#like... a man named miriam

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: You are a new maid for General Marcus Acacius.]

Dubcon smut

“Are you married?”

“Widow” you whispered.

“Ah…I take you haven’t been touched in some time then..”

What you would give to have a different life…

Constantly sold to be placed as a maid for the different rich men of Rome, except this time you were placed with someone you didn’t expect.

General Marcus Acacius

The man was a well known respected gladiator yet it was the last place you wanted to be. He was constantly buying any woman he wanted for self pleasure, you hated the idea of it. Thankfully servants weren’t meant for that type of pleasure, still, you didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

Standing in a room alone you soon were met with an older gentleman who explained to you that the General would be out very soon. Why the hell were you nervous?

After what felt like forever the front door slowly opened and there he was, General Marcus Acacius. Wearing white and gold his presence made your heart skip a beat. Walking towards you he stopped just a foot before you, his eyes taking in everything he could as you looked away intimated by him.

“You must be the new servant”

You swallowed nervously looking back up at him.

“Yes”

His eyes trailed over you as if he was expecting something else..someone else.

“Is there a problem General-“

“Marcus” he quickly corrected you.

“Marcus” you whispered slightly hesitant, it wasn’t common to be on a first name basis as a servant.

“Nothing is wrong at all. You are just not what I expected..” not for a servant anyways, he thought.

Maybe a mistress, a prostitute but not a servant. Servants were usually much older women in their seventies who strictly were made to clean and cook.

“I apologize if-“

“Don’t apologize. I’m not disappointed” he assured you.

“One of the other servants will come find you and explain your duties and where you will be staying, I expect to see you bright and early in the morning”

“Yes, Marcus.” You nodded and quietly bowed before he took one last look at you and left the room.

Marcus went on to his duties for the evening and that night was welcomed in a room by a group of young women. The women bought for him as a gift from a man that felt he was in debt to him. Gifted with women was a usual thing for Marcus, yet was never spoken of.

Miriam was the servant who introduced herself to you and explained everything that would be needed from you. She warned you that you may encounter ‘certain female guests’ from time to time. It didn’t surprise you, that’s what these men did.

Miriam explained to you that Marcus liked his food a certain way, his room set up a certain way and his warm baths at a certain time.

She explained that some times when entering his room he might be with certain guests in view but she reminded you to ignore it.

“You do not look, you do not speak to him, you knock, you walk in and you walk out. Understood?”

“Yes” you nodded as she handed you things that you needed to leave in his room and patted your back before walking away.

Taking a deep breath you knocked on his door and anxiously waited to hear his voice.

“Come in!” He called out. Quickly you opened the door and just as you were warned, there he was on the bed with three women. Instantly you froze feeling awkward as you rushed to the other end of the room and placed his belongings down. Hearing the women laugh together you turned your back to them and continued your duties. Never had you been in a situation like this, the only time you had ever been sexual with a man was with your husband whom died years ago. You couldn’t understand how women enjoyed being sexual peasants to these men, of course the luxury that came with it must’ve been nice but you despised men for this. For a moment you turned, your gaze catching him sticking his finger in a woman’s mouth. Whatever he was doing you could tell he liked, the look on his face almost hypnotizing you. Something seemed so erotic about General Marcus when suddenly his eyes caught yours. Quickly you turned away ready to leave before accidentally tripping over your own foot and falling to your knees. Marcus quickly sat up slowly pushing the woman to the side as you gathered what you had dropped and quickly stood up walking towards the door. Yet, just before you could reach it, he caught up to you.

“Are you alright?” He tilted his head looking down at you.

“I apologize I was just-“

“Are you alright?” He repeated his question sternly.

“Yes” you answered without looking up at him.

“I didn’t mean to…interrupt”

“You didn’t interrupt anything” he assured you. Marcus could tell this wasn’t something you were familiar with in any way yet before you he could say another word you quickly excused yourself and bowed. Marcus watched as you ran out closing the door behind you while one of the women from the bed stood up and came up behind him.

“Aren’t you going to join us?” His attention elsewhere.

“Not tonight” his response taking them by surprise.

“Seek another” the women knew they couldn’t argue. Quickly grabbing their clothes they ran out of the room unaware of where to go.

Standing in the kitchen with Miriam you watched as the women whom were just naked in the Generals room came running down the hall and out the front door.

“That’s a first” she uttered under her breath when Marcus appeared at the door.

“General Marcus” Miriam quickly stood up straight nudging you with her elbow. With your chin up beside her you stood still as he walked towards the both of you, stopping right before you.

“May I have a moment alone with my dear new servant?” He looked at Miriam whom seemed rather shocked by his request but quickly she obliged and left the room.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” You asked anxiously. His eyes squinted as he stared down at you, a smirk slowly appearing on his lips.

“Did you want to join us?”

Your eyes widened by his question.

“I beg your pardon?!”

“I saw you looking-“

“And I-I apologize for that. I will never do that again, it was a mistake and-“

“You were curious” he sounded amused.

“No” you attempted to defend yourself but you didn’t even sound convincing to yourself. Marcus took another step closer, his body an inch away from touching yours.

“Tell me..” he slowly tilted your face up to him.

“Are you married?”

“Widow” you whispered.

“Ah…I take you haven’t been touched in some time then”

“Excuse me” you moved your face away from his hand.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t help but notice when a woman is lacking physical touch-“

“I am not” you lied. God, it was like he could see through you.

“Is that so?” His large hand took hold of your face again as you looked up at him. Your lips moved but you didn’t make a sound, yet you didn’t have to. Marcus smiled and slowly brushed his thumb along your bottom lip. Never had you experienced this in any other place as a servant, it wasn’t suppose to happen. You would be lying if you said you weren’t feeling a tingly sensation in between your thighs, a form of excitement you hadn’t felt in years and you couldn’t control it.

“Would you like me to make you cum?” His question snapping you out of your trance. You instantly took a step back and gasped.

“Excuse me- what do you think I’m here for?”

“To serve me, yet here I am asking to serve you” you shook your head in confusion. Confused that he spoke to you like if you were a mistress, more confused that part of you wanted to say yes.

“I have to go” you panted before running off to your bedroom not caring about any rules when leaving his presence. General Marcus was left with amusement and didn’t say a word.

The next day you woke up thinking over and over what Marcus had said to you the night before. You found yourself having a dream of him that you didn’t expect to have, a dream that left you…aroused. Why the hell were you so turned on by this man? This wasn’t like you in any way.

Meeting Miriam in the kitchen she looked over at you curiously as you prepped for the day.

“Good morning”

“Morning” you uttered softly.

“What happened last night?” She asked distracting you.

“Nothing, why?”

“I didn’t see you again after General Marcus spoke to you and he has specifically requested for you to prep his bath after he’s finished training in the evening”

“Isn’t it suppose to be you today?”

“Mhm” she nodded.

“Just don’t say too much, don’t look him in the eyes and make sure you always address him as the General” she whispered unaware that Marcus had already strictly approved you calling him by his first name.

“Yes, thank you” you whispered with a nod as you began your duties.

As the day went on you couldn’t stop thinking about the night before, you couldn’t stop thinking about what he could possibly want later on that evening. The thought of facing him made your heart race, were you suppose to act as if he hadn’t asked you such a vulgar direct question?

That evening you decided to get a head start and have his room prepped trying to find a way to avoid seeing him.

Of course, that didn’t work.

Humming to yourself you placed his freshly clean clothes on the bed as he walked in the room silently. Slowly walking towards you he waited until he was just a foot behind you and cleared his throat. With a loud gasp you jumped with your hand on your chest.

“Marcus!” You turned to him not expecting him to have been in the room let alone so close. He chuckled with his hands behind his back, moving closer, towering over you.

“Did I frighten you, my dear?” Your eyes tracing over his armor he wore ready to train.

