters. It’s far too grand, too opulent. The deep burgundy tapestries hang from the walls, trimmed with gold, casting the space in a warm, regal glow. 

Your confusion deepens as your gaze drifts around the room, eventually landing on the man seated beside you, his presence both grounding and comforting. Oberyn. His dark eyes are focused entirely on you, a mixture of concern and anger etched into the lines of his face. He’s holding your hand tightly, as if letting go might mean losing you.

When he notices your eyes fluttering open, his grip tightens, his thumb brushing over your knuckles with a kind of desperation that makes your heart clench.

“You scared me,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, strained by emotions he usually keeps in check. The frustration bleeds into his words, but there’s an overwhelming sense of relief as well. His brow is furrowed, and for a second, it seems like he doesn’t know whether to scold you or hold you closer.

He leans in without hesitation, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that is both gentle and fierce. His hand cups your cheek as though he’s afraid you might disappear if he doesn't hold on. There’s a warmth in the kiss, but you can feel the anger there, too—the worry that he almost lost you, the unspoken terror that gripped him during your absence.

As you pull back from the kiss, your head still spinning, you can’t help but think of Ellaria. The question tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. “Wait… Ellaria…”

Oberyn sighs, his thumb still grazing the back of your hand as if to soothe away your concerns. “No…” he begins softly, his voice gentler now, though the tension in his posture remains. “We—both of us—have things to discuss.”

You shift beneath the covers, the comfort of the sheets doing little to ease the guilt that's settled in your chest. "I didn’t mean to cause problems,” you whisper, your voice small, barely above a murmur. 

His eyes soften as he watches you, his grip tightening for a moment before loosening again. “It wasn’t you,” he reassures you, his tone filled with a sincerity that makes your heart ache. “None of this was your fault.”

But still, the weight of it all lingers. You can’t shake the feeling that you've upset the delicate balance between them, between you, and the heavy silence presses down on you. "It kind of feels like it," you admit, your gaze dropping to the silk sheets beneath your fingers as if avoiding his eyes will make it easier.

Oberyn studies you for a moment, his intense gaze never wavering. When he speaks, his voice is soft, coaxing, but there’s a thread of steel underneath, as though he won’t let you hide from this. “What is it? Tell me.”

You hesitate, the words thick and difficult to force out. It feels vulnerable, admitting this to him. But you’ve never been one to shy away from the truth, and Oberyn deserves that, at least. You take a shaky breath. “I don’t like to share,” you confess, your voice barely a whisper as you look up at him, afraid of what you might see in his eyes.

For a moment, there's silence. Then, a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips—not mocking, but understanding. “Ah,” he says softly, a faint chuckle escaping him, though it holds no malice. His fingers lace through yours more tightly, and he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “You don't need to worry about that right now.”

His tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s something deeper in the way he looks at you. Something reassuring. “We’ll figure it out,” he adds, his voice calm, steady, as if this problem is not insurmountable, as if you and he could face anything together.

You can’t help the way your heart warms at his words, at the way he so effortlessly defuses your fears with that simple, quiet confidence of his. You offer him a tentative smile, still feeling a little raw, a little unsure, but his presence, as always, is enough to make the world seem just a little bit easier to face.

For now, in this moment, the tension fades. It’s just the two of you, hands intertwined, the weight of your worries shared between you. And somehow, that’s enough.

Everything seemed to be falling back into place, except for one thing—you couldn’t stay. You had already resigned from your position as a servant to the Lannisters, knowing it was only a matter of time before they dismissed you.

That morning, after bidding farewell to your duties, you left a good sum of gold for Serena, thanking her for all she had done. It wasn’t nearly enough to repay her, but it was all you had. She had been your silent ally, and you owed her your life.

You had recovered well enough, and when the time came, you scribbled a note and left it on Oberyn’s desk. Just a few words, playful but loaded with meaning:  

“Do you want to come see the ocean with me?”

The sun was sinking into the horizon, casting the sky in soft shades of gold and lavender as you and Oberyn strolled along the coast. The sea breeze brushed against your skin, cool and salty, but comforting. It tousled your hair, lifting the loose strands in gentle waves. Beside you, Oberyn’s hand was warm, his fingers entwined with yours as he led you along the shore. His voice, rich and smooth like velvet, floated through the air, serenading you with a Dornish love song. His words, though foreign, melted into the air, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace.

You looked up at him, his face glowing in the fading light, his eyes reflecting the endless ocean beside you. In his presence, the world seemed smaller, quieter. The chaotic din of King's Landing, the bloodshed, and the weight of everything that had come before—it all faded into the background. Here, it was just the two of you, walking along the edge of the world.

Oberyn’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “You look peaceful,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. 

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his affection settle deep in your chest. "I feel peaceful. For once," you whispered, your eyes meeting his, drinking in the tenderness you saw there. 

As the two of you made your way to a small dock, you found an old crate to sit on, the wood weathered and worn by years of salt and sea. You sat side by side, legs dangling off the edge, sharing a bottle of Dornish red wine. The world around you felt infinite—expansive ocean stretching out before you, stars beginning to shimmer in the twilight sky, the rhythmic lull of the waves breaking against the shore.

The wine was sweet, its taste lingering on your lips as you passed the bottle between you, laughing between sips, sharing stolen kisses in between stories. Oberyn’s hand slid along your back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. He was so close, and yet, for the first time, you felt the distance growing. 

There was a part of you that ached, knowing how this perfect moment would end.

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “Oberyn,” you murmured, your voice quiet, barely louder than the waves.

“Hmm?” He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss into your hair.

You closed your eyes, inhaling his scent—the mix of sun and leather, and something uniquely him. For a moment, you just listened to the sound of his heartbeat, steady and sure. You wanted to bottle this moment, to keep it forever, but you knew that was impossible.

“I love this,” you whispered. “I love… you.”

Oberyn smiled against your hair, his lips brushing your skin. “And I you.”

You stayed like that for a long time, the two of you wrapped in the silence, the kind that didn’t need words. The sky above grew darker, stars spilling across the night like scattered diamonds. Everything felt right in that instant, perfect even. But you knew better than to believe in perfect endings.

When Oberyn stood to fetch more wine, you watched him walk away, your heart already breaking with every step he took. He looked back, flashing you a teasing grin, unaware of the storm brewing inside you. You held on to that image of him—happy, carefree, the man who had brought light into your world.

You waited until he disappeared into the distance before you moved. You pulled the small seashell from your pocket, the one you'd found on the shore earlier. You placed it carefully beside the note you had written earlier, your hand trembling as you set it on the crate where you had shared so many stolen moments with Oberyn.

Your breath caught in your throat as you re-read the words you had scrawled:

“We’re at the final destination. This is the end. Goodbye.”

The weight of it all settled over you as you stood there for a moment, staring out at the endless sea. Your heart ached in a way you couldn’t describe, torn between love and the inevitability of your decision. You closed your eyes, letting the wind caress your face one last time before you turned and walked away, leaving only the note and seashell behind.

By the time Oberyn returned, laughing with another bottle of wine in hand, you were already gone.

He looked around, the smile slipping from his face as he called your name. Panic crept into his voice as he scanned the dock, eyes landing on the seashell and the note. His hand trembled as he picked it up, his heart hammering in his chest as he read the words.

The bottle of wine slipped from his grasp, shattering on the ground, just like his heart.

ATOP THE CLIFFS — EVENING

The wind howled as you stood at the edge of the cliffs, looking down at the jagged rocks and the sea below. You had built a small fire, watching as the flames consumed the journal you had written in for years—pages full of unsent letters, regrets, and broken dreams. The smoke curled into the twilight sky, taking with it the pieces of you no one had ever seen.

Tears streamed down your face as you whispered into the wind, "I hope that in the end, whether I’m in the world or not, your world will be full of me. I want you to resent every moment of your life so much that you feel it deep in your bones. Let me do that. I’ll be the one who kills me."

The ocean roared beneath you, the cliffs standing as silent witnesses to your final moment. You stepped closer to the edge, the weight of the world lifting as you prepared to let go.

But then—  

“Help! Please help! Save him!”

You turned slowly, tears still blurring your vision. Standing at a distance was Ellaria Sand, her face stricken with panic. Her voice trembled as she called out, “If this is the end you were preparing for, then you should already know. What if… Oberyn chooses this end too?”

You stood frozen, silent, tears streaming down your face as Ellaria took a cautious step toward you. Her voice was thick with emotion as she continued, “I met with Serena. She told me about you. She told me everything—about where you came from, how you ended up here.”

Ellaria’s voice cracked as she pleaded with you. “This isn’t the way things should end. When Oberyn told me he wanted to help you get revenge, I gave him my permission. So please… give me your permission to save your life today.”

You could barely breathe, your chest tight with grief and confusion. 

Ellaria’s eyes were wet with tears as she took another step forward. “Whether I have to hang on to you or jump with you, I will save you. I need you to help him—help Oberyn escape his hell so that he can choose to live.”

You stared at her, your tears flowing freely now, and your gaze drifted back to the ocean, where the sun had almost dipped below the horizon. Stars began to streak across the sky, as if the gods themselves were watching, waiting for your decision.

End Notes:

Okay OKAY LISTEN LISTEN, I know it doesn’t make sense that Ellaria shows up there. It’s all fantasy. But if we assume that there were tiny bits of divine intervention here and there, she could appear on those cliffs because she wanted to save you.

TAGLIST:

@greenwitchfromthewoods @shessweetsour @christinamadsen

[baronessblixen]

“it's better than before.” (please don’t hurt me too bad!)

I think this was an angst prompt and my answer is... not. I don't know what it is exactly! Set in the revival, Mulder muses about life, changes and Scully. Wc: 1,966

Tagging @today-in-fic

Everything Old is New Again

The fake sunrise his alarm clocks projects wakes him at 6.30 am, like every morning. One of these days he’s going to find an old analog clock like he used to have. But that’s a task for another morning. Until then, he will wake up to this, believing Scully when she says it’s better for him. Even if the light is fake.

His body protests as he rolls over to switch off the orange light and the bird chirping that accompanies it. He doesn’t know how to turn off the incessant sound on its own. It just turns on every morning. There should be a manual for this damn alarm clock, but if there is, he’s lost it.

Mulder groans as he sits up in bed, running a hand over his face. It’s Friday. Once, days of the week didn’t matter. Weekend was an idea rather than a fixed set of days. Nowadays, he works Monday to Friday, like one of these agents he used to think of as lazy when he himself was younger. He wonders what young agents think about him now. If they think about him at all.

In the bathroom, his Bluetooth speaker greets him with a mechanical good morning and hits from the 70s, 80s and 90s. You can take the man out of the decades, but not the decades out of the man.

He showers quickly, his shower head made to save water. Less than five minutes later he’s done. Gone are the days of long, hot showers. Now there’s only efficiency. Scully got him the shower head last Christmas and he, against all odds, had hoped it meant she wanted to take more showers here, at their house. His hopes were crushed when she told him she had a date for New Year’s Eve.

He spent long days waiting to hear about the date, about the new man in her life. It never happened. Over a month later, when her birthday drew near, he asked her about it, pretending his heart wasn’t pounding. She merely shrugged, said it was only one date and nothing more. The nameless man remained so. As did the next, and the one after him. Then, in May, Scully told him about Paul. A guy she went on more than one date with. Five, to be exact. Mulder tried counting backward to find out when it had started. Whether something had changed then. Had she smiled more? Had she seemed happier?

“I hope you,” she had said, taking his hand in hers. “I hope it doesn’t bother you. I will keep my personal life out of the office. I just wanted you to know. I owe you that much.”

So he knew. May went by in a blur and June promised to be the same with Scully asking for a week off. He didn’t ask and she didn’t say, but he knew she was going to spend it with Paul. Mulder threw himself into work, didn’t allow himself to think about her, or about what she and Paul were doing.

When she returned, a soft tan on her face, she looked guilty and Mulder was deflated. Once, they had gone on vacation, too. Away from the darkness that had followed them. No matter how much sun there was, how much love they made, it hung over them like a rain cloud. They both knew that one day it would break and drown them.

Paul was history by late June. Scully told him in passing while they were getting ready to board a plane. He just nodded, trying to keep his face neutral when in reality he felt like bursting into song.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You’re not,” Scully replied, but there was a twinkle in her eyes and a lightness in her voice he hadn’t heard in a while.

He took her hand as the plane started, knowing how much she hated that moment. She didn’t pull away and Mulder knew that things were changing.