“N-no…I just…I wasn’t expecting you just yet”

His tongue sliding slowly between his teeth as he looked down at you analyzing your every feature, taking in your every breath.

“Marcus…I believe there was a misunderstanding last night”

“Is that what you think?” He bit his bottom lip with a smirk.

“I am simply your servant, no more than that.”

You spoke hesitantly taking a step back.

“Then answer me this question” you took a deep breath wondering what his question would be.

“Did you feel something…between your legs when I spoke to you last night?” He moved closer, his question making it hard to catch your breath.

“Did you feel an ache to be touched..” his words somehow once again making that very same feeling form.

“Stop it” you whispered practically rolling your eyes back.

“I haven’t even begun” his lips brushed against your temple, searching for yours when he suddenly grabbed your face and kissed you. In shock you whimpered unable to push him away. Once he pulled away he left you gasping for air, a look of confusion as your heart raced.

“What are you doing?!”

He pulled you against him as you placed your hands on his chest attempting to push him away. The more he touched you the weaker you felt, he knew you wanted him just as much. But you couldn’t let this happen, the only man to ever kiss you and touch you was your husband. For seven years since he died, you had never wanted another. This wasn’t right to want this, let alone with a man who only wanted to use you. Once again you attempted to push him away but his hold was much stronger.

“I will not be one of your whores!” You yelled when he reached behind you and grabbed a chunk of your hair, with a hard tug he made you gasp. He didn’t say a word, forcing you to look up at him you felt his hand slowly make its way beneath your dress.

“What are you doing?!” You whispered as he parted your legs with his foot.

“I’m gonna make you cum-“

“No” your hands attempting to reach for his but he tugged at your hair harder making you scream. His hand brushing along your inner thighs until he slid his fingers beneath the fabric that covered your womanhood. His eyes focused deeply on yours as they widened feeling his finger slide between your folds. He moaned deeply once he felt how aroused you already were.

“Marcus..please-“

“Shhh” he slowly began to move his finger in a circular motion on your clit watching as you became hooked on the feeling he was giving you. A soft moan escaping your lips before you once again attempted to push his hand away but again he yanked at your hair making you whimper. Moving his hand faster he felt your legs grow weaker, his legs holding yours against the wall as you began to pant uncontrollably.

“Marcus wait-“ your hands now grabbing onto him as he stared down at you serious waiting for you to explode. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to, he breathed heavily moving his hand as fast as he could when your legs suddenly bent and gave out. A feeling you never thought you would feel again taking over your entire core, you moaned loudly as Marcus held you balanced between him and the wall.

“Oh my-“ your legs shaking not allowing you to stand straight as the electric waves of pleasure ran through your body down to your toes. Attempting to catch your breath Marcus unexpectedly picked you up and sat you on the near by windowsill immediately removing his armor.

“Wait, we’re not suppose to-“ aggressively he grabbed you by your legs and pulled you towards him.

“Marcus!” You gasped just as you felt him plunge into you. Both of his hands dug into your hair as he gritted his teeth and continued to slam himself into you. Locking eyes with you he made you take all of him deeply. You couldn’t speak, your mouth open as your body felt something it hadn’t felt in years.

But it was different.

Why did it feel so intense?

“Fuck!” Sweat beginning to form on his brow and the center of his chest, you found yourself wrapping your arms around him pulling him closer. His hands moving down your waist pulling your body to the edge as he kissed you erotically, you were about to cum again and he could feel it.

“You’re gonna cum again aren’t you?” He whispered roughly out of breath.

“Oh-oh-“ he grabbed your face watching as your eyes rolled back, your hips jerking against him as you felt as if your body was floating. You cried out in pleasure as he waited for it to move throughout your entire body before he’d let himself cum. And when he did he made sure he spilled every drop of himself inside you, with a groan he pushed your body against the window and held himself in place.

Out of breath you could feel him throbbing inside you, you hadn’t expected him to release himself in you yet you didn’t say a word at first.

Marcus slowly pulled himself as he grabbed a towel and dried his face. Slowly letting yourself down to your feet you grabbed onto the wall feeling how your legs felt like jello. Fixing your dress you watched as he wrapped a towel around his waist silently before you found the courage to speak.

“You…you finished inside me” your words making him look up at you.

“Of course I did” you looked down slightly disappointed making him slowly walk to you and tilt your face up to him.

“You didn’t like that?”

“No- I mean yes- I mean no- I…look I’ve only had sex with my husband, I’m not used to this. I never had children-“

“Are you afraid to be with child?”

Silently you swallowed nervously unsure how to answer his question, it was something you never thought of.

“We shouldn’t have done this” you whispered.

“May I be excused” Marcus stared down at you silently noticing the tears you held back, a hint of guilt forming in his chest. Without saying a word he moved aside motioning with his arm for you to pass and you quickly did…

[kpop---scenarios]

Yes, Sheriff

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Warning: Smut [mild fingering; unprotected sex. 18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

Summary: You're brought in for questioning in an identity theft case, but you have your ways of distracting people.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Thanks anon for the idea!! And thank you @skzdust for helping me!!

Everything Taglist:

@wife2straykidss @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @kisses-too-the-moon

@dwaekkiiracha @silly250 @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1

@satosugu4l @gabriellamarie @tsunderelino @iovecb97

@1810cl @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @minh0scat

@pixie0627 @50-husbands @jinnies-muse @yaorzu-blog

@anskiiz @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan @skzooluvr

@jisunglyricist @ambersnowxxx @ayyonoona @31maze13

@stay-tiny-things @thegingerthatwaited @hoesheez

@stayatinykatsy @catlove83

“L/N Y/N.” You hear.

Your eyes were closed, head resting on your arms against the cool metal table in the interrogation room. You could feel a slight knot in your stomach forming but chose to ignore it. You didn't know what they had on you but you weren't terribly worried. You knew exactly what you had done and you knew what you were going to do, the only thing you could do.

Most people fold and tell the truth, but when it comes to you… absolutely not.

Deny. Deny. Deny.

You raise your head, your eyes still closed as you pretend to stretch, dragging out the opening of your eyes for just a moment. And the second you did open them, you immediately regretted your decision. The man that stood before you, made your mouth dry and your panties wet.

You could see his muscles through the fabric of his semi tight police uniform, his tight fitting pants showing off a bulge you only wanted to see become bigger.

“And you are?” You smile, sitting up straight, crossing your legs in hopes you'd be able to keep your wetness in your panties.

“Sheriff Bang Chan.” He says, sitting down in the chair across from you, setting the file down in front of him.

“Fitting.” You murmur, straightening up your posture. “Why am I here, Mr. Bang?” You ask.

“Sheriff.” He corrects you.

“My apologies. Why am I here sheriff?” You ask.

“I'd like to set the record straight first, You are in fact, L/N Y/N, correct?” He asks.

“I'm not sure. Am I?” You say, smiling.

“Or should I call you Miriam Schnider, Lisa Michael's, Julie Furgason?”

Fuck. You knew it.

“Those are some very pretty names.” You say.

“And they live very lavish lives. Is that why you stole their identities?” He asks.

“I'm not sure what you're talking about here, Sheriff. Someone stole their identities?” You ask, pulling off a very convincing gasp, covering your mouth. “What a shame.”

“It is a shame. You racked up an immeasurable amount of debt, ruined their credit, jobs, Miriam is about to lose her house.” He sighs.

“I can't believe someone would do that to them.” You sigh, shaking your head.

“So you're not going to admit it?” He asks.

“Why would I admit it? I would never do something like that.” You say. “I'm a good girl, officer.” You whisper, licking your lips.

He chuckles slightly. “Something tells me that you're not as innocent as you're trying to make yourself out to be.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed.

“What would make you say that? I am very innocent.” You smirk.

“So.” He sighs. “Are you going to keep denying that you did this, Y/N? That you ruined these people's lives?”

“Like I said, how do you know I'm really Y/N? No fingerprints were taken. All your officers did was look at my ID.” You say.

“They also found ID’s of the victims names, with your picture on them.” The sheriff reminds you.

“So? What if I am actually Miriam Schnider? Or Julie Furgason?”

“You're not. Because I met them.” He says.

“Or did you meet the ones pretending to be me?” You ask.

“I'm getting sick of this shit, Y/N.” He snaps. “Just admit what we already know and then we can move on and go forward with charges and processing.”

“Let's say I did admit it, which I'm not, but if I did… what would you do to me?” You smile, cocking your head to the side.

He looks at you, a little confused.

“Would you slam me down against the table to cuff me?” You whisper. “How close would you stand to me? Would you press yourself up against me?” You ask.

He adjusts himself in his chair, placing his arms on the table, intertwining his fingers as he stares at you. “Are you hitting on me, Ms. L/N?” He asks.

“What do you think, Sheriff? Do you think I'm hitting on you?” You ask.

“I think you are. And it's highly inappropriate.” He murmurs, clearing his throat.

“Mhmm.” You groan, maintaining eye contact. “I don't think it's inappropriate. If anything, you accusing me of a crime I did not commit is inappropriate. Not to mention how tight your pants are. It really makes me want to rip them off and have you shove your cock down my throat.” You grin.

You can tell he's extremely taken aback by your comment which makes you smile harder.

He clears his throat. “There's another officer watching this interview.” He tells you. You lean forward a little, letting your shirt expose your tits a little. You watch his eyes dart between your face and cleavage.

“Good. Let him watch.” You whisper.

“Ms. L/N, you're going to get me into trouble.” He breathes.

“You know… a little trouble never really hurt anyone.” You murmur.

“Are you sure about that? I think the trouble you caused your victims definitely hurt them a lot.” He says.

“Stop ruining the moment, Sheriff.” You smile. “You and I both know that I didn't do this and you're wasting your time blaming me for this when the real culprit is still out there.”

“Do you know who did this then, if it wasn't you?” He wonders.

“I'm sure I can remember a name eventually, but right now it's just a little hard to think.” You wink, looking down. You just knew his cock was getting harder and harder.

“What do I need to do for you to tell me?” He asks.

“It's about what I can do for you.” You whisper. You slip out of your chair, crawling under the table, you lick your lips as you eye up the bulge in his pants. You sit on your knees, your hands unbuttoning his pants, slowly pulling his zipper down until he moves his chair back. He stands up, yanking you from under the table. He climbs on top of you, straddling you as he pins your arms above your head. He stares at you, his lips slightly parted, his chest heaving slightly.

You can see the struggling look in his eyes, whether or not he should do what he really fucking wants to do.

“C'mon, Sheriff. Grow a pair.” You chuckle.

He groans, continuing to fight internally. “Ah, fuck it.” He finishes, leaning down, crashing his lips down onto yours. He swiftly slides his tongue into your mouth, his body pressing hard against yours. He releases your arms, sliding his hand against your cheek. Seconds later he pulls away from you, getting up off the floor before he helps you up, pulling you off the floor too. He grabs onto you, pushing you against the table, pressing your face down onto the cool metal. You lay there as he moves behind you, digging his fingers into the waist of your jeans before yanking them down, along with your panties. They pool around your ankles while you hear him behind you, pulling his cock from his pants. You feel his hand slide against your pussy before he shoves two fingers inside of you, your wetness seeping out of you.

“Fuck you're wet.” He groans.

“Wow, you've got a small cock.” You giggle.

“Hah.” He fake chuckles. “I'm going to destroy you.” He whispers, pulling his fingers out of you. Your eyes are closed as you feel him push his cock into you, stretching out your cunt, and it hurts.

“Fuck.” You gasp.

“Is it still small?” He groans, pushing himself all the way in, stopping for only a second before he pulls out and rams himself back into you. Your eyes roll back, your cunt tightening around him as he grips tightly onto your shoulders. You pant against the table with each of his thrusts, each one hitting the right spot.

“Oh my…fuck.” You moan. You can hear him chuckle behind you.

“You're a bad girl.” He groans. You moan to agree with him, moving your hands between your legs, pressing onto your clit.

“So bad.” He groans, ramming his cock into you once again. You rub your clit, jolting with each thrust, euphoric pleasure rushing through your entire body as you listen to his grunts from behind you. There was something so fucking hot about a man in uniform, you were like a feral animal anytime you were near one, and you fucking loved it when they caved.

“Oh god, just like that, officer.” You cry out, moaning louder, your breathing becoming more erratic as you chase your high. You knew it was coming quickly, it always did in situations like this.

“You're gonna make me cum.” You groan, your orgasm hitting you quickly. “Oh my fucking god!” You cry, your pussy tightening again as pleasure runs through your veins.

“Good girl.” He grunts, holding onto you tighter, chasing his own high. A few thrusts later, he digs his fingertips into your side, holding on tightly as he cums, filling you up with every ounce he has.

“Fuck.” He breathes, standing for a second before he pulls out of you. He adjusts himself, before he walks towards the door. His hand on the knob he turns and looks at you, still spread out on the table.

“Don't move.” He says before walking out the door.

“Sheriff.” He hears. He turns to look, seeing his deputy standing there, shocked.

“Ah, deputy Seo Changbin.” Chan laughs.

“That was…” Changbin begins.

Chan laughs, patting him on the shoulder. “Why don't you give it a go?” He suggests. “Maybe you can get some more out of her.”

[lorynna]

Day 298493 of saying that religions are - without exception - mysogynistic.

Specific topic today is husband and wife not being allowed to touch during certain times in orthodox judaism, which a woman named Miriam elaborates on. She owns a Tiktok account and regularly talks about her religious practices and jewish customs.

She has mentioned this custom before in reference to her period, through which she and her husband are not allowed to touch each other and have to sleep in seperate beds.

Now, recently she has had her 5th baby and talks about the fact, that she is also not allowed to touch her husband directly after birth, all the way through postpartum until the moment she stops bleeding, continues to have no blood for 7 days straight after and then has immersed herself in the water of a jewish bathhouse, called Mikva. This also includes not being allowed to directly hand things to each other. She claims this is not due to impurity of the woman but spiritual reasons.

Miriam has spoken about this matter before, where she states that waiting for 7 days after any uterine bleeding stops to touch again, for example after a period makes the husband and wife reunite again when the woman is in her fertile window again. In this video she only slightly touches on this topic by making a comment on what is advised by midwives/doctors for when a husband and wife are allowed to engage in physical intimacy again after childbirth, which is generally 6 weeks after birth.

Due to listening to Miriam I get the idea that she wants to make this seem like all of this happens in order to protect women in these circumstances but I cannot help finding these "means of protection" regressive, outdated and exhausting. Imagine bleeding for weeks after childbirth, now having 5 children you have to care for and always having to think about not touching your husband when both of you try to manage daily life after birth.

I'd really like her to dive deeper into why she thinks that this spiritually even makes sense. Again, for me it just comes across as "the woman is dirty for bleeding, a man can't have sex with her anyways plus she's not able to get pregnant during that time so let's just tell her to stay away during that time".

I feel really sorry for women following any religion. All it does is add more unnecessary rules to abide by, each day. More mental load to consider each day.

[mirims1997]

A Line Crossed

Summary: Following the Pr written statement released by Ashlyn, Bellingham’s new love interest, Jude Bellingham finds himself in the midst of media scrutiny. In an attempt to save his image, his mom hires a sharp Pr agent who takes over to fix Jude’s tarnished reputation and along the way ends up mending his heart.

————————————————————————

Chapter 4: Bernabeu and Theo

“So, I know you are so busy with this Dreamy Belli thing, but I just said hi to Theo. Did you know he was back from France?”