His coffee grows cold over his musings, but he downs it anyway before he grabs his car keys to leave for work. The sun – the real one – has just woken up and is blinking through the gray September clouds up above. Mulder turns on the heat in the car, feeling a bit chilly.

He hooks up his phone, tells it to navigate him to work and starts his car. How different this used to be. Back in the day, he knew the way to the Hoover building by heart. Now he isn’t sure he’d find his way without his phone. Scully keeps telling him to not use it as it will make his brain shrink, but it’s just easier this way. And it gives him time to think. About Scully.

Today is the day. He’s planned it meticulously. He will ask her out. An old-fashioned date, just the two of them. No cases, no excuses, and no Pauls. No bees either. He grins, humming along to the song on his playlist. Another one of those things. He and Scully used to find tapes in their rental cars from time to time, listening to them in excitement. They never knew what the next song would be. He misses those days, sometimes. Misses the unpredictability of it all.

Mulder stops in front of the coffee shop he and Scully have started frequenting. It’s a far cry from the places they went to back in the day. There are seven different varieties of milk now, not just one. A couple of weeks ago, he ordered a coffee with cow milk and Scully threw him a look, reminding him that plant-based milk is better for the environment and for him.

Ever since then, he’s been taking his coffee with unsweetened almond milk. After all, Scully is a medical doctor and he trusts her. In every conceivable way. He orders his coffee and Scully’s and buys two sandwiches for lunch, too. Vegan, of course.

Scully is already there when he enters the office. She gives him a smile, sitting on the edge of their desk, reading through a file. His stomach somersaults, putting a huge grin on his face that takes him back at least 20 years. She has that effect on him. Then, now and always.

“Good morning,” she says. “I’ve been wondering where you are.”

“Huh?”

“It’s late, Mulder. Late for you anyway. Was there a lot of traffic?” She takes a sip from her coffee as she waits for his answer.

“Um, no. I was just- getting read took a bit longer this morning.”

“You’re not sick, are you? When was your last check up?” Asking about his check ups is the best way to remind him that he’s getting old. That he is old already.

“I’m not sick,” he assures her. “Just lost in thought. That happens when you wake up to a sunrise and birds chirping.”

“It’s good for you, Mulder. It’s a gentle way of waking up.” He’s heard her explain it to him plenty of times and so he just smiles at her, nodding.

“How are you waking up these days?” He asks her, taking a nip of his coffee.

“Hm? Not with a sunrise,” she says, throwing him an amused look. Now’s his chance.

“Hey Scully, what are you doing tonight?” His heart is hammering against his chest. If he were to tell Scully, she’d probably worry he’s having a heart attack. He’s at that age now, as she not so subtly reminded him a while ago. With his questionable diet and his inability to kick his sunflower seed habit, he should be careful. But right now, unbeknownst to her, his heart is in her hands.

“I don’t have any plans,” she says.

“In that case… would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

“I’d love to, Mulder,” she answers without hesitation, rendering him speechless. “Are you okay? You do look a bit green.” By now, she’s walked over to him and she puts her hand on his cheek, gently caressing it.

“I’m just surprised.”

“That I want to have dinner with you?”

“That I didn’t even have to persuade you,” he replies honestly.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out again,” she says and color shoots into her cheeks. “I was ready to ask you to dinner myself.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She shrugs, stepping closer to him and fully invading his personal space. He doesn’t mind one bit and puts his hand on her waist. They’re skipping steps, jumping ahead, but they’ve been here before. This isn’t new. It’s merely a restart of something old and familiar.

“I was scared,” she admits.

“Scared? Of me?”

“Of you saying no.”

“Scully, I will never say no to you. I’ve been waiting too, biding my time. When you told me about Paul…” Scully groans and presses her head against his chest.

“That was a mistake,” she says against his tie. Her head resurfaces and he falls in love all over with her. With the way her fingers play with the lapels of his coat, contemplating how much she allows herself here in their office. With the way her eyes dance when he smiles at her, putting his hand on the small of her back to draw her closer. He doesn’t care that they’re in the office. Or that it’s not even 9 am.

“I hope I’m not a mistake,” Mulder says softly.

“You’ve never been a mistake, Mulder. Not once.”

“Would kissing you now be a mistake?”

“Not if I kiss you first.” And she does exactly that. He’s dreamed about kissing Scully many, many times. Back when they were first partnered and he didn’t yet know how she tasted or what she liked.

He dreamed of her when he was hiding from the world, missing her and their son. Dreamed about her when she made the choice to save them and leave so that he could get better, and she could, too. Now they are. Her mouth fits against his as perfectly as it ever has. He knows how to kiss her, how to move his lips, and how to tease her with his tongue so that she moans and presses herself against him. Some things haven’t change, won’t ever change.

“I missed doing this,” she says when they break for air.

“Making out in the office?” He presses another soft kiss against her lips.

“We never really did that, did we?”

“There’s still time.” He grins at her.

“This is a work place.” But she, too, is grinning.

“It’s Friday anyway. We can leave early.” He kisses her again and she responds in kind. When they break apart this time, she sighs.

“What are you thinking?” He asks her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“When I thought about this – us – I didn’t think… I wondered how it would happen. How we would be.”

“Is it how you thought it would be?”

“I didn’t think it would happen in the office,” she says. “I didn’t think it would happen in the morning. You taste like almond milk, Mulder.”

“No more cow milk for me. You said so. So… what’s the verdict?”

“Let me just-” She kisses him again, her tongue teasing him. His eyes flutter close and he wonders what Scully would say if he reminded her of his office sex fantasy. But maybe it’s too early for that anyway.

He wants to give her sunrises in bed, fake or otherwise. Orgasms, too. But only real ones. He wants to share his new favorite songs with her. Wants to drive around with her, Google Maps be damned. He just wants to be with her, in whatever way she lets him.

“It’s better than before,” she says and he knows she’s right.

[faux-ecrivain]

Yan Emperor

(Twelfth Official Post)

(Duke’s name is Isaiah Hartfeld)

(This one might be a bit muddled, but I tried my best.)

(Emperor’s name is Adonis Margold)

(this one focuses on the Emperor, part two should focus on the Duke)

     The Duke, Isaiah Hartfeld, was well known for being a promiscuous womanizer and he often caused an uproar in society. Which is what prompted the Emperor to marry Isaiah off to someone that would whip him into shape, you. You were a well known person throughout all social circles, you were the head of you family and you didn’t let anyone push you around. Of course, when the emperor first proposed such an idea you immediately shut it down. You didn’t explain why, but you did say that nothing in this world would ever make you change your mind. So, he decides to offer you something out of this world, something only he can give you.

     The Emperor greets you as you enter the throne room, a sly smile on his tanned face. “Ah, Good Morrow, my dear friend, how are you this lovely evening?” He descends from his throne, his boots click against the marble floor. He holds a gloves hand out and waits for you the greet him, you reluctantly grab hold of his hand with one of your own gloved hands. (Gloves are very popular around here) You place a respectful kiss on his knuckles (which, of course, causes the Emperor to smile) and then let go of his hand (which causes the emperor’s smile to fall).

      “I am doing no better than any other day, why did you call me here, Your majesty?” You respond with an air of formality and familiarity. The Emperor frowns, finding your formality unnecessary. “Come now, my dear subject, formality is not necessary. We’re practically family!” He says with a grin on his face and wink of his eyes, you, however, are confused. But you just nod your head and let him say what he wants. He waits for your response, but his joy diminishes with each second of silence.

     He clears his throat and pats your shoulders. “I see you’re in no mood for small talk, so I suppose I should just get to the point.” He forces a smile on his face and places his hands on your shoulders, he chooses to ignore the way you lean away from him. “I’ve decided that you shall marry Duke Hartfeld.” Your eyes widen and you’re about to disagree when the Emperor interrupts you. “Ah, Ah, Ah, I already know what you’re about to say, but trust me, you do not want to reject this deal.” He leads you to a nearby chair, which seems to have been placed just for you, and sits you down. He kneels, on one knee, in front of you.  “Your majesty! What are you doing?!” You exclaim, finding his behavior strange. He brushes off your worries and continues speaking.

     “Listen, [Y/N], I know you aren’t from this country and I know you want to go home. So, if you marry the Duke and straighten him up, then I’ll take you home.” Your expression shifts from disbelief to doubt, how would the Emperor send you home, and how does he know you aren’t from here? Unless, by home, he means returning you to your country. Which would make more sense, because you were a prisoner of war when you first came to this country. Now, you’re a high ranking general and commanding an army, you can’t help but be proud of yourself. “What on Ilasatra do you mean?” (Ilasatra is the equivalent of earth in this world.) You ask him, a frown developing on your face.

    The Emperor smirks and brushes your hair back, then he stands up and begins to circle your chair. He stands behind you and leans his head down to whisper into your ears. “You know exactly what I mean.” He purrs, placing his hand on your shoulder and caressing it, which causes you to lean away from him. He touches you far too much, it makes you very uncomfortable. Your breath catches in your throat and you can’t help the hope that claws its way to your heart. “You can send me home?” You mutter, turning to face him and your gaze catch his. There’s such a hopeful look in your eyes, he smirks, it amuses him and then his eyes are caught by your lips. Oh, how he wishes to love you, but you would be of better use whipping the Duke into shape. 

    He clears his throat and drags his gaze away from yours, he resumes his previous action of circling your chair. His hand trails down your arm and causes goose bumps on your skin (because you’re uncomfortable). “Yes, I could get you home, but only if you do something for me first.” His tone is quite mysterious, he seems to know something you don’t. “It will be worth it, I promise.”  His hand entangles itself with yours, you pull away and he reluctantly lets you go. 

     You contemplate his words, your brows furrowed and you wipe your hand on your coat (which, of course, causes him to chuckle). You hesitantly agree, knowing that making a deal with the emperor is a bad idea. “Very well then, Your Majesty, I trust you.” His heart flutters when you admit to trusting him, he didn’t know those words could have such a pleasant affect on him. He smiles and yanks you out of your chair, he then places both his hands on your shoulders. “That’s wonderful, [Y/N], I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” He traps you in a tight hug, despite how uncomfortable it makes you (and it makes you very uncomfortable).

      You struggle somewhat to escape his grip, eventually giving up and letting him hold you as long as he wished. He sighs, his mind awash with loving images of you and him together. He knows it will never happen, but he surely can dream about it. You’re pretty sure he was sniffing your hair and that was your sign to escape the hug, so you stepped on his foot and then backed away from him. His pained groans are muffled by his hand and he tries not to scream, he forgot how sharp your boots were. “Ah, my dear, that was quite rude of you, but I’ll forgive you, just don’t do it again.” He warns you with a rather playful tone, even waggles his finger at you, but the threat is real. You frown and shuffle away from him. 

     He tsks and drags you back to him, although he does have to fight as you dig your heels into the marble flooring. “Come now, dear, I won’t hurt you. Don’t you want to know what I need from you?” His smile tightens as he struggles, he didn’t expect you to be so strong. He chuckles nervously, he even sweats a bit (which irritates him because he absolutely despises sweating). He lets go of you, causing you to stumble back yet you retain your balance. “Okay, you just stay there and I’ll explain the deal to you, alright?” You nod your head and he claps his hands together. His smile grows and his tone shifts from agitated to cheery. “Wonderful! My dear, do you know who Duke Hartfeld is?” You nod again, then verbally respond. “Yes, I’ve heard rumors about him.”

     Actually, you’ve heard many rumors, all of them attest to his hedonistic lifestyle. You don’t like him very much, you absolutely despise him. The Emperor smiles again, he smiles a lot, and walks towards you. “Great, I want you to marry him-“ You gasp in shock and then interrupt him, because there is no way in Natiscle (Natiscle is the equivalent of hell in this world.) that you’re going to marry that worthless wrench of a man. “Oh, like Natiscle I will marry that man! I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on Ilasatra!” You exclaim loudly, the servants in the room startled by your behavior. The Emperor is amused by your response, he chuckles and feels himself growing fonder of you with each word that escapes your mouth.

     “Oh, Baiyases, (Baiyas is the equivalent of heaven in this world, so Baiyases is the equivalent of heavens.) now dear, you shouldn’t overreact. He really isn’t all that bad, if you ignore his faults and he won’t be any trouble if you smack him around a bit.” The Emperor does not like the Duke, at all, and neither do you. But you could never smack Duke Hartfeld around, he’s so weak and it’s not like he’s a criminal. “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.” She responds causing him to rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Oh, please [Y/N], you’ve dealt with far more reputable enemies than that old Duke.” You cringe when he mentions your past, as a general you’ve had to take down many people and you hate being reminded of that. Also, the Duke Isn’t that old, he’s actually younger than you. Which might explain his promiscuity, they say, that is the noble women say, that young man are very adventurous, and often have trouble committing to a relationship. 