Before Sierra could finish her sentence, Miriam has bolted out of her office like it just caught fire.

Theo was supposed to be back today. She has that carefully jotted down on her important dates wall like a long awaited religious holiday. But between the Bellingham case and her impossible work schedule, she was swarmed and completely forgot about today.

As she scurried towards his office, she prayed that Theo was not pissed off at her. He probably expected her to be skipping in front of his door before he even arrived.

“It took you long enough. How disappointing.” Theo was not even facing the door when she barged in without knocking. That handsome smug bastard. He knew her too well.

Immaculate as a man can get, Theo turned around with his infamous head tilt and signature smirk.

Miriam crossed the room in three strides and pounced on him.

“I missed you. It’s so boring without you. Don’t ever leave me. I beg you. Unless you get yourself a fine man. But even then, I’d love to thirdwheel.”

Theo just chuckled in her ear as he hugged her tighter and kissed her hair.

“You have Jude freaking Bellingham at arms reach and you are talking to me about fine men. You are working for the finest one, babe. I am so jealous. What does he smell like?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Miriam huffed as she pulled away and took him in. France did him good, and he didn’t even need to get better looking.

Theo was Miriam’s best friend on and off work. When they first met, Miriam couldn’t believe someone could look and smell that good. His dark tousled hair was as soft as hair can get. Blessed with dark blue eyes, an aristocratic draconian nose and sculpted lips and body, Theo screamed majestic. And Miriam had the biggest crush on him. Well, up until they interacted and platonically fell in love. Theo was her soulmate, her very gay one.

As they sat down on his office couch, Theo fixed her with his curious eyes, scanning her like the riddled page of a book, a talent only a few, namely him, possessed.

“So Bellingham? How is he like? The girls and the gays all want to know. Is he hotter in real life? Also you haven’t answered my question.”

“He gets on my last nerve. He is uncooperative and smirks more than you do. Overall, I can’t wait for this job to be done and over with.

“Wow. You like him. You actually like the guy.”

Miriam almost choked on air, her eyes widening like she saw a ghost.

“What the actual fuck Theo? No? I don’t.”

Miriam could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She does not like Bellingham. He is too cocky, too provocative, in a relationship, a football sensation and her freaking client. She scoffed at Theo, took a seat and run her manicured fingers through her perfectly wavy locks to reduce the tension headache Theo just triggered in the span of two minutes.

“Okay. He INTRIGUES you. I know you and your obsession with words. And I know that you touch your hair when you are nervous. So spill. It is just me. Although I am surprised. Thought you had the hots for Mbappé.”

Theo was casual about everything. He talks about feelings the same way he discusses food tastes, so detached but somehow too involved. Perhaps that is why Miriam liked him so much. He was her alter ego, a poignantly honest one. It scared her that he could take a look at her and discern the inner workings of her heart, way before she had the time to explore them.

“I don’t know Theo. I don’t want to think about it or to give it enough space to become a thought. Nothing, especially not a pesky crush, should prevent me from performing my job to a T. He just stares at me like I am some impossible enigma. And turns out, he is not so dumb and knows his way around quantum physics.”

Theo smiled at her softly, his eyes revealing a level of tenderness she knew was exclusive to her.

“You are so beautiful when you are rumbling. You know? I forgive you for being late. Come, let me hug you a little more.”

Miriam could burst into tears right then and there. Theo is such a wallflower and a master at shouldering and delaying emotionally draining conversations. And for that, she was eternally grateful.

————————————————————————-

“There is a game tomorrow. Jude is supended as you know. Therefore he will be there in the players VIP section with Castro. We got you two tickets. The seats will be close to the Bellinghams but not close enough to draw attention. Denise will know where you are. Neither Jude or Ashlyn will.”

Mrs Renée had this no room for mistake tone, and Miriam understood. She was single handedly chosen out of a whole team of competent agents and she knew what this kind of opportunity meant for both her career and the way her boss perceived her. Her perfectionism is her strongest asset and she will make sure to exploit it fully.

“Understood. Can I ask why I am provided with two tickets? Will I be accompanied by someone?” Miriam was holding her breath. She did not want a randomly thrown in partner who could potentially disrupt her task.

“You are to choose one of your colleagues to accompany you to the game. It would be better to take someone you are comfortable enough with to present as couple and drive the attention away from your actual task. Bellingham’s fans seem to be rather too attentive to him and his surroundings. We can’t risk being caught. You have to be extremely careful while taking the pictures. Pretend to be hugging your colleague and snap away.”

Miriam almost squealed at the prospect of taking Theo with her.

————————————————————————

“A notification would have been nice. Oh my god. I have nothing to wear.”

Theo paced around her room, holding Cookie the same way a bourgeois woman would hold her chihuahua.

“Okay. First, Put Cookie down. He just ate and I don’t want him to vomit all over my floor. Second, when have I ever been unresourceful? You know I’ve got Jerseys. Come on.”

The thing that most people didn’t know about Miriam is how much of a diehard Madridista she was. Growing up, she watched the team religiously. And her passion for the game and the kings of Europe did not dwindle with age.

“So I’ve got two. One is for you and one is for me. They are on the top shelf, second drawer.”

Before she had time to overthink and regret the slither of freedom she just granted her friend, a jersey was thrown in her face. Bellingham’s.

“No no no. You wear that. It’s a size bigger. I am wearing Mbappe’s.”

She tried to sound as nonchalant and as logical as she could muster. But Theo is Theo. And Theo is a handful.

“I like a tight shirt. I do not workout to hide my physique babe. You would look so adorable in an oversized one. You know. And with the right jeans and jewelry, JUDE would eat this shit up.”

Something in Miriam itched at that. She did not dislike the image that Theo just conjured in her mind. Her core squeezed at thought of Jude looking at her with those tantalizing eyes and running his gaze across her body. She knew he’d tilt his head, lean back, spread his muscled thighs and stare. She might never confess it but she was hyper aware of every move he made in her presence. The way he’d clench his fists every time she leaned in to explain something. She bit her lip to stop her thoughts from straying further. She knew that she was teetering on a dangerous territory and that she needed to stop. Bellingham is her client. That is all he’ll ever be.

————————————————————————

“y Nada Mas. Hala Madrid”

Miriam looked around and took in the greatness that was Bernabeu. The legendary chants surrounded her and made her heart swell. Supporting a football team for the entirety of one’s life through wins and losses is an often overlooked form of unconditional love.

The Madridista in her hungered for such moments and was at last rewarded. Theo was filming the stadium before he caught her gaze and pulled her to him. He knew what this meant for her regardless of the circumstances that brought it on.

“They are up there. 2 rows up to the right from where I am looking.” He says while still engulfing her in her arms. Miriam doesn’t turn around but she has their position memorized. She has to be careful and her shots brilliantly executed.

————————————————————————

Jude took a seat next to Ashlyn and looked at her. Ashlyn was just gorgeous. Her dark turtleneck matched his, her idea. She thought coordinating outfits was “such a cute thing to pull.” Upon catching his gaze, Ashlyn reached out, smoothed out a curl that fell out of place and softly caressed his face with her red manicured hand.

He smiled at her and leaned in to peck her cheek, a very rehearsed pg-13 move. As they played lovers, Jude couldn’t help but wonder which of their moves was worthy enough of a picture for someone like their hotheaded agent. Miriam. Her name alone ignited a fire in him, a feeling he hasn’t felt before, a need for something he couldn’t place a finger on, a desire for a form of closeness he couldn’t name or fathom.

From the moment she sat him down in her office with one withering look, he knew he was in trouble. He has never met a woman who didn’t immediately fall at his feet or at least blush at his antics. Jude knew he was an attractive man. The fact that he was young and successful were a huge bonus. He also knew that he had British swagger and charm. And that along with that, he was a master at stringing words together to make a lady pant. He knew how to ruin a woman for any other man.

The slight voice dip, the half smile, and attentiveness has driven every girl he met to addiction. Well, up until SHE showed up.

Miriam seemed to be immune to all his moves. She looked at him mostly with disdain but at times with a carefully masked curiosity. And that triggered his undoing. Her gaze, sharp and soft at once, penetrated every wall he had carefully built around his soul. And the way she smiled at him that day in her office after he showed off his intellect still lives rent free in his head. Her slight approval made him ache for more.

He wanted her to smile at him that way again and again. A kid hungry for attention. That is the kind of hold this frustrating woman had on him.

Ashlyn said something and it snapped him back to reality. He was supposed to be all over her, for Miriam to take pictures, for Miriam to do her job. Without bothering to ask her to repeat what she said, he pulled her to him in a side hug. And she preened. Denise looked at them and faked a smile, something the world will never know.

As she leaned in further, basking in his attention and that of the world, Ashlyn whispered in his ear.

“Do you know where she is? I don’t want her to get my bad angle.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know where she is.”

As he whispered back, Jude realized how annoyed he was at being in such a blind spot, not knowing where that vixen was.

He looked at Denise with the intention of asking only to find her so fixated on something and secretly smiling to herself.

Jude followed her gaze only to be met by a sight that knocked the breath out of his chest.

————————————————————————

“The pictures look amazing girl. The one where she is tucking away his stray curl. And the one where they are whispering. Perfect!”

Theo was talking Miriam’s ear off as she looked at the pictures for the god knows how many times already and made sure nothing about the couple or their whereabouts looked wrong. She even caught one with Denise smiling at them. Bingo. But as she stared at the picture of Jude leaning in to touch Ashlyn, his eyes so soft and inviting, she felt an ache in her heart. To be at the receiving end of such tender looks, Ashlyn had no idea how actually lucky she was. Jude’s eyes, not his fame or his money, were indisputably his biggest asset.

Sensing her discomfort, in a true soulmate fashion, Theo leaned in and pulled her to his chest. He buried his head in her neck and she hugged him back like her life depended on it.

“Oh. oh. OH. Gurl, do not let him near my casket, because he definitely is burning my dead body too.”

“What the hell are you talking about Theo?”

“YOUR very hot Beau doesn’t seem to like what he is seeing. OH I smell dramaaaaaa.”

Before she could think twice of it, Miriam turned around and almost staggered back at the intense glare Jude was sending Theo’s way. Soon, his eyes shifted to her and although they softened, his stare intensified almost making her knees buckle.

Miriam didn’t look away. She couldn’t if she tried. His eyes kept her hostage as they scanned every inch of her body, mapping her from head to toe as if he was attempting to memorize her, if he had a right to, as if he owned her.

He had her heart thumping against her ribcage. But she stared back. She refused to allow him a moment of triumph at reducing her to shivers and shortened breaths. Theo was doing all the gasping she couldn’t do as he watched Jude angrily undress her with his eyes.

Miriam knew she was taking a huge risk, but revenge is blinding and she loved to indulge herself. Before she could think of the consequences of her actions, she had her back turned to him.

Showing him the name on her Jersey, his name on her back. His last name branding her body.

Theo grinned at her like a proud father.

“That’s my girl. You show him. Take control of the narrative. Oh he is standing up. Girl, he stood up.”

A minute later, her phone pinged in her pocket. A text message.

VIP bathroom. Stall 5. 10 minutes. -J.

Oh, she was in big trouble. Huge trouble.

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Tadaaa! I am back and it’s getting tense. 👀🙈

Let me know what you think! Your feedback is everything. ❤️

[markthekng]

Can you tell us all the lore you wrote for JLY? Pretty please

I'll try to give the cliffsnotes version, but it's still gonna be a lot.

CW: Child Abuse, SA, Murder, suicide, drugs, and religious extremism

It all starts in Snake Meadow Hill Church. There are five religious figures that run the church. Father Clarke, Father Allred, Father Garcia, Sister Angela, and Sister Miriam. These five figures formed the church and decided to care for orphans.

The church's first sign it was cursed was when Miram Bell was attacked by Father Allred. He cornered her in a closet and raped her, leaving her scared and with child.

Father Clarke and Sister Angela walked in on them, but decided the fault fell on the shoulders of both of them, demanding they both apologize. Father Allred did, Miriam refused. Both were dismissed by the church as a result.

From here Father Garcia started acting strange. He'd be impossible to find from sunset to sunrise and started to become more irritable around Sister Angela and Father Clarke. He takes up an interest in helping younger people and trying to present himself as a fatherly figure to them. They make nothing of it and continue on.

What they don't know is that out of disgust for how the church handled the situation and how little regard they held for the word of God he attempted to abandon them that night, but was given a vision, a demonic vision from the demon Buer. All he had to do was cleanse the world of people like his peers and he'd be free to enact the word of God as written in the old testament. He begins a religious order, garnering as many followers as he can.

Miriam joined a new church and kept the child, deciding he didn't deserve to die since his creation was not his fault. She named the child Gary Bell and raised him to be a man of God.

Gary always knew there was something wrong with his family, never knowing about his father. When he was fifteen Miriam told him where he really came from. From then on they couldn't see each other as mother and son. Miriam just happened to be the woman who stepped up to raise him. Gary chose to change his last name to Miller and aimed to become a priest so he could show that religion was not the actions of its worst members but the love of its best.

As Gary is growing up and beginning his training as a priest Snake Meadow Hill decides to act as a foster home. Taking in several children and raising them until they're ready for adoption. Some children do get adopted, most don't. Regardless, Father Garcia gains a talent for getting the kids to trust him and view him as a figure of authority. Most just calling him Father. Father Clarke and Sister Angela pay no mind to this.

Many years later the church becomes less of a place of worship and more of a foster home, an expansive tunnel system of a basement established below the cathedral for the leaders and the children to stay. By now there are rumors that the children at Snake Meadow Hill Church are cursed. They all show a strange loyalty to Father Garcia, leading to a steep decline in adoptions. The last adoption came around when Gary was beginning college.

The church now has seven orphans at this point. From oldest to youngest they are Matthew Smith, Andrew Depton, Theodore Georgeson, Ester Jones, Reginald Harrison, Nicole Firno, and Lisa Pearson. All of them are seemingly regular children, but have a strange loyalty to the church leaders, particularly Father Garcia.

Not too far away in Sterling is a little girl named Melissa Ward who's father walked out on her mother as soon as she announced she was pregnant and who's mother was addicted to numerous substances, particularly cocaine. Melissa, just like Gary, was unplanned and unwanted. But where Miriam learned to love Gary and grow as a person for him, Melissa's mother hated her with a passion. In attempts to get rid of the child she convinced her to play a twisted game where she lay down and avoided screaming or crying as her mother cut her open. Fortunately for Melissa her mother could never quite see straight while "playing". This led to her becoming particularly quiet when being stabbed, cut, or in any way hurt.

One day her mother bites off more than she can do, and Melissa watches as her mother overdoses and dies in front of her. It took three days for anyone to realize the child was alone with a corpse in her house. She managed to survive on snack foods and ice cream before police showed up to pick her up and get rid of the corpse.

Melissa's first experiences with men other than boys her age was with the police officer in the car, and she immediately trusted them more than women. After all, her teacher only ever criticized her or called her a liar when she tried to report the abuse and her mother was stabbing her and calling her worthless while the officer offered his own house for her to stay before inevitably sending her to Snake Meadow Hill.

Melissa protested the idea completely, wanting to be adopted by the officer, but changed her mind when meeting Father Garcia. Immediately she falls in love with him, at the time wanting him to adopt her and be her new father. But he just shakes his head and says he's no father to children, just the church.