     You sigh, a frown etching its way onto your face. You look away from the Emperor, which causes you to miss his frown, and then think about his offer. You don’t want to marry that wretched Duke, but the Emperor says he can send you home and you really do want to go home. You sigh again and massage your temple. “Okay, I’ll do it, but you have to promise you’ll send me home right after. I don’t want to stay with him any longer than necessary.” You fold your hands together and tug at your gloves. The Emperor smiles once he hears you accept his request and he can’t help but hug you again. “Oh, thank you so much, my dear! All I need you to do is whip him into shape and then you can leave, okay?” 

      You nod, then wriggle your way out of his hold. This time the Emperor doesn’t frown, he seems happy to have heard you agree to his favor. “How long do I have to be married to him?” You ask, causing him to tilt his head and pretend to think. “Oh, perhaps two or three years. That’s not too long, is it?” You groan, just a week around that Duke is too much. You couldn’t fathom spending two years with him, let alone three. The Emperor chuckles upon seeing your disgusted face, he takes joy in knowing that you despise the Duke just as much as he does. “Is that alright, dear? Surely you could handle two, or three, years with the Duke? After all, you’re a very strong person, the Duke couldn’t be much worse than those on the battlefield, right?” 

     You frown again once the Emperor brings up your past, he sure likes to do that. You sigh, roll your eyes and cross your arms. “I can’t do two years, but I’ll do one year.” The Emperor tilts his head, amused and intrigued by your behavior. Not many nobles would have the gall to negotiate with the Emperor, that’s why your his favorite subject. “Hm, a year and half.” He says, which causes you to glare at him, then speak again. “No, one year and three months.” The Emperor exhales and his eyes narrow, he’s becoming irritated with your boldness. “A year and two weeks.” He responds, you consider his offer, then nod your head. “Fine, a year and two weeks, but no more.” He smiles, quite happy now that you’ve agreed with him. “Wonderful, oh, I can’t wait for the ceremony!” (Although, he would rather you marry him, but oh well, such is life) He claps his hands together and kisses your cheek, as a way to share his congratulations, but it just made you uncomfortable.

———————————————————————

Bonus Scenes:

You: “Do you really think me strong?” Not many nobles admire your strength, they believe you should fit into a certain mold, and it’s rather frustrating.

The Emperor: He places his hand son your shoulders, a flirtatious smirk on his face. “Why of course, darling! You are so very strong, the strongest person I’ve ever met..” He purrs, his hands trailing down your arms.

You: You puff out your chest upon hearing the Emperor compliment your strength. “Hmph, that’s right, I’m the strongest person around.” 

The Emperor: He chuckles, amused by your behavior. He thinks you’re absolutely adorable, he’ll do anything if it means having you next to him.

——————————————

(Hope you enjoyed this fan fiction, this one was a bit longer than most of my other written works. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it and please leave a comment if you want more.)

(This is just part one, it focuses more on the Emperor than the Duke, but don’t worry the Duke will have his turn soon enough!)

(this took hours and days to make, mostly because I procrastinated, but at least it’s done. This is part one, part two will, hopefully, focus on the Duke.)

[venture-through-the-mist]

Careful, This Beast Bites

The first time the Drifter ventures to the large floating island dubbed ‘Kullervo’s Hold’, she has little idea of what to expect. Her Kaithe—still unnamed, she cannot, for the life of her, figure out what to call the beast—lands atop the tallest tower, and as Lēna dismounts, she hears the sing-song voices of children chanting. From what she can gather, they’re telling tales of the soldier imprisoned here, the one for which the island is named. She shakes her head decisively, a short huff escaping her. Kids will be kids, she supposes, before eying the path into the gilded tower. That must be where she needs to go, and go she does. As she walks through the hall, leading towards the circular arena, the Drifter notices a figure seated at the edge of the odd section of tower that overlooks the arena. She tilts her head, his blue ceramic skin resembling that of any other Duviri citizen, though she cannot shake the stinging feeling that she knows him.

“Do not block my light.” The annoyed scoff catches her attention. Something about his tone, his inflection, the condescension in his voice strikes a knowing chord within the woman’s mind. Her eyes narrow. No. Before she can stop herself, her hand darts to her trusted Sirocco, the pistol that has saved her time and time again at the hands of the Dax soldiers hunting her day in and day out. Her blood chilling like ice, she fires a single shot into the man’s forehead, though the bullet passes through as if he’s not sitting in front of her. Fury rises within her, and she simply turns away, whistling for her Kaithe. The beast canters towards her, hooves clopping against the stone floor of the outcrop, and she jumps onto its back, pushing it into a gallop towards the edge of the island. As her Kaithe spreads its wings, as she feels the wind lash against her face, as it whips through her short hair, Lēna only has one question, hissing it to whatever sadistic deity clearly has it out for her.

“What the fuck is Ballas doing here?” The only answer is the whistling of the wind and the strong beating of her Kaithe’s wings against the air currents. 

The next time the Drifter brings herself to return to the cursed prison, she really doesn’t have much of a choice. It seems Lodun enjoys a fight, and also seems to believe that Kullervo will have his uses. She huffs in partially irritated amusement as the so-called Prince of Fire insults the Warden. So that’s his title here. The Warden. Fitting, he always enjoyed controlling anyone he could, what better subject—victim—than a criminal with no means of escape? Once again, she walks onto the area overlooking the arena, once again she hears his deceptively elegant, definitely grating voice, filled with clear disdain as he notices her presence. 

“What are you? Beggar, lunatic, or monarch clad in rags? Ugh. Trouble me not, chimaera.” Lēna scowls, speaking curtly. The sooner she gets this over with, the sooner she can move on and forget that he’s here. The sooner she can pretend that Ballas’s appearance—though, she’s not entirely sure that this is Ballas, he certainly doesn’t look like him, and from what Mag told her, he’s dead—doesn’t completely gnaw at her mind, reminding her of the months, perhaps longer—time is subjective to her anyways, and she didn’t care much about what day it was when she was running for her life—that she spent trying to fix what he ruined. 

“I’m here for the prisoner. I’ve heard he’s a formidable opponent.” Not-Ballas rolls his eyes, though snaps an impatient response.

“I keep him locked up here for his own safety, and that of all Duviri. Care to find out why?” The Drifter’s lip curls into a half-snarl, matching his tone closely. If this is how he’s going to act, she’ll give it right back. Regardless of if this ‘Warden’ is Ballas or not, his voice is already getting on her nerves.

“Obviously.” She’s allowed down into the arena without much argument—he seems to enjoy watching the prisoner get punished, she realizes with a sinking feeling—and as she fights with Kullervo, Lēna finds that she has a rather difficult time blocking out the Warden’s taunts. It’s as if she’s back in the Origin System again, and by the time she’s defeated the criminal—though, it was really more of an intense sparring session…seems they both needed to get some anger out—her mind is clouded with white-hot fury. Instead of leaving the island, as she’d planned, she stalks back towards the Warden’s viewing point. She knows before she even pulls her swords out that the blows will simply glance off of him, unable to mar his ceramic ‘skin’. But, she can’t deny a certain, momentary satisfaction as she lands several slashes across his gilded torso. As with most things, however, the satisfaction is only fleeting, and as she rides off, following Lodun’s next set of instructions, Lēna only finds herself more frustrated, angry, and confused than before.

The third time, she’s determined to get to the bottom of this, to find out what the hell he’s doing here, in her domain. The gray sky serves as a perfect accent to her mood as she explores the arena, realizing that, outside of each cell, there are plaques detailing Kullervo’s crimes. She remembers what Acrithis had told her once, realizing that the prisoner was once a member of the Origin System. The Drifter smirks as she reads, finding that she and the attempted assassin would’ve gotten along well, had they been around at the same time and place. As she reaches the end, Lēna finally realizes who, or rather what, the Warden is. He’s little more than a manifestation from Kullervo’s mind, a twisted version of the Executor that he had attempted to kill. She mutters to herself, her voice raspy from lack of use—after all, there really aren’t many people to talk to here.

“Wish he’d been around when I was there. Could’ve saved us some trouble.” She makes her way up to the outcrop, her hatred still burning, though tempered slightly with the knowledge that this isn’t actually him, that the Warden is simply a manifestation. He must notice her narrowed gaze, or the ghost of a snarl on her lips, because the ceramic-skinned man snaps harshly.

“Do not eye me so venomously. I do not know you.” His words only serve to deepen the scowl on the Drifter’s face. She hisses a reply, hardly thinking about anything else other than the fact that she knows him, or the person he was based off of.

“No, you don’t. But I know you, Warden.” The low growl causes his metallic face to crease, a movement similar to an eyebrow raise creasing what would be his brow bone if he wasn’t made of ceramic. Lēna says nothing more, smirking at his confused, irritated silence as she makes her way down to the arena. She still can’t block out his taunts as she spars with Kullervo—she finds that she certainly has a new respect for the prisoner now—, but they don’t affect her fighting skills as much as they had previously. As she shoots at the prisoner, she ‘accidentally’ aims upwards, where she knows the Warden is seated. She knows the bullet won’t hit him, but she also knows that this is what he deserves. Yes, he might not be the real Ballas, but he’s based off of him. That’s enough for her. Ballas tortured Lotus, attempted to kill—succeeded, really—both her and Mag, and was responsible for hurting so many others. If she had to listen to his horrible voice every time she ventures to this island, Lēna figures she may as well get something out of it. It’s cathartic in a way, she finds. Not the whole ‘trying—and failing—to hurt him’ thing, because of course not, she isn’t completely insane. But, being able to focus her anger on a manifestation of Ballas, since she can’t do so on the actual Orokin, is…well, she finds she’s unable to actually describe how that feels, but there’s something about it that lessens her stress, lessens her worry that somehow he’ll come back and hurt Lotus and Mag again. She may not be as connected to Lotus as the kid is, but she did nurse her back to health, and gods-damnit, that counts for something. She doesn’t want her to get hurt again, nor does she want that for Mag, who’s become almost like a younger sister to her. So, if she has to stab the Warden in order to convince herself that Ballas will not—cannot—come back, so be it. She never said she was a hero. Hell, she’s hardly even good. That’s fine by her. A caged beast has to bite eventually, doesn’t she? 

[aricr]

My thoughts on TED (the planet) and its people (just headcanons)

I had some thoughts/headcanons about TED (the planet + its people).  (Slight spoilers for s2 of Midnight Burger?)

It’s been established that:

An algorithm rules the TEDs. They trust it, and (allegedly) have no real leaders.

They worked on this algorithm for a long time until it learned to improve itself

The education system is geared toward people’s strengths, and the algorithm and presumably authority figures steer kids in the direction of a fitting career, and that will help push the Empire forward.

There used to be rainforests like the ones on earth

THEREFORE (and this is where my headcanons come in)

I think maybe industrialization took hold. They were the Earth before Earth in that way.

The difference is that because they’re a much more advanced civilization, it looks cleaner. They clean up nice and decorate their cities with artificial (and maybe electric/mechanical) trees, plants, etc.  This helps keep the younger population's morale up, while the workforce works to find a solution for their rapidly depleting resources. The algorithm works to train the younger generation and push them toward what they do best individually in a way that helps the workforce continue.

NOW we get into the good stuff

The TEDs got desperate and started looking for....more questionable solutions. 

Eventually, someone gets an idea. It's drastic, and they do some small tests. But it works. 

They start working on a larger model immediately and announce their success to the population; a way to connect their planet to others like it. An age for diplomacy and cultural exchange. Of planets helping each other. A bridge of sorts. My guess is that they were very open about their system of scanning for life on different systems because the corruption hadn’t taken hold yet, at least not completely. Everything would be okay if they followed protocol. If they stuck to the plan. 

A team had already departed to get a head start on construction.

MY THOUGHTS ON THE TEDs AS A PEOPLE/SPECIES (based on my Ted (singular) design and my inspirations behind it)

Building and tech have always been a lot easier for TEDs. Evolutionarily speaking, they can transfer small shocks of electricity from one place to another simply through touch. They're an electric bunch, like electric eels.

My good friend @mostdeviouswizard asked if the shocks are affected by emotions, and the answer is YES! So in my Ted design, his scales/freckles light up, along with sparks from the ends of his antennae. This also applies to other strong emotions and is a defense mechanism (evolutionarily speaking, against prey and such).  

Becoming an Earth expert was a great way for the TEDs to use his expertise to help find resources. He always loved the forests of his planet (or what was left of them). When he realized humans were chopping down their forests and burning through their natural resources, he could see them going the same way they were headed--only they didn't have the advancements of the TEDs. They would doom themselves, and those beautiful resources on their planet. That would explain why he has such strong feelings about life on other planets, especially their forests & other flora. 

I was just drawing and had the cute idea of possible small electric shocks bc I made his little scales/freckles glow blue and then went "......Why do they do that tho."

So naturally, I IMMEDIATELY came up w this lore.

[mac-lilly]

Snippet(s) of the Sweet Home Alabama Juke AU that I will never write. Attention! Cheesiness incoming!

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

“Julie, marry me!” Luke blurts out and holds out his hand. Julie’s eyes go huge as she sees the object resting in his palm. It’s a ring – made from cheap plastic, decorated with glitter, and as a centerpiece, it has a large purple butterfly. She is immediately mesmerized by its beauty.

Julie is seven years old, and she loves purple, and glitter, and butterflies.

“I won it at the arcade,” Luke explains proudly, chest puffing out as he speaks. “Spent all the money I got from the tooth fairy to get it.”

Luke’s entire face lights up. He’s beaming at her, his wide, toothy smile exposing his missing front tooth. Somehow, his smile is more radiant than the midday sun, and Julie realizes that there’s something she loves even more than purple butterflies with glitter.

However, when Julie neither replies nor accepts the ring, Luke's demeanor changes quickly and drastically. Disappointed, his smile wavers and his shoulders slump. He looks crestfallen, and Julie’s own heart shatters into a million pieces.

“Why?” Julie’s voice is small as she speaks up. But Luke hears her anyway. He perks up, renewed hope sparking up in his hazel eyes. There’s an awestruck look on his face that makes Julie incredibly giddy and slightly nervous. She clears her throat, repeating the question.

“Why do you want to marry me?”

Luke takes his time to reply. He blinks at her, surprised by her words. Then, all of a sudden, he flashes her a cheeky grin.

“That’s a silly question,” he says, bouncing on his heels as a buzz of energy and excitement reverberates through his body. Luke cannot stand still for long. And he’s always sincere. There’s a gleam in his eyes – a look of absolute determination. He is dead serious about it.

“Because you are music, Julie. And I will always be in love with music.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Julie, please …”

Agony laces Luke’s voice, and he takes a step back. Then another. And another. He’s desperate to bring more distance between them. But Julie doesn’t let him go. He has to stay.

She reaches out, catching the sleeve of his old flannel. Her fingertips brush against the sensitive skin of his wrist, and Luke lets out a howl that makes him sound like a wounded animal. As if burned by her touch, he tries to twist out of her grip, but she keeps holding on. Clings to him because she can’t let him go. She can’t lose him again.

“Luke,” she says, tugging on his sleeve to catch his attention. But Luke doesn’t look her way. His eyes remain trained on the ground.

And Julie gets it. She really does. Within the span of a day, he’s lost both of his jobs, the rights to his music, and the love of his life. It is a lot to digest – even for a person as bullheaded as Luke Patterson. But maybe, Julie can give him one of these things back.

“Luke,” she tries again, putting all her feelings – all the love she feels for this man – into this single word. And finally, Luke stirs. Just a bit.

Slowly, he raises his eyes to meet her gaze, and what Julie sees there doesn’t surprise her but still shocks her to the core. There used to be a fire burning in his eyes. They used to be alight with passion and enthusiasm.

Now the flame is doused. All Julie can see is the pain she’s inflicted upon him; sees how eight years of heartbreak have taken its toll on him.

“What do you want, Julie?”

And Julie cannot help it. Laughter bursts out of her, and it borders on maniacal. Her reaction is inappropriate, and Julie does not miss the hurt expression crossing Luke’s face. But still, the irony amuses her.

There are plenty of questions Julie has no answer to. Questions about them, about their future. But also questions about herself. Hell, she has just ditched her fiancé hours before their wedding and quit her career as a successful solo artist to reconcile with her almost ex-husband.     

There sure is a lot to unpack, and time alone won’t fix them. They will require professional help if they want this relationship to work out. But that’s for later.

Right now, Julie has to answer a question. And it’s an easy one.

“You.”

Luke’s breath hitches, and a tremor runs through his body, making him shake. The look of heartbreak hasn’t disappeared from his face. But there’s a spark in his eyes that has just ignited, and it gives Julie hope.

“Why?” he croaks out. “Why do you want to be married to me?”

Julie smiles slowly.

“That’s a silly question,” she replies, and Luke’s eyes widen in recognition.

Julie tugs on his sleeve again, and this time, there’s no resistance. He moves closer, his hands coming to rest on her waist, his thumbs tentatively caressing her exposed skin, sending shivers down her spine, while Julie loops her arms around his neck. She pulls him down until his forehead touches hers.  

As she moves, Luke catches sight of the piece of jewelry she wears around her neck, and his breathing quickens. Twenty years haven’t been too kind to the cheap plastic ring. The glitter is long gone, and the butterfly’s wings are marred with scratches – scars inflicted upon it when Julie flung the ring at Luke’s head eight years ago. But it’s still there, patched up and treasured, and that’s all that matters.

“Because you are music, Luke. And I will always be in love with music.”

And the old ring is the last thing Luke sees before Julie draws him in for a kiss.  

[sparfloxacin]

hiiiiiiiii have a great Sunday!! 🥰 here to manifest a new Sunday stream (and new Olli smiles) from Aleksi tonight 🤞🕯️✨💖✨🕯️🤞

I'm mad at how insanely hot Olli looks here 😩

helloooo! 💗

oooh a Sunday stream (with some Olli smiles of course) would be nice 🥺🤞🏻🕯️

also kinda irrelevant to the ask but I actually saw this pic of Olli yesterday and noticed the shirt and thought about how we haven’t seen that in a long time and then of course the first thing I do is browse through Aleksi’s Instagram and I noticed he was wearing the same shirt around the same time as well (and yes it’s the same shirt and you actually CAN’T concince me otherwise) 🤧💞

hope you have a great Sunday too! 🥰

[daz4i]

coming here bc with ur dazai bdsm & control post i think u'll understand my point. i always feel weird when i read skk and specifically filter out "top dazai" because its like it shouldn't matter but it DOES end up mattering. i can't describe it but somehow it feels like whenever people write "top dazai" there's this level of extra control he has over their dynamic. again hard to explain my ick about it but it's feels like (to me) that skk aren't equal. does that make sense. there's always a layer of "dazai is Possessive and Controlling over chuuya" while chuuya's just along for the ride. meanwhile when people write a dominant chuuya its feels more balanced?? like they're both active in the relationship. (not saying top = dominant but we know how heteronormative society thinks of sex roles. everyone writes a top as dominant unless they specify otherwise nowadays :/) i think this stems from like. as readers we all Know that (adult) dazai is the smartest one in the room at any given time. we know he can manipulate and control the situation however he pleases if he wants to. that level of control isn't a given with chuuya. so when chuuya has this (superficial) control in their relationship it's like "sick! dazai trusts chuuya! dazai views chuuya as an equal!" which is what i'm always craving from their dynamic. (i also think i'm truamatized from prior fandoms and quick to think something is heteronormative. i can acknowledge where i'm being dramatic but some people out there really do just think of chuuya as a girl i'm sorry. stop making dazai your harry styles wattpad badboy that is NAWT MY MANS!)

oh anon i get you 🤝 (and i do the same tbh, it's quicker than trying to find fics that DON'T fall into the trope of top = dominant / bottom = submissive)

[also as a usual disclaimer when talking abt this topic that I'm sure you probably agree with; this is all talking abt a fictional couple and the way fics are written about them, speaking realistically they would probably switch but this discussion isn't for the sake of realism but rather talking about characterization through smut. we know it's not that deep, this is an observation for fun and bc it's interesting and harmless, and this isn't judging anyone who writes these fics or subscribes to a different characterization. okay now we can keep going]

the trust thing you point out is honestly the biggest thing here for me!!! like it's not even just dazai letting go of control, it's about letting chuuya take it, too. we see them do it time and time again in the context of battles and strategies and well. why wouldn't it extend to this area too, yknow? same way chuuya gets to have the final word in their plans - they're both involved in every step, but in the end it does hinge on chuuya and his choices. also unironically i think it'd be good for chuuya to get control over smth in his life in a less chaotic way than, say, he does as an executive.

and 😭 god i agree with that part abt people turning dazai into an edgy wattpad bf, esp when it comes to like his current canon self who is just a silly little princess whose entire arc is about trusting people and letting them take control of situations for him

and while I'm at it, i think he COULD be possessive but not in a dark yandere bf way or w/e, first of all he'll be more subtle about it lol, but mostly his possessiveness, to me, is more "no one can hurt those i love" (see: his anger when finding out fyodor is "controlling" chuuya. animezai dni) or "please don't leave me" than "you're mine, no one can touch you, you can't leave me" as people tend to fall into in those fics. does that make sense

[fromxxthexxashes]

From a character development standpoint, this episode was phenomenal. Buck discovering that his worth isn’t tied to his usefulness and that being Buck is enough, is just beautiful. I know this episode is so critical to how Buck moves forward throughout the season (if not, then writer would definitely be fumbling the ball). The camera work in the dream world was also incredibly cool, you know? Just the way everything was off kilter in this supposedly perfect world. It really helped translate how off everything was to the audience. Also using “Fix You” near the end??? Chef’s kiss 💋. Every single Buck scene was just amazing, and I applaud Oliver for his performance.

From the standpoint of Buck’s relationships, it was a little underwhelming. I think this episode could have been better in that front if they made it a two-parter. First of all, there was like a minute of screen time for Eddie, which really felt wrong. Wether you see them romantically or platonically, Buck is a really important part of the Diaz’s life. He’s literally Christopher’s legal guardian; he’s Eddie’s partner and best friend. Not to mention, going from Eddie having the biggest reaction in 6x10 to having such little screen time felt really weird. Christopher’s scene was amazing and the only thing a I wanted was just to have there be a little more scene time (but maybe that is just me being a big Buckley-Diaz family stan). Hen also had such little screen time in the real world, and considering her and Buck have always had such a cool relationship that is unique to just them and have been bonding more this season, it felt like that relationship didn’t get the attention it deserved. Chim’s scenes with Buck were great, and I loved how he reacted to it all. It felt very authentic to who Chim is, but I felt like there still could have been more, you know? Even Maddie and Bobby, the two who were probably the most effected by this didn’t get the time with Buck that I hoped they would (at least in the real world, I don’t have any complaints about their roles in dream land).

Then there’s the Buckley parents. Need I say more? Like, I just really don’t like the whole parents redemption arcs. I don’t why the writers love them so much, considering one of the biggest appeals about 911 is the found family dynamic.

So, overall, good episode, but it could have been amazing if they had split it in two to delve more into Buck’s relationship with the 118 and Maddie, and juxtaposed that with how wrong everything was in the dream world.

As a Buddie clown, I was a little disappointed, not gonna lie, but I didn’t expect to seriously get a healing portion of them tonight (more than a 5 seconds would have been nice, but I digress). As a person who loves Buck, though, I was so happy with the content we got served tonight. Getting to see Buck start to realize his worth was just so satisfying and I love this episode for that.

[kuuyandere]

hello :)

sorry to bother

My boyfriend just broke up with me and I really don't know how to overcome this. Can you give me some suggestions on what should I do in order to got better? Thanks and sorry for the vent

You aren't bothering me, don't worry. There is no need to apologise.

I am sorry you had to go through that, breakups are definitely overwhelming. I'm probably the least qualified to give advice on this matter seeing the primary subject of my blog, but I could give some general suggestions. From your phrasing it sounds like the breakup was relatively one-sided, which is especially challenging.

1. Be kind to yourself. Breakups are a form of loss, and you are mourning both the past relationship you had and the future relationship you will never have with your ex. It can be challenging both emotionally and physically. There will likely be times where you feel depressed, anxious, guilty, and angry or think that you aren't lovable or good enough. You might be frustrated at yourself for feeling that way to begin with. Try to find healthy ways to deal with and process (preferably not ignore) your emotions and thoughts. That is easier said than done, so go easy on yourself.