In Snake Meadow Hill Church the youngest orphan, Lisa Pearson, is ecstatic to have another girl her age. Melissa immediately hates Lisa, but take a note of how easily she can get her to listen to her every command. Lisa, desperate for a friend her age, does whatever Melissa wants in hopes she'll like her.

Father Garcia comments on Melissa's habit of clinging to his hand, a habit she picked up due to never getting to hold her mother's hand, insisting she can't hold it forever. Melissa protests and insists that she'll never let go of his hand.

The next day Melissa freaks out all the other kids with the idea of her mother's game, eventually hurting Lisa by using a stick to stab her. Immediately Father Garcia reprimands her, making Sister Angela help Lisa and making Melissa spend the rest of the day with him in his study.

From here Father Garcia abuses her blind trust in priests. Having intended to abandon her on Snake Meadow Hill's doorstep her mother always told her to trust priests and God. Garcia changes the narrative to make her believe Sister Angela and Father Clarke don't really care about God and that she should only listen to him. Blindly, she trusts every word he says.

The evidence of neglect, her blind loyalty, and her willingness to move to violence as she wish leads Father Garcia to decide to mark her as his successor, wanting her to become the leader when he inevitably dies. Another important factor is her blood. Considering how little being hurt bothered her and how little losing it affected her, she'd easily be usable for rituals, which required lots and lots of blood. Melissa would easily give it up if Garcia asked, a very useful trait in his puppet.

Time passes, Melissa starts to exhibit a draw towards more masculine aligned clothes and behaviors, and Father Garcia continues to discipline as well as guide her, trying to isolate her as much as possible to slowly get her to not only trust him, but also to begin teaching her the ways of the cult without telling her about the demons or cult activities.

Meanwhile Melissa had gone from wanting to be Garcia's daughter to wanting to be his wife. She had fallen madly in love with him due to her attachment, not knowing why he told her it was bad that she was in love with him. She was open, teasing him and confessing her love consistently.

Father Garcia never said no. He never stopped her or explained why these feelings were wrong and dangerous. Instead he simply used them, insisting if she still felt such a way when she turned 18 then he would be willing to try dating her. Also insisting that she can't tell Father Clarke or Sister Angela about her crush on him.

Melissa has a bad habit of sneaking into Garcia's room to spend the night with him, and he'd allow her seeing how she'd eventually need to know about the cult she'd soon be running.

One night she comes to see him, teasing him and asking about his letters and paperwork for another church. He explains to her that he's a part of the church of Buer as a member, and that it's not demonic because of Buer's relation to God as a philosopher. He convinces Melissa it's an organization dedicated to the movement of ending sin.

The next day Father Garcia is missing. Melissa and Lisa wait at the door for him (Lisa intending on confessing her crush on Melissa) for him to come back. When he does he's bleeding out of the eyes, which have been carved out. By now the Purifying Order of Buer has made several threats against the church and he frames it as an act of violence on their behalf. Father Clarke and Sister Angela take him to his study. Melissa wants to follow him but is kicked out. Instead left to realize the liquid that was supposed to be blood was pitch black. Instead she wipes it up and hides the evidence that there was any "blood" at all.

That night she sneaks away to see him out of fear, but he admits that he wasn't really blinded. In reality his eyes were "opened" and replaced with the eyes of a vessel, meant to deliver the prophecy of Buer. He also admits that he's not a member but the leader and vessel, and one day she'd be the leader. She is also to make Lisa her vessel since she can get her to do pretty much anything with just a command.

Father Garcia instructs her to return every night for two things, lessons on becoming a leader, and to take the same blue pill as him. The pill is a stimulant and borderline hallucinogenic, as well as extremely psychoactive. The body physically rejects it the first two times you take it, afterwards delusion and hallucinations become common place, aka, the word of Buer. Father Garcia was able to maintain a healthy relationship with the drugs. Melissa came from two crack addicted parents, making her practically bred for an addiction.

Before taking her first pill Melissa leaves a message to herself on paper, the entirety of the "our father" prayer in Latin with only the line "deliver us from evil" being written in English to remind herself that if even for a moment she doubts Garcia to remember what God would want and to trust another priest on hand.

Over the years Melissa passed on Father Garcia's teachings to Lisa, getting her to sneak away to closets and hiding places with her and letting her carve scars into her, insisting it's an act of affection. The two only spoke in Latin so no one but Father Garcia could understand them, leading to the two making plans to run the cult together, Lisa's only goal to be by Melissa's side.

By now Gary had become a renowned member of the church, the youngest priest to have established such a notable presence and beginning to take on exorcism jobs. People began to wonder if he was a cultist disguised as a preacher due to his cold demeanor and continuous success.

At the same time, his childhood friend Tiffany Robinson becomes possessed by a demon. Another church takes her away to exorcise her, but ultimately fails, leaving her running around the woods of sterling. The adults and children of Snake Meadow Hill know to stay out of the woods at night due to rumors of the Jersey Devil having traveled north to terrorize them. Cultists know to carry a piece of meat to throw at it if encountered, others become the demon's lunch.

When she was fifteen Melissa admitted to Father Garcia that she feels more like a boy than a girl. By this point they've grown more affectionate with Father Garcia being more willing to let her have feelings for him, still not shutting down what is clearly a dangerous relationship.

Father Garcia admits he always knew he'd be a boy and asks what his new name is. The boy says he wants Father Garcia to name him. Garcia eventually lands on the name John, seeing as the disciple John was recorded as Jesus's favorite.

From here John Ward is born, his hair being cut with the very knife he carries as leader and giving him the leader's robes.

The next day John tries to come out to everyone else, and they laugh him off and insist he's still just Melissa Ward. He huffs, storming off to Father Garcia.

Father Garcia gives him a key, convincing him to use it to kill everyone. The event that takes place is known in history as the Snake Meadow Hill Massacre. John used the key to kill every child except for Lisa, who begged for her life and admitted she doesn't care if he's Melissa or John, she just wants him. The last person he has to kill is Melissa herself. Standing over the bed of Melissa Ward he jams the key directly into his left eye, blinding himself in that eye permanently, leaving behind black blood.

From here Snake Meadow Hill becomes the home of the cult of Buer and a sight of a travesty. Due to him not being out yet, Melissa is reported as dead with no mention of his real name in the case. Lisa and Garcia are also reported dead and the incident left a mystery. No one has been able to get close enough the cathedral to investigate. Meanwhile John, Lisa and Garcia hid the bodies of the children and church leaders under the pews of the church.

Lisa starts to become more aware and every so often tries to run away, ultimately with Garcia chasing after her and bringing her back due to the fact that she is a more powerful vessel than him.

Returning to Gary, he's become a powerful priest with a reputation of being able to complete any exorcism and save any victim. As a result, priests struggling to save people call him to finish the job. Then one day he gets a call that changes everything.

Lisa had run away again, and at this point is unable to separate herself from Buer to control him. So the moments of sanity she holds are attempts to resist anyone she thinks is trying to hurt her, which is not exclusive to demons and cults.

Gary attempts to exorcise Buer himself, but when Buer kills his assistant he determines that he can't be exorcised. His goal was to make killing Lisa and act of mercy, but Father Garcia had already been chasing her down. He hits Gary over the head to knock him out and takes Lisa back to the cult, marking the first and last of Gary's encounters with Garcia.

Gary marks Lisa as his first and only failure. He believes he not only failed by not getting Buer out of her, but by daring to think killing her would do anything.

The cult grows steadily. Once John turns 18 Garcia is open about being in a relationship with him, but uses it less as an opportunity for romance and instead as a way to make the boy infatuated with him to the point of no return. John gets dangerously jealous of anyone else being around Garcia.

As for Lisa, she never stops trying to run away, but as Father Garcia gets older and chases her less, she tends to come back out of fear and hopelessness. John sees her as sub human and throws her around. In the rare instances of sobriety where he isn't threatening her for more pills he often cries in her arms and asks why they stopped being friends, but inevitably the pain from not having the pills in his system takes over and he has to have them to make it through the episode. Lisa endures all of John's abuse and hatred for those moments of sobriety, believing it is possible for him to learn to love her.

Around this time two teenagers are born, Michael Davies and Amy Martin. Both of them come from broken homes.

I never really went into detail with what was going on in Michael's family, but the important details are he comes from a mostly Spanish speaking household and was born with albinism. As a result people often accuse him of being a demon. He and Amy were childhood friends before he "went missing." As a teenager he ran away from home and was found in the Sterling woods by Father Garcia. Because Father Garcia also spoke Spanish Michael instantly trusted him and followed him back to the cult where he gave him a home.

Michael had also fallen in love with Garcia, but unlike with John, Garcia immediately shut it down and told Michael it was inappropriate, giving him no hope that he'd have his "wait until you're 18" decision. John and Michael hated each other, John wanting to kill him but deciding instead to try shifting Michael's love onto him so he'd trust him as acting leader. Michael never fell for it, which frustrated John further.

Michael, desperate to prove himself to Garcia, tried to turn himself into a vessel for Buer, but ended up carving out his eye completely rather than creating the supposed new one.

Then of course there's Amy, whose parents were emotionally and physically abusive. To get out of the trouble of her household she began volunteer work at a local abortion clinic, wanting to be there for all the people who had no one else to be by their side.

Gary had also decided to volunteer at the clinic. He wanted people to have access to the procedure because he felt his mother's life would have been better had she gotten it.

The two quickly became friends despite the massive age gap and religious differences (Amy is Jewish). Gary quickly became extremely protective of Amy, essentially seeing her as his daughter. When she was ~16/17 she left home to stay with Gary and Miriam after getting into a particularly nasty fight with her father about how Gary wasn't a cultist. Eventually he hit her and kicked her out. When Amy showed up she lied to Gary and said the argument was about her work at the clinic.

Within the time period of Michael joining the cult and Amy moving in with Gary Father Garcia dies. The only person who knows about the death is Lisa. John is able to see the corpse, but because of how far gone he is he still believes Garcia is alive and speaking to him. He becomes extremely agitated when people don't talk to Garcia and aggressive when people tell him he's dead. John still believes that if he can hold Garcia's hand he's still alive.

With that it goes into the events of the fic. It starts with Gary deciding to investigate Snake Meadow Hill under Miriam's advice. When sneaking around he manages to find one of John's childhood drawings labeled as Melissa, John confronts him and Gary chases him down. Gary demands to know what became of Melissa and John claims to have killed her and all the other children, as well as insisting that he is beyond human.

He uses Lisa to attack. Mid fight Buer prophesizes through Lisa that the Order will fall and John will fall into the arms of the priest, but no one can actually understand it (the prophecy itself was translated into Latin and then written backwards if you wanna try and figure it out). Gary comes to realize this is the same Lisa that he failed to save all those years ago still under someone else's control.

Gary comes home to tell Miriam and Amy that John is the leader, Lisa Pearson is alive despite all the other children being dead, and they have Michael. Amy wants to go back and save Michael but Gary demands she stays put.

At the same time Gary starts to realize he has feelings for the cultist, but pushes them aside to instead focus on saving the people of the cult.

In his dreams Gary sees John but they end with him being transformed into a demonic deer-like creature.

The next morning Amy is gone with a ransom note. This ransom note was written on the back of the Our Father prayer John left to try and save himself. Though this doesn't become relevant until later. He quickly leaves to get her back.

In the woods he encounters Tiffany who is still bound to the demon. Still having very few failures under his belt Gary is able to exorcise and save her, sending her to Miriam to recover.

Gary infiltrates the cult through an open window, meeting with Michael, who refers to himself as the Grandson of the Almighty to work off of Garcia being the Grandfather of the order. After talking sense into him Gary has him help in finding Amy.

Amy is tied up and gagged in Garcia and John's shared room. They over hear him talking to himself while Amy lets out muffled cries. Eventually Lisa and John catch them, with Lisa holding them at knife point to prevent them from running.

John decides to introduce them to the corpse of Garcia. Michael is horrified believing John killed Garcia while Gary is hit with the realization John believes he's still alive. John gives Gary an ultimatum, he'll let the kids go if he himself becomes the hostage. Gary demands Amy and Michael run home. They run, but stay in the car waiting for him to come back.

Lisa grabs Gary and forces him to swallow one of the pills. He passes out and the two tie him to the headboard of John's bed. When he wakes up John force feeds him another pill and allows him three questions of his discretion. The options are John or Lisa? Order or Pill? Buer or the Missing People?

Gary chooses Lisa ("Ah, Lisa. Well, there's not much to say. She's the vessel of Buer and my loyal friend. She wants us to be more than that, but I'm not even slightly interested. She sees all of Buer's wisdom and is the vessel for his voice. Granted you know the language first. You may recognize her as the girl you failed to save. I'm surprised you didn't recognize Father's voice, he was the one to give you that scar after all.") the pill ("Ah, nothing special. Just something to prepare your mind for Buer. They really help with the stress too.") and the missing people ("I thought priests were supposed to be smart. Isn't it obvious? I killed them. Every single one of them. They were all begging for mercy, and I didn't give any of them a shred of it! And you're laying in the blood of Melissa Ward right now!")

After questioning John asks Gary if he wants to see the body of Melissa Ward, to which he states bluntly that he's looking at it, that he killed Melissa to be John.

Lisa unties Gary at John's command and gives him his staff. John demands another fight with the preacher. Despite John's lunges he makes no attempt to attack the cultist. Mid fight Gary sees that John is wearing the garments of a priest and believes it means there's hope for him as he believes in the same God at the very least.

After being flirted with John insists Gary leaves. He runs and the kids drive him home. That night he decides on going to war with the Almighty.

John and Lisa are doing worse. Lisa is making her own attempts to save John by reducing the amount of pills he takes, but because he's caught in a serious addiction that can only be remedied through medical help, he just ends up attacking her. Lisa also admits she knows John is in love with the preacher even if he doesn't realize it himself. He spends the night talking to Garcia's corpse while she tries to insist he's dead. John has yet to realize Garcia is really dead.

The war on the Almighty is extremely important notably to Amy because the cult tends to make attacks on religions less protected by the government, and being Jewish she is likely to be attacked first. The group goes over how to take them down with Michael admitting no one really knows how to leave despite wanting to. He also admits that by the third pill you're too far gone, you'll never be able to go back to the real world alone. The other issue on the table was John's decree that if he can't have the priest's head then he'll have him and replace Lisa with him. All he'd have to do is take the third pill.

The night is spent strategizing and practicing fighting. Amy teaches Michael how to fight despite now being half blind, the two laughing as he finally wins. Tiffany reminisces as well as helps Miriam with dinner. And Gary has to confront how his feelings for John will affect the war.

Unfortunately it's agreed, the Army of the Lord will have to kill John. Miriam agrees to be the one to do it because she knows Gary won't be able to.

Michael gets angry when it's revealed Gary is in love with John, him being the only one to find it a problem. Amy and Michael fight. Gary admits his feelings are stupid but they won't get in the way. Eventually he gets up and gets them to make up

That night Gary's nightmares begin with he and John falling in love at a younger age, but John falling victim to his own sin and moving to attack Gary, the screams of an elk escaping his mouth.

The next morning, unbeknownst to the army of God, is the Hollowed Sabbath, or Easter of 1987. A sacrifice of great value is meant to be made to Buer and in exchange he'll pass on knowledge of equal value on how to take of humankind. The original plan was for Lisa to be the sacrifice.

Five much more valuable sacrifices are infiltrating the cult as they plot.