2. Give yourself some space and distance from your ex, especially at first. I suggest not texting and calling for a while (most people say at least a month). It is okay to miss him.

3. Accept what happened. I don't know why he broke up with you, but he did, and it will fucking hurt. The accepting the reasons why it happened and learning part can be saved for once the loss is less emotionally raw. I tend to idealise my ex, so I find that writing a list of the things I did not like about them and unmet needs in our relationship helps to look back on when I start to spiral.

If you want a more clinical resource, here is a table (I did not make it). Of course, knowing versus doing these things is very different, and I still struggle with all of these things nearly a year later.

You will get through this, and it will get better, even though it may not feel like it for a long time. It is not your fault as a person that the breakup happened. I hope some of this helped.

[cinimuffin]

Hey there! Your mothman cross stitch is beautiful, and I was wondering if you would be alright with other people making their own cross stitch patches using your pixel art (for personal use only, of course)?

Thanks! (This might be a smidge rambly) I've actually been planning on making less complicated, more compact versions of the moths so they can fit in smaller spaces (I want a moth hat). Since you've asked, I think I'll post them with the grid on them when they're done so other people can potentially use the patterns more easily (for personal use only, like you said). I had some mixed feelings when I first saw this ask. Then I thought about how fun it would be to maybe see other people enjoying my moths/butterflies. My main goal for making all my pride moths was to make people happy to see their identities represented, so seeing people actually wearing them would be pretty cool. I do ask if any interested parties could wait until I post the new, gridded moths though.

I'm all motivated now and will probably start on resized/new moths and butterflies as soon as I post this. Since there are so many identities out there and I only made so many moths, if anyone has a request for a flag I didn't previously make feel free to hit me up. If I have the time I'll just keep making them.

[infamous-if]

✭INFAMOUS UPDATE IS HERE ✭

238K -> 457K WORDS

Please read this post before playing! It's finally here! After five months of writing and rewriting and salvaging and crying and sweating and bleeding I finally finished sort of kind of! Firstly, I want to thank you for your patience and understanding over this duration of this rewrite. It was stressful at times but I'm happy with the end result and I hope everyone else will be too :)

This will be the last chapter I release without beta testers/other sets of eyes so expect errors. I can playtest until my fingers turn blue but I'm just one person </3 I'm bound to have missed stuff.

Please let me know of errors! I tested it a few times with no problems but we know how it goes lol

IN THIS CHAPTER THREE UPDATE:

drama

mayhem

chaos

some betrayal

some surprises

just...read it lmao

PROLOGUE - CHAPTER 2 CHANGES:

**chapter two was too large of a file to upload on dd so I had to split it last minute and I uhhhh dont know how that translates in the demo but it should work lol please let me know if its wonky!**

fixed up grammatical errors and typos

expanded some scenes and added some more choices

you can now choose that your mc has "changed" in some way (drinking, no longer drinking, partier, no longer a partier, negative, positive, attached, detached, or a general default. I was asked to add an MC who "gets around" or hookups a lot but I'm still debating on whether I'll add that since there's already quite a bit lolol)

you can choose to have changed your band's genre before/after seven

TECHNICAL CHANGES:

you will be able to explicitly state your sexuality in the beginning. this was a big ask and I apologize for not doing it earlier! I wasn't good at coding when I started and I knew I always wanted to make the genders separate from MC's sexuality but I didn't know how to do that at the start :) So you can still choose the genders of the ROs for story purposes and variety. IF YOU DO NOT SEE ROMANCE OPTIONS THAT IS NOT A BUG. You simply chose a RO gender that doesn't correlate with the sexuality you chose for your MC. Having said that, if you do see a romance option available and it's not supposed to be there please let me know! That means I may have missed it coding-wise.

the stats have been all fixed! I've added all the necessary variables and such. The stat portion of the game has been updated with the appropriate pages but they're not finished. Still, the stats should be fine.

You will now have confessionals in the stat page! The feature still isn't a thing yet because I haven't come up with the confessionals lolol but you can click on it to see what it's about. Essentially, as you progress through the story you will be able to see confessionals from the cast of Infamous throughout. They disappear and appear periodically so if you miss it, THAT'S IT! You won't get a chance to see them again until MC watches an episode where it's relevant.

There is now a: Discography page, Infamous wiki, botb cast and staff page, and other characters page for organization. Those are not finished but they're there!

I changed a few stat names but their functions remain the same.

You will be able to choose how you would like to be described (masculine, feminine, neither, both).

O is officially gender-selectable.

You can set the genders of the ROs at the start or wait till you meet them.

PLAY HERE

[cyberjam]

ATSV HEADCANON: they have a crush on you . . . ☆

warnings - none really, super fluffy and adorable :), semi-proof read so i apologize for grammatical errors if there are any! no use of name or y/n, gender-neutral reader!

word count - 2.1k

main masterlist <3

☆ . . . miles morales

I imagine you two already being well-acquainted friends with each other once he realized his feelings for you. For quite some time he had a crush on gwen but now his heart strings are pulling him towards you, so he's struggling when it comes to addressing his feelings.

If you're in the same room as Miles, he will stare. Any conversation that he was having before is long forgotten and all that's on his mind is you.

Miles doesn't need to study, he's one of the top students in school. But he continues to go on study dates with you because he likes being in your presence and sharing his headphones with you while eating yummy pastries.

He has an entire journal dedicated to you. Said journal includes: small journal entries of his day with you, little quotes of the funny/cute things you've said that stuck with him throughout the day, candid drawings of you that he created whenever you two hung out, cute sketches of you and him stargazing or slow-dancing together (and other secret drawings of him saving you as spider-man and cradling your body in his big strong arms but we won't get into that...)

Miles really can't get enough of you. He laughs extra loud at your jokes even if they aren't funny, his heartbeat quickens at the mention of your name, he'll offer you his jacket even if you don't need it, he always smiles when something reminds him of you, he'll share his headphones with you and shyly ask if you and him can make a "study playlist" (he listens to it at night while drawing you), and overall is just madly in love with you.

He wants to be with you more than anything, he's just struggling to find the right time to ask you. <3

"Hey, don't touch that! It's- No! It's not a diary, it's just...secret."

☆ . . . gwen stacy

She's pretty awkward herself. You were assigned to be partners for a project that would play a big part in your final grade, she came off slightly cold and seemed to be annoyed at your presence which made your relationship start off rocky. In reality she was just stressed, juggling her spider duties, getting kicked out of her house, and then school on top of that, it was just a lot. But when you made the effort to plan things and work around her busy schedule (that you didn't really know anything about) she started to become grateful for you.

Your parents welcomed her kindly each time she came over to study and whenever she would leave she was happy with a full belly and a sore face from smiling and laughing with you all night. The project was supposed to be done by the end of the semester but you and gwen were able to finish it the first month you got it. That didn't stop her bi-weekly visits, that then turned weekly, until she was suddenly walking home with you everyday, from and to school.

She likes to compare hands, shoes, and height just to see the difference in sizes. On walks back from school she'll give you a piggyback ride if you ask nicely. She also likes laying her head in your lap, if you run your fingers through her hair she'd be fast-asleep within 5 minutes.

You and her tend to share your oversized clothes together, You always wash her jackets/sweaters after you wear them, which she absolutely loves. She's fallen asleep curled up in your hoodie, inhaling the scent and listening to whatever song you rambled about the previous morning on repeat until she finally asks you to just make her a playlist. Hobie definitely knows about you, only because she slipped up by saying too much.

She enjoys staying over your house during rainy days. She tends to tense up whenever you're watching tv together on your bed and your head falls on her shoulder. During missions in other spider-verses gwen has taken little souvenirs from different worlds and given them to you, she always does it in a nonchalant way as if she wasn't grinning ear to ear on her way back, excited to see how you'd react.

You don't have sleepovers often but when you do they always seem more intimate than your usual hangouts. When you wake up and see gwen flustered on the other side of the bed you never understand why, not knowing that when you were fast asleep she woke up cuddled into you, nuzzling her body into yours.

"I-uhm. I-uh just had a weird dream. Nothing to worry about, heh.."

☆ . . . pavitr prabhakar

It's very obvious he has a crush on you, it might as well be written on his forehead. He follows you around like a lost puppy. He's constantly offering to carry your books, opening doors for you, paying for your snacks, and even giving you hand massages when you've been writing an essay for too long. He's just completely whipped for you and you're not even dating (yet).

You were a transfer student and he was assigned to show you around Mumbai. He found himself getting giddy at your cute reactions to the different sights he took you to. He adored how you were filled with so much curiosity and wonder, the awestruck look in your eyes when you saw the pretty lights at night and just how genuinely excited you seemed to stay and explore Mumbai. Since then, he's been glued to your side.

He's such a gentleman, you can tell he was raised right. Whenever you're talking his full attention is on you, nobody else matters in this moment but you. He'll even get a bit upset if someone cuts you off, ignoring whatever they're saying and urging you to continue. His legs feel wobbly around you, he gets dizzy at the sight of you, and he feels like he's floating whenever you smile at him.

There have been multiple occasions where you've caught him staring at you, depending on how he feels that day he'll either smirk and gently wave or quickly turn away with a blush on his face. He gushes about you to Hobie and Miles all of the time. They know so much about you and they've never even met you.

A true romantic. He buys you a singular flower one week out of the day, always explaining the meaning and where they originate from. (all of them are a variation of romance/love)

He tends to lean into you whenever you speak. More than one person has pointed out that you both tend to mirror each other's actions. He's feigning for your touch more than anything, a simple brush of your shoulders and he's full on putty in your hands.

He won't outright confront you when he figures out you like him, instead he'll invite you on a nightly walk. Taking you up to a rooftop with a gorgeous view, and gently resting his jacket on your shoulders. You'll sit for a while enjoying the scenery before he turns to you and says...

"a person as beautiful as yourself shouldn't wander this world alone.."

☆ . . . hobie brown

What a nightmare. He is constantly teasing and flirting with you. Always doubling over in laughter when he sees you get all flustered and the words you so badly wanna spew at him get stuck in your throat.

I imagine you both to be spider-people, you're a little more stuck-up than he is which is why he likes to tease you so much. Little by little your reactions fueled something deeper in him. He no-longer found himself flirting with you because he liked seeing how aggravated he could get you but because that was his way of approaching you and saying all of the things he wanted to while being able to play it off as a joke.

Besides teasing you relentlessly, he can be really caring and attentive to you when he wants to be. If you're in the medic he'll stop by pretty often to make sure you're okay. The only reason you found out is because you woke up to him fast asleep next to your bedside, feet propped on your bed and his vest laid across his torso like a blanket.

He'll eat the foods on your plate that you don't like. If you fall asleep he'll lay his vest onto your body and even move your position if it looks uncomfortable. If he senses danger before you he'll move you of the way as fast as he possibly can, but if he's not close enough he'll give you a heads up before anyone else. He tends to stare at you sometimes, always smiling gently to himself.

When you two get closer as friends he'll play any song on his guitar if you ask him nicely. He'll even give you lessons if you really want them. Carefully throwing his guitar over your torso, he brings his much larger hands to yours. You can feel his chest against your back, and the waves of his warm breath on your neck as he teaches you how to play. He'll also let you wear his jacket, saying it looks better on you than him. He might let you keep it, only in exchange for one of your jackets. (he sleeps with your jacket on, it makes him feel close to you.)

Hobie often checks up on you during missions, sometimes saying teasing phrases to get you riled up but mostly to make sure you're holding up okay. "you alright there, peaches? you took quite the hit."

Once he finds out you like him, he eases up on the teasing, but he doesn't refrain from dropping subtle hints of his knowingness that you like him. He's just waiting for you to finally say something.

"Yknow, if i ain't know any better i'd say you were doing this 'cause you like me."

☆ . . . miguel o' hara

You worked beside him in Alchemax, the two of you were assigned as partners. At first he didn't care much for you, simply telling you to stay out of his way and that he didn't need any help, but after Lyla practically forced him to be a cordial lab partner and work with you, he started to take a liking towards you. Sadly, it took months for him to tolerate you and even longer for him to like you.

Although he was quite stuck-up and practically seemed on edge most of the time, you were able to break through those confined walls and have a comfortable-playful work relationship with him. Every-time you made a joke or a light quip about his attitude he'd always respond with sarcasm, still not being able to hide the tiny smile that graced his face at your foolish acts.

He always runs his projects by you before submitting them. (and then lyla to triple check) He'll stop by and pick up empanadas from his favorite store, always boasting about how it's the best in Nueva York and you'll never taste anything better. Eventually he brings in a hefty share of empanadas that you two share over lunch time, your conversation flowing naturally without the teasing but with a fluffier feeling flowing through the air.

He pretends to be annoyed when he catches you over-working but he's genuinely worried for you. Always shaking his head in a disapproving way when he finds you fast asleep on your desk, papers scattered, and drool falling past your lips. Quietly scolding you in spanish before throwing his lab coat over your shoulders and organizing your papers neatly.

He tends to act unbothered when you do something that shows you care for him but in reality it makes his heart stutter and his stomach feel all loopy. He hates it because it makes him feel like a middle-schooler when they get their first crush but another part of him absolutely adores it and his main motivation to get up to go to work in the morning is you, although he'll never admit it.

If a co-worker is ever rude to you he will be the first to defend you, not hesitating to get in their face with a nasty scowl painting his features. On Friday's he made it his personal mission to walk you home, you two slowly walk side-by-side, quietly laughing to yourselves as you reminisce on lab accidents and old memories. There's a slight gleam in his eyes when you make it to your apartment door. He turns to you almost hesitantly, before stepping closer to you. He whispers a question, so quiet and soft you almost wouldn't be able to hear it.

"Can I kiss you?"

omg i hope you guys liked it! requests are still open btw and thank you for reading! <3

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated <33

[jo-com]

୧ ‧₊˚ 💐⋅ ☆ ➛ You bagged that?

Lando Norris x Fem!Actressreader

Summary: Lando has seen everyone of your movies— from tv shows to random videos, he’s just so updated about you in everything it’s crazy, but what’s more crazy is him spreading that you guys are dating.

Genre: SMAU

Fc: Elle Fanning

Note: There are some grammatical errors to look out for!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ➛ My Masterlist

─────── ─ ✉⋆˚｡ ⋆୨୧˚─ ───────

Liked by Landonorris and 3,901 others

No.1fFan_ Yn is an actual princess, i love her so much😍

Tagged; @Not_Yn

View all comments

Username1 SHE IS THE EPITOME OF ROYALTY 👸🏻

Username2 I love her movies sm🥹

Username3 BESTIE SAME!!

Username4 lando on likes??👀👀

Username5 uhm who?

Username6 some f1 driver whose been liking her for years

Username5 ohhh

Username7 he just likes every pic of hers ig🤷🏻‍♀️

Username8 I’VE SEEN HER IN PERSON, SHE’S SUPER NICE🥰

Landonorris Lucky😢😢

Username9 DHSHUSUWB LANDO😭

…

Liked by louispatridge_, Landonorris, Netflix and 2,378,901 others

Not_yn I have two sides😚

View all comments

Landonorris love all ur sides!

Carlossainz55 Dream on lover boy😝

Landonorris Fuck off

Username10 lmao them fighting in the comments r so iconic

Username11 y/n not even giving a damn😭

Username12 HER BEING SO ETHEREAL IS EVERYTHING

Landonorris I AGREE😫

Username13 not lando being her no.1 fan

Username14 stalker much??

Username15 girl stfu, u do the same

Annehathaway why is ur comment sec always chaotic

Not_yn even I don’t know😭

…

Landonorris just posted!

Liked by mclaren, and 12,378 others

Landonorris so pretty😍

View all comments

Username16 THE DELUSION😭

Username17 Y/n didn’t even like this

Username18 A+ for the confidence

Username19 WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ON HOW PRETTY SHE LOOKS

Landonorris real😢

Charles_Leclerc Dude…

Carlossainz55 Man…

Georgerussell63 🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️

Pierregasly Oh brother..

Username20 THEY HAVE MIXED FEELINGS😭

Username21 lmao the whole f1 attacking him

Username22 the whole gang came to shame him

Username23 yn being so unbothered😎

Username24 MY QUEEN FR🥰

…

➛ Messages

…

Liked by 4,679 others

WAG.updates ACTRESS Y/N L/N WERE SEEN KISSING THE KNOWN F1 DRIVER LANDO NORRIS— The couple have been spotted together a few times already.

Tagged; @Not_yn, @landonorris

View all comments

Username25 oh…

Username26 we owe him an apology

Username27 LANDO DESERVES AN APOLOGY FROM ALL😭

Username28 nobody believed the poor man

Landonorris WHAT’S UP NOW BITCHES

Landonorris and they call me crazy🙄

Maxverstappen u still are😑

Landonorris Yeah..crazy right that is🤪🤪

Username29 gaslighting myself that this isn’t true

Username30 Y/n isn’t even in the likes must be fake

Username31 GIRL PLS LANDO ALR COMMENTED

Username30 doesn’t prove anything

…

Liked by Landonorris, urbff, and 5,092,278 others

Not_yn wanted to soft launch but the jig is up

Tagged; @Landonorris

View all comments

Landonorris can finally say i love you without being judged😛

Not_yn my poor baby has been so much

Username32 NOOO MY HEART IS FOREVER BROKEN

Username33 welp good bye cruel world

Username34 they lowkey adorable ngl

Landonorris now u ship us🙄🙄

Username34 WE’RE SORRY😭

Charles_Leclerc we stand corrected

Carlossainz55 i know when to say sorry. Sorry

Username35 she’s so pretty💕💕

Landonorris the prettiest😁

Pierregasly aww lover boy

Landonorris fuck off

…

➛ Messages

…

Loved this!!

[theetherealbloom]

TAKE ME DOWN TO LIFT ME HIGH

Summary: In the grand city of Rome, you, a senator's daughter, are entangled in a world far removed from your aristocratic upbringing. Your chance encounter with General Marcus Acacius, a renowned gladiator and war hero, changes your life forever.

Paring: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, AU, PWP, Some Plot and more smut, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Fingering, PIV, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, Canon Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism (it’s ancient rome, babe), Sneaking Around, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, Boobs,

Word Count: 6k

A/N: The amount of research I had to do for this was insane. I was more obsessed with Greek Mythology than Roman so I needed a refresher. Hehe, there’s not a lotttt of drama, but it leans more into the smut side and just cheesy over all plot lol and a little fun ceremony in the end. Everyone say thank you to @wheresarizona for listening to me go feral over Marcus. Go send her some love cause she deserves it :>

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Song: Selene by NIKI

| Main Masterlist |

The return of General Marcus Acacius was an event of grand opulence. The streets of Rome were alive with screams and celebrations as he rode his golden chariot, smiling and waving at the throngs of admirers. It was as if the bloodshed and death that marked his victory were distant echoes, easily forgotten by the jubilant crowd.

"Long live General Marcus!" someone shouted.

"A true hero of Rome!" another voice rang out.

You weren't supposed to be in the crowd. Your place was at home, learning household chores such as cooking, cleaning, and weaving—the essential skills expected of a Roman matron. Yet, here you were, hidden beneath a hood, blending with the common folk as you watched the celebrated general parade down the street.

As the parade came to an end, you discreetly followed behind the procession, your eyes fixed on General Marcus Acacius. He was dressed in white and glittering gold, a stark contrast to his usual attire of blood-stained armor and weapons. Even though he was smiling and waving at the crowds, you could see the disdain in his eyes for such a grandiose display.

You had heard stories about him, rumors whispered amongst the noble families of Rome. They spoke of his ruthless acts on the battlefield, of his unwavering loyalty to Rome, and of his preferences. Yet here he was, parading through the streets in all his glory, hailed as a hero by everyone.

You couldn't help but feel drawn to him despite everything you had heard. There was something about him that intrigued you, something that made your heart race and your cheeks flush.

Your mind was filled with thoughts of General Marcus Acacius, wondering what kind of man he truly was beyond his reputation as a war hero.

As you stood there, trying to remain inconspicuous, your eyes met his. The connection was electric, almost as if the gods themselves had intervened. Marcus’s gaze was so intense that it seemed to pierce through the crowd and find you alone. He noted every feature of your face, his expression betraying a hint of fascination.

You felt your cheeks flush with heat and quickly looked away, breaking the eye contact. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned and began to scurry home, the thrill of the encounter leaving you breathless.

Your pulse raced as you made your way through the bustling streets of Rome, trying to push aside the image of General Marcus Acacius's piercing gaze. You couldn't understand why you were so affected by a man you barely knew, but there was something about him that drew you in.

You managed to sneak back into your room, just barely slipping past the household guards. Being the daughter of a senator afforded you certain privileges, including an education that many girls your age could only dream of. Your studies typically included reading, writing, and arithmetic, equipping you with the skills necessary to manage a household and participate in society. You were also taught music, dancing, and literature, for understanding and appreciating poetry was considered a virtue for a Roman woman.

As you settled in your room, the memory of Marcus’s gaze lingered in your mind. The image of his rugged face, scarred from countless battles, and his piercing eyes was etched into your thoughts. There was something about him that was both terrifying and captivating.

A soft knock on your door interrupted your reverie. It was your handmaid, Lydia, her expression curious.

"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice low but firm.

You hesitated, then sighed. "I went to see the procession."

Lydia’s eyes widened. "The general’s return? You could have been caught!"

"I know," you admitted, "but I had to see him."

"Why? What could be so important?"

You bit your lip, unsure how to explain the inexplicable pull you felt towards the gladiator general. "I don't know, Lydia. It's just... when our eyes met, it felt like something changed."

Lydia shook her head, her expression a mix of worry and understanding. "You must be careful. The world outside is not as forgiving as the walls of this villa."

The days following the procession were filled with a whirlwind of emotions. You couldn't shake the image of Marcus from your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his intense gaze, felt the inexplicable connection that had sparked between you.

The grand villa of your father was abuzz with preparations for the evening’s banquet. Slaves hurried to and fro, setting tables with fine silverware and arranging elaborate floral displays. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the delicate fragrance of flowers.

Tonight, your father, a respected senator, was hosting a dinner in honor of General Marcus Acacius. The entire house was a flurry of activity, with guests arriving in their finest attire, their laughter and chatter filling the atrium. You stood near the entrance, feeling the weight of your responsibilities as the senator’s daughter.

Your mother approached, adjusting the drape of your stola with a critical eye. “Remember, you must be on your best behavior tonight. This banquet is crucial for your father’s alliances.”

You nodded, though your mind was elsewhere. Ever since you had seen Marcus in the parade, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The memory of his piercing gaze had haunted you, and now he was here, in your home.

"Come," your father said, his hand on your back guiding you through the crowd. "I want you to meet someone."

You followed, your heart pounding in anticipation. As you approached, you saw him standing there, taller and more imposing than anyone else in the room. Marcus Acacius, the hero of Rome, the man who had invaded your thoughts and dreams.

"General Acacius," your father began, his voice carrying the weight of his status, "allow me to introduce my daughter."

Marcus turned, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. He bowed slightly, a gesture of respect, but his gaze remained unwavering. "My lady," he said, his voice like velvet, "it is an honor."

General Marcus was the most strikingly handsome man you had ever seen. His chiseled features were framed by dark brown eyes beneath thick, black eyebrows. His long, aquiline nose and firm mouth, accentuated by a sensuously full lower lip, completed the picture of rugged masculinity. He stood tall, towering over most men, with a lean, muscular body and broad, powerful shoulders.

His hair, a captivating mix of salt and pepper, was cut short and fell in loose curls around his head, with distinguished grey patches in his beard that added to his allure.

"The honor is mine, General," you replied, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay composed.

"Please, call me Marcus," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "We are, after all, in more intimate surroundings."

Your father chuckled, clearly pleased with Marcus's easy charm. "I will leave you two to get acquainted," he said, patting Marcus on the shoulder before moving away to mingle with other guests.

The moment your father left, the air between you and Marcus seemed to crackle with electricity. He took a step closer, the heat of his body radiating towards you. "I must confess," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, "I have been looking forward to this moment."

You swallowed hard, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. "As have I," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Marcus's eyes darkened with desire, and he reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against your arm. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your knees weaken. "You are even more captivating up close," he said, his voice husky. "I find myself drawn to you, like a moth to a flame."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his hand slid up your arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you feel it too?" he whispered.

You nodded, unable to form a coherent response. The intensity of his presence was overwhelming, his scent, his warmth, the sheer power of his focus on you.

As Marcus's hand continued to caress your arm, you felt your heart race with a mixture of excitement and nerves. You had never been this close to him before, and the realization that he was interested in you sent a wave of exhilaration through your body.

His lips brushed against your earlobe, making you shiver. "I want to know everything about you," he murmured, his voice sending sparks down your spine. "Your hopes, your dreams, what makes you laugh and what makes you cry out for mercy."

You turned towards him, meeting his intense gaze. "I want to know about you too," you said, feeling bold in his presence.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned closer. "There is not much to tell," he said modestly, though the way his eyes roamed over your face suggested otherwise. "Just a soldier who has dedicated his life to serving Rome."

But there was something more behind those words, something hidden beneath the mask of duty and honor. You could sense it in the way he held himself, in the intensity of his gaze.

"I don't believe that," you said firmly. "There is so much more to a person than their profession."

Marcus's smile widened into a grin as he took another step closer to you. "You are wise beyond your years," he said appreciatively.

The room around you seemed to fade away as you became lost in each other's gaze. It was as if there was no one else in the world but the two of you.

Suddenly, a loud noise broke through the moment – someone had knocked over a vase nearby. The sound jolted both of you back to reality and Marcus stepped back slightly.

"I should go check on that," he said regretfully.

Marcus's lips lingered on your skin for a moment longer before pulling away to look into your eyes. "I promise, we will continue this conversation another time," he said softly.

You nodded, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. You couldn't wait to spend more time with him and get to know him better.

As Marcus turned to leave, you couldn't help but watch him walk away, his confident stride and broad shoulders filling you with a sense of admiration. You sighed dreamily and turned back to the feast, only to be greeted by your handmaids with teasing grins.

"What was that all about?" one of them asked, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively.

You feel your cheeks heat up, trying to hide your excitement. "Nothing," you said coyly. "Just a conversation."

As the guests were seated in the triclinium, the air was filled with the sounds of conversation and the clinking of goblets. You found yourself seated across from Marcus, who looked imposing in his formal attire. His presence commanded the room, yet his eyes frequently strayed to you, a subtle intensity in his gaze.

The evening progressed with toasts to Marcus’s victories and speeches praising his valor. You tried to focus on the conversations around you, but your mind kept drifting to the man across the table. Finally, you could bear it no longer. Under the pretense of needing fresh air, you excused yourself and slipped out into the garden.

The cool night air was a welcome relief as you wandered through the manicured paths, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating your way. The garden was a haven of tranquility compared to the lively banquet inside. You found a secluded bench and sat down, letting out a sigh of relief. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hum of voices from the villa created a serene backdrop as you tried to gather your thoughts.

As you sat there, the faint sound of a conversation caught your attention. You turned your head slightly, realizing that a group of senators had gathered nearby, their voices low but urgent. You recognized the voices of some of the most influential men in Rome, including your father.

"I hear that Emperor Caracalla is eager to stage a grand spectacle," one senator said, his tone conspiratorial. "He wants to solidify his power and win the favor of the masses."

"Indeed," another replied. "I heard he plans to pit some of the finest gladiators against each other. And there are whispers that General Marcus Acacius himself might be forced to take part in the games."

You felt a pang of concern at the mention of Marcus's name. The thought of him in the Colosseum, fighting for his life, was almost too much to bear.

"Emperor Geta is not pleased with this idea," a third senator interjected. "He sees it as a waste of a valuable military asset. But Caracalla is determined. He believes a victory in the arena will elevate Marcus to legendary status, securing loyalty from the soldiers and the people alike."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed their words. The political machinations of Rome were ruthless, and it seemed that Marcus was caught in the middle of it all.

As the senators continued their discussion elsewhere, their voices drifting away back into the villa, you felt a presence behind you. You turned to see Marcus emerging from the shadows, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. He moved silently, his powerful form cutting through the darkness like a predator stalking its prey.

"My lady," he said softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "It seems we both seek refuge in the quiet of the garden."

"Marcus," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. "I overheard the senators. They plan to have you fight in the Colosseum."

His expression darkened, and he closed the distance between you in a few swift strides. "I know," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "The emperors play their games, and I am but a pawn. But tonight, I do not wish to think of such things."

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within you. "Tonight, I only want to think of you."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a tantalizing softness. The kiss deepened, his hands roaming over your body, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His touch was both possessive and gentle, his need for you evident in every caress.

"Marcus," you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair. "This is madness. If we are caught..."

"Let them find us," he murmured against your lips. "I would rather face the lions in the arena than be without you."

His words sent a thrill through you, and you responded with a fervor that matched his own. Your bodies pressed together, the heat of your passion driving away the cool night air. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other.

"Promise me," you whispered, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. "Promise me you will come back to me, no matter what happens."

"I swear it," he said, his voice filled with determination. "No matter what the emperors or the gods throw at me, I will return to you."

With those words, he captured your lips again, sealing his promise with a kiss that left you breathless. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as he reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. He leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

His voice, a velvety whisper, sent a wave of desire flooding through you as he murmured, "I want you. Here. Now."

The moon was high in the sky, casting a soft glow over the garden, as Marcus pressed you against the wall. His hands roamed over your body, igniting fires with each touch. You could feel his desire for you, and it only fueled your own.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you up and pressed you against the garden walls. His body hovering over yours as he trailed kisses down your neck and along your collarbone. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and you couldn't contain the moan that escaped from your lips.

With a growl of need, Marcus captured your lips once again while his hands began to explore under your dress. The feeling of his warm skin against yours sent shivers down your spine as he traced patterns along your thighs.

"Marcus," you gasped between kisses. "We shouldn't-"

"Shhh," he whispered, gently sliding your white cotton robe off your shoulders. "I can't resist you any longer.”

Marcus unexpectedly reached out his large, rough hands and cupped each one of your breasts, weighing them in his palms. Your body jolted at the sudden touch, your skin tingling under his warm heat. You could feel the calluses on his fingers, hardened from years of wielding swords and other battle weapons, leaving tiny marks on your delicate skin like a trail of fire.

As he squeezed and rotated your breasts gently, desire surged through you, igniting a deep longing within. You wanted to surrender yourself completely to him, to offer up not just your body but your very being to his every whim. The sensation was so overwhelming that you yearned to throw your head back in abandonment and give in to the all-consuming pleasure he evoked.

The protests that had escaped your lips now transformed into guttural moans of pleasure as his skilled fingers worked their magic on your most sensitive spot. Every touch sent electric shocks through your body, making you shiver and writhe against the wall. As Marcus trailed his fingertips over every inch of your slick flesh, you felt yourself becoming more and more lost in the overwhelming waves of pleasure coursing through you. With each stroke, your body arched further off the wall, desperate for more of his touch. It was like a symphony of sensations, building and crescendoing until you were completely consumed by the intensity of it all.

He slid a finger between your legs and pushed it deep inside you. Pleasure shot through your body, causing you to arch and writhe as he expertly stroked your tight passage.

"My lady, you have an incredibly tight cunt," he grunted out, his voice strained and revealing his own growing arousal. His features twisted in pleasure and his eyes glinted with a primal lust.

He firmly grasped your aroused nub and slid another finger into your tight, welcoming entrance. "We have to be quiet or we'll risk getting caught," he whispered in your ear.

You nodded eagerly, pleading, "Yes, anything. Please."

As his skilled fingers gently rotated over your sensitive clit and his other digit pumped inside your wet, pulsing core, you couldn't help but surrender to the pleasure he was bestowing upon you. From the moment his eyes locked on yours, you knew you were his to be used however he pleased, your body a vessel for his insatiable desires. With each expert movement of his fingers, you felt yourself spiraling into a dizzying state of pure ecstasy, completely at his mercy. Your flesh responded eagerly to his touch, begging for more as he claimed you as his own.

The General's gentle touch on your skin was electrifying, bringing a growing pleasure to your body that felt almost overwhelming. You could feel yourself getting too hot, too tense, and you were afraid of releasing the intense climax that was building inside you with just a single touch. 

"Oh Goddess," you gasped, tilting your head back against his shoulder and shutting your eyes as your desire became sharper and more urgent.

A sharp cry escaped your lips as his long finger penetrated you, rotating and rubbing inside your core while his other fingers worked relentlessly on your sensitive clitoris. Your body squirmed against the intense pleasure, your hands grasping at his muscular arms to anchor yourself amidst the overwhelming sensations. He chuckled softly as you began to move your hips in a circular motion, still continuing to bring you pleasure with his skilled touch for several minutes. Just as you were about to reach the edge of climax, he eased off slightly, keeping his movements quick and light.

But eventually, your body tensed up and convulsed, your movements erratic and desperate, your breaths coming in short gasps. As the tension in your loins grew tighter and tighter, you let out a high-pitched wail and reached the peak of ecstasy. Your walls pulsated around his probing finger, which was now coated in even more of your warm juices.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Marcus gently turned you to face him again. His white robe and short toga were cast aside, leaving him naked in front of you. He stood tall and proud, his lean and muscular frame on full display. But it was his erect penis that took your breath away. It was massive, thick and much longer than average, standing rigid and red above a nest of dark pubic hair.

His impressive and exposed physique took your breath away as you gazed upon it. "Oh, my Goddess!" you exclaimed, feeling overwhelmed by his sheer size.

Without hesitation, Marcus reached out and grasped your thighs, pulling you closer to him. He leaned over your body, closed his fist around his member, and guided the tip towards your still-dripping entrance.

He managed to get the thick bulbous tip of his penis through your opening. You immediately felt stretched and full. You gave him a pouting look, your hips wriggling in an effort to accommodate him. “You big brute, you’re tearing me apart.”

He clenched his teeth, sweat starting to matt his silver and grey hair at his forehead. The pleasure of being inside such a tight flesh was almost dizzying, and he had to pull in all of his control to prevent himself from plunging completely inside of you. 

That would come later, he promised, once you had been well oiled by him. He pushed again and managed another inch, and slowly continued to advance his penis inside your channel. 

“You’re so tight,” his voice was harsh and strained, as if in pain. It wasn't too far from the truth; she felt tight around him, almost like a vice grip. But despite the discomfort, she was so warm and smooth inside.

With a groan, he slid the thick bulbous tip of his penis into your opening. A sharp pang of fullness shot through you as your body stretched to accommodate him. You gave him a pouting look, your hips wriggling and contorting in an effort to ease the pressure. "You big oaf," you playfully scolded, though there was a hint of pleasure in your voice.

He clenched his teeth, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead as he fought for control. The sensation of being inside such tight, warm flesh was almost overwhelming, and he had to take deep breaths to calm himself. He promised himself that he would give in completely once you were well-oiled by him.

He pushed with all his strength, feeling the resistance of your body as he slid deeper and deeper inside. The walls of your channel were smooth and slick, clenching around him like a vice. He couldn't hold back the grunt that escaped his clenched teeth, a mix of intense sensation coursing through his body. It was a pleasurable pain, like being held in a fierce embrace by someone who loved you too much - an exquisite torture that he never wanted to end. But with each slow and deliberate thrust, he knew that the pleasure would only intensify, building to a climax that would leave them both breathless.

Slowly but surely, Marcus eased his penis deeper into your body. With each inch of progress, you both felt the intensity of your connection grow stronger. Your entire body trembled with each thrust he made. When he was halfway inside you, Marcus used his fingers to stimulate your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your core throbbed with ecstasy as Marcus took advantage of your relaxed muscles and thrust deeply inside you until he was fully engulfed.

You and Marcus both groan at the same time. He quickly covers your mouth with his hand, gently hushing you. "Shh, my Carissima... I know it feels good, but we must be quiet. We can't risk your father catching us in this compromising position." The General continues to stimulate your sensitive spot, using his fingers to tease and moisten it further.

Your hips continued to rock and push against his manhood, your desire growing with each movement. You leaned back and moaned as General Marcus Acacius took full control of your body. He held onto your hips tightly as he thrust deep inside you, the pleasure intensifying for both of you. It was clear that neither of you was far from reaching the peak of ecstasy.

You let out moans and contorted your body as the large, broad, man moved back and forth between your legs. As your face twisted in pleasure and your head thrashed about, you experienced this unfamiliar sensation called sexual pleasure. Your climax came quickly and intensely, feeling like it lasted for several minutes. You threw your head back and let out a scream as the intense pleasure broke through between your thighs. A hot wave of pleasure spread throughout your body, causing your hips to writhe against Marcus'.

As your body trembled and released into an intense orgasm, you felt Marcus' muscles tighten beneath you. A deep, primal roar escaped his lips as he too reached the peak of his climax. The sound echoed through the gardens blending with the rhythmic pounding of your heart and breath. It was a moment of pure, raw passion that left you both gasping for air and tangled in each other's embrace.

As the intense pleasure slowly subsided, you became aware of the small droplets of blood trickling down your thighs and onto the grass. It was a sign that your virginity had been taken, marking the end of an era and the beginning of a new one.

General Marcus Acacius carefully pulled out of you and helped you to sit up. You could see his concern in his eyes as he looked at the blood staining his robe on the ground and your thighs.

"Are you hurt, Carissima? I didn't mean to be so rough..." he asked, his voice filled with worry.

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. "No… I'm fine," you managed to say.

He let out a sigh of relief and gently wiped away the blood with a nearby cloth. You winced slightly at the slight soreness between your legs but it was nothing compared to the intense pleasure you had just experienced.

Marcus held you close, his strong arms wrapped around you protectively. "You were amazing, my love," he whispered in your ear.

A flood of emotions washed over you as you realized what had just happened between the two of you. You had shared an intimate moment with General Marcus Acacius, someone who was forbidden to you because of your status as a daughter of such nobility. And yet, in that moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was the overwhelming feeling of love and desire that consumed both of you.

Your mind was spinning, knowing all too well what would happen if anyone found out about your relationship with the General. Your father would surely punish both of you severely and possibly even sell one or both of you off.

Even with the knowledge of what had just happened, and what could, it was difficult for you to feel remorse or embarrassment. Instead, you felt a sense of contentment and fulfillment that you had never experienced before.

Marcus chuckled warmly and gave you a soft kiss on your lips. "You are truly something special, Carissima," he said with adoration in his eyes.

You blushed at his words, feeling a surge of happiness wash over you. Despite the risks and consequences, being with Marcus felt like the most natural thing in the world.

But as the reality of your situation sank in, a sense of worry crept into your mind. How would you continue this relationship without anyone finding out? How could you possibly be with Marcus when your father would never allow it? Or worse, your father having you marry someone else?

Marcus brushed his fingers against your cheek, and it felt like he could read your mind. "We will find a solution, my love. I promise I will marry you and make you my wife," he whispered to soothe your fears.

The weight of Marcus' words settled heavily in your heart. The thought of being married to the man you loved filled you with joy and hope, yet the reality of it all seemed impossible.

"How could we possibly make that happen?" you asked, your voice laced with worry.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of doubt. How could someone as powerful and respected as General Marcus Acacius be able to marry someone like you? You were just a daughter of a nobleman, while he was one of the most influential men in the kingdom.

Marcus spoke with unwavering assurance, his gaze locked onto yours. As you looked back into his eyes, all your doubts and fears dissipated. You were certain that he would do anything to keep you safe and by his side. "We will find a way, my love. I will do whatever it takes to make you my wife."

"I believe in you," you said softly, placing a hand on his chest.

Marcus smiled and leaned in to kiss you again, his lips gentle and loving against yours. In that moment, everything else seemed to fade away except for the two of you.

"But we must be careful," Marcus reminded you, his tone serious once again. "We cannot let anyone find out about us until the time is right."

You nodded in agreement, understanding the risks that came with your relationship.

"We must also gain your father's approval," Marcus continued. "It won't be easy, but I am determined to prove myself worthy of you and your family."

You couldn't help but admire Marcus' determination and love for you. Despite the challenges ahead, he was willing to do anything to be with you.

As the sun began to rise, you woke up in your room with a smile on your face. Today was the day that Marcus would finally meet with your father and ask for your hand in marriage. You could hardly believe the moment had arrived, the day you had dreamt of for so long.

Ever since he had first confessed his love for you, the two of you had been meeting in secret, stealing moments together whenever possible. The clandestine nature of your meetings had made your bond even stronger. The thought of being with Marcus made every challenge worth it.

You dressed carefully, choosing your finest gown, and adorned yourself with simple yet elegant jewelry. Your heart raced with anticipation as you made your way to the garden where the betrothal ceremony would take place. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the gentle rustle of leaves created a serene atmosphere.

In the garden, your father stood with Marcus, deep in conversation. The sight of them together filled you with a sense of pride and hope. Marcus, in his formal attire, looked every bit the honorable and powerful man that he was—a general respected by all of Rome.

Your father turned to you, his expression warm. "My dear daughter," he began, "today is a momentous day as the gods have blessed us. General Marcus Acacius has proven himself to be a man of honor and valor. It would be a great honor for our family to be united with his."

Marcus stepped forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "It is my greatest wish to make you my wife," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I promise to honor and protect you for all the days of my life."

The betrothal ceremony commenced, a formal ritual between your two families. Your father and Marcus exchanged respectful bows, symbolizing the joining of your households. Gifts were presented, and the dowry was discussed and agreed upon. A scribe stood by, ready to document the agreement in a written contract.

Marcus then produced a small, ornate box and opened it to reveal a beautiful finger ring. "This ring," he said, "is a symbol of my commitment to you, a tradition that stretches back through the ages."

He took your hand gently and slid the ring onto your finger, his touch sending a thrill through you. The ring was exquisite, a delicate band adorned with intricate engravings that spoke of ancient craftsmanship. 

"You honor me with this gift, Marcus," you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion.

Marcus smiled, his eyes full of warmth. "The honor is mine, my love."

With the ring in place, you turned to the scribe, who handed you both the written agreement. You signed your name carefully, your hand steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within you. Marcus signed next, his signature bold and confident.

Finally, the moment came to seal the betrothal with a kiss. Marcus stepped closer, his gaze locked onto yours. He cupped your face in his hands and leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, sweet kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that perfect moment.

As you pulled away, you saw the approval in your father's eyes and felt a rush of joy and relief. You were now betrothed to Marcus, the man you loved, and your future together was set.

"Let this day be the beginning of a lifetime of happiness," your father declared, his voice filled with emotion.

Marcus took your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Together, we will face whatever the future holds," he promised.

And with that, your hearts intertwined, you knew that your love would endure, growing stronger with each passing day. The journey ahead was full of promise, and with Marcus by your side, you felt ready to embrace it all.

[ladycaramelswirl]

definitely not old

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

A/N: Did I create an extremely improbable scenario just to suit my need to create another highly improbable scenario? Yes. Do I care that it’s unrealistic? No. Please forgive any typos/ grammatical errors. 

CW: suggestive content, but not explicit (like 15+?). Use of y/n one time. (Technically this would probably warrant one of those hostile workplace environment seminars like they had for Derek and Penelope. But it’s funny? Idk this isn’t serious.) Sassy Hotch. Crack plot tbh. 

Also I know the timeline doesn’t really make sense, because JJ is a profiler and Emily and Rossi exist, but I imagined Season 1 Spencer while writing this! I guess it’s 2005? Btw I do not know how tapes work, so just pretend it makes sense please. This is so unserious. 

Summary: reader wife and Hotch are private people; the BAU team is nosy. Spencer is just constantly in the right place at the wrong time. 

Enjoy!

——————

The screen in front of you depicted horror - just not the kind the BAU was used to. The UnSub had confessed to leaving a message in an old tape. He had already been arrested, but you were all hoping it might contain something that might help the conviction stick. Only he was extremely paranoid, so not only had he left the message in a code, but he had spliced it into a tape he thought people were least likely to watch. His p***. It was the last thing to do for the case and everyone was trying to help. You all sit at the round table, and Spencer shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Derek laughs at his shyness and Emily laughs at the very unrealistic movements. She and JJ tilt their heads at the shape the two on the screen have put themselves into. 

“That does not look comfortable”, JJ mocks. 

The words are out of your mouth before you think. “Trust me it’s not”. 

Everyone at the table snaps their heads to look at you. 

“Damn Mama”, Derek laughs. “Who are you doing these moves with?”

You try to hold back a laugh. You were not ready to share about your sex life with your colleagues, no matter how close you were. Plus you’re pretty sure Aaron would not appreciate it. 

“That is inappropriate workplace conversation”, you say, pausing the video. “And you’re going to miss the next series of code”, you tell him, trying to get him to revert his attention back to the video. Emily grins at your attempted evasion.

“We already got all the code. She just doesn’t want us to tell Hotch she’s capable of all that. Doesn’t want to make the old man feel bad”.

“He’s not old. He’s only 5 years older than you”, you remind her. She puts a hand on her chest in mock offense like you’ve stabbed her. You roll your eyes. “And this is still inappropriate”.

“So it wasn’t Hotch”, Derek laughs. 

“You’re just annoyed because you haven’t tried it yourself”, you deflect, moving to sit next to Spencer who seems to actually be doing his job. 

“I’ve seen her do yoga and she’s very flexible, so if she couldn’t do it I don’t think you can”, JJ tells Morgan. 

“Oh you have no idea what I’m capable of”, he teases, which earns laughs from around the table. “I’m better than the old man for sure”. They all start laughing and talking about you and Hotch. 

You roll your eyes. “Wasn’t old in bed last night”, you mutter under your breath. You startle at the sound of a book hitting the floor and see Spencer’s bright red face. JJ, Derek and Emily look over in curiosity at what they might have missed, but you ignore them, attempting to give Spencer an apology for making him uncomfortable. He moves to drink his coffee in an attempt to avoid more of the conversation. Only he chokes on it because Hotch enters the room. 

“Have you finished working out the code?”

Everyone’s heads snap to him - JJ, Emily and Derek wearing matching grins. Hotch eyes you patting a coughing Spencer’s back.

“Are you alright?”, he asks. 

“Yes! Good! I’m good!”, Spencer squeaks, afraid Hotch is going to ask him why he’s so nervous. Aaron looks to you for some answers but before you can tell him it’s nothing, Spencer suddenly stands up.

“Got the code! Going to call the local PD. DA is waiting”, he warbles before you all watch him run out of the room. Hotch turns back to the rest of you. 

“Well then that wraps it up. Go home now, get some rest”, he instructs. Everyone starts packing up. You and Hotch walk towards the door when he realises there’s only 6 of you in the room. 

“Where’s Dave?”, he asks.

You’re about to tell him Rossi went to the bathroom when the Italian walks back in. Rossi immediately notes the paused video.

“Wow that looks uncomfortable”, he remarks. Everyone smirks in your direction. Hotch snakes an arm around your waist and looks at the screen. Then at you. 

“It was, wasn’t it?”

He smiles at the jaws dropping to the floor. 

“Good night everyone”.

—————————

A little bonus scene:

In his office later:

“You heard us talking before you came in the room didn’t you”, you question your husband. He was so private, he wouldn’t have said something like that otherwise. 

“They called me old”, Aaron grumbles, but his tone is amused. “Just wanted to shock them a little”.

You make your way over to his side of the desk, pulling him to stand up beside you. 

“Well Agent Hotchner, I have to tell you, there’s been some speculation about your performance”, you taunt. “Care to prove them wrong?”

“Last night wasn’t enough proof?”, he laughs raising an eyebrow. You run your hands up his chest and behind his neck, pulling him close. 

“The results were inconclusive”, you tease. He grabs your hips and traps you between himself and his desk, his mouth trailing kisses down your jaw. 

“Well I can’t have that kind of speculation going around”, he murmurs into your skin. Your breath hitches from the sensation of his lips on the sensitive spot on your neck. But instead of continuing, he pulls away and meets your eyes in a conspiratorial grin. “We should do an in house evaluation as soon as possible”.

You open your mouth to reply when the door swings open, Spencer finding you sandwiched between Hotch’s thighs and your blouse rumpled. His mouth drops open and suddenly all 187 iq points mean nothing when his brain loses function.

“Oh- I- um- sorry!”, he manages before running away. You stare at the slammed door then back at Aaron and burst into giggles. He drops his head to your shoulders and sighs. 

“I feel like a teenager”, he groans.

“At least you don’t feel old.”

—————————

Bonus bonus: 

Still in the conference room: 

“I want to go back to 10 minutes ago when I didn’t know this information”, Emily moans. 

“I think I need 5 more minutes before I can form a coherent thought”, JJ laughs in disbelief. Spencer walks back in.

“I finished my report. Where’s Hotch and y/n? Can we go home?”

“Probably doing it in his office for all we know”, Derek mutters.

Spencer’s brows furrow in confusion. “Doing what in his office?”

Rossi raises an eyebrow at Emily. “Is this kid serious?”

She shrugs back at him. 

“Spence, Hotch says we can go home. But you should probably report about what local PD told you before you go”, JJ tells him.

Spencer nods and makes his way to Hotch’s office. The rest of the team watch him walk away.

“You think we should have told him to knock before going in?”

“Probably.”

The sound of a high pitch yelp and the slam of an office door echo down the hallway. 

“Oops.”

——————

thank you for reading :)

masterlist