The group seeks out the cult, overhearing a conversation between cultists about how John has the potential to take over the world, but his obsession with Garcia holds him back, and most cultists already predict that Garcia has been dead.

The groups split up, Michael with Amy, Tiffany with Miriam, and Gary on his own. Michael and Amy are captured by cultists while Lisa captures Miriam and Tiffany. Gary confronts John on his own unaware his friends and family were apprehended.

John struggles to fight, and Gary teaches him the way Amy taught Michael to parallel the relationship, but where Amy helped Michael back up John kept Gary on the ground. The other cultists carried the others in with Lisa leading them. John rewards Lisa with a kiss and adequately threatens the group before isolating him in the other room to meet with Garcia.

Expecting him to sacrifice him, John instead insists Gary may join the Order and become his new vessel. Gary refuses despite John bringing him to his knees. He sits on the lap of Garcia's corpse, holding it's hand.

After his refusal John gets pissy. He demands to know why Gary didn't come alone and insists Garcia is still with him because he can hold his hand, eventually admitting he refuses to let go because he doesn't know who else he could trust to keep him on his feet.

From there Gary offers to be the hand he holds.

John tears himself apart, refusing but still physically drawing closer to the priest. He eventually gets into an argument with his hallucinations of Garcia's voice, Garcia telling him to go with Gary and John begging to let him stay. Eventually Garcia tells him, "I don't need you anymore" and John panics, cutting off Garcia's hand and keeping a hold on it.

When he realizes what he's done John drops the hand and begs him for forgiveness. This is the moment Garcia finally dies for John, or at least he accepts that he's dead. John turns around and accuses Gary of Garcia's death.

Gary insists he can help John and get him out of there, but John doesn't want to hear it. He instead takes an entire handful of pills, enough to finally overdose, and stabs himself. He in turn becomes the sacrifice, his body warping into a monster. I'll include the transformation scene I used for the monster.

""Shut up!" He shouted through grit teeth, "Gahh! My head! Agh! I won't- Agh!” He began to pant, but suddenly became serious, “ It's time!" He looked up as he spoke, "Are you watching Father?" He pulled out the dagger and stabbed himself.

"John!" Gary tried to rush to his side, but the Earth began to rumble beneath his feet. And as it did, John's body lit up, flashing light as it glowed. Gary took a step back.

John's snarling faded into a different sound. The sounds of a deer snuffling and grunting. His entire body convulsed as it was engulfed in the flashing lights. Gary held out his cane cautiously, prepared to fight. The sides of John’s head began to grow outwards. It was scarily similar to every dream Gary had been having.

“W-what are you?” Gary looked at John, a scowl painting his face. John’s bones began to crack as the rest of his flesh changed with him.

“My name is John Ward, leader of the Purifying Order of Buer,” John laughed as the cracking echoed across the room, his skin clearly becoming too tight for its own bones, “And I am beyond human!” 

The boy stopped, doubling over in pain, but quickly stood up, screaming. But the scream wasn’t human. No, it was more like the sound a deer makes after being shot or hit by a car. And it was rightfully so. Out of John’s skull jutted the over sized antlers of a buck. His blind eye glowed an array of colors as his robe ripped. His flesh had contorted as he bled out anywhere the flesh could tear itself apart. The only thing that could still be recognized was his messy haircut and his seeing eye. He looked at Gary and let out a noise similar to an elk. "

With that begins the fight, but first John notices his "Deliver us from evil" message in Gary's pocket and becomes frustrated. Gary insists he's there to save whoever wrote it and John insists the person doesn't want to be saved.

A bit later and John shifts into a semi human form to try and force a pill down Gary's throat, demanding he join or die, trying to use sweet talk to convince him he wants a life by his side.

At the same time outside, Tiffany begins flirting with Lisa, much to the horror and confusion of literally everyone. Lisa doesn't know if the girl is stupid or suicidal and makes empty threats to kill her for her stupidity. Her family tries to insist she stops talking, only for Lisa to hold weapons to them.

Tiffany sighs, using her ability to shift to and from the demonic form she once possessed to cut off the hands of the cultist restraining her and slit his throat. When Lisa demands another cultist attack her the one holding Miriam lunges, only for Miriam to kill him. The two kill the cultists restraining Amy and Michael and turn to Lisa, who is fuming, until they hear the deer like scream. Lisa knows what this means and tries to beg John to stop as she knows he's not ready.

Tiffany consoles her, insisting she and John don't need each other as much as they realize and that John is just using her. Tiffany offers to be there for her and Miriam offers to let her stay at her house when she insists she doesn't know where to go. With that the hold Buer holds on Lisa is gone, Lisa finally managing to fight it. The blood in her eyes disappears, leaving only the scars left by John.

The group bursts into the room to save Gary, wallowing in self pity as John manages to force the pill into his mouth. Miriam quickly stabs John through the chest. Gary spits out the pill and pulls out of his grip.

John is not dead, but is completely helpless when Lisa resists him and everyone stands over him, he tries to insist he can still fight but is clearly overwhelmed. Gary tries to insist he can still change and come with them, but John can't take it, insisting he doesn't understand and runs away.

The cult is dismantled and everyone returns to Miriam's home. Amy declares she wants to go on missions with Gary and Lisa thanking him for saving her. The group ponders the DELIVER US FROM EVIL message to which Lisa admits it's not her own.

In that moment John knocks on the door, and Gary answers. John wants help turning around and starting a new life. A lot happens between but the basic conclusion is that Gary offers to let John hold his hand until he's ready to stand on his own, as opposed to Garcia who refused to let him walk on his own, and the two start dating. Gary also helps him become an actual priest knowing he has a deep rooted love for religion that was stolen from him.

That's all really, but I highly recommend reading the fic I wrote just because it goes more into detail and actually makes understanding what I just said a little more tolerable. The writing is a year old though so it does kinda suck lol.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49908436

[maryaandmorevna]

A Song of Swan and Dragons

I cannot believe I'm writing another fanfic (PoW will be finished I promise!) but here we are.

This fic is the result of @lacebvnny and me RP-ing, and everything about OC (Arianne) and the plot can be credited to both of us. She has a few snippets written on her blog so check it out.

The story is safe for now, but it will get progressively darker. The warnings will be updated.

A Song of Swan and Dragons ch.1

Following Princess Rhaenyra as one of her ladies-in-waiting, Arianne Swann was woefully unprepared upon arriving at the Red Keep.

No scroll or tome could have captured the astounding amount of gossip that thrived within the Targaryen court. For a mere lady like her, it felt as though she had made a catastrophic blunder before even having the chance to place her pieces on the board.

Yet, if she allowed her heart to guide her—especially toward the man it had chosen—Arianne believed she could endure anything and emerge triumphant. Prince Jacaerys Velaryon would one day be king, and though her father often said that hope was a fool’s errand, she dared to dream she might one day be his queen.

If only his boor of an uncle would stop tormenting her.

I. Mēre (ao3)

II. Vōs, III. Hare, IV.Izula

(personally, I find ao3 better to read, but the chapter 1 is here under the cut as well)

129 AC, King's Landing.

A moon before the matter of Driftmark’s inheritance was to be settled, Crown Princess Rhaenyra returned to the Red Keep— Accompanied by her consort and children, she sought to solidify her position as heir apparent and rally support for her son, Lucerys Velaryon, as the next Lord of the Tides. Her ladies-in-waiting traveled with her; the youngest among them was Arianne Swann, the only daughter of Lord Swann.

Too young to serve as a true confidante, the princess had the girl be a companion of her stepdaughter and sons, as Arianne was of valyrian descent through her infamous grandmother, the exiled princess Saera. 

I.

(Arianne)

“There you are, my lady.” Miriam fussed as soon as her lady appeared in the doorway. Arianne was still clad in her woolen frock and dark overcoat she arrived in, her thick, long hair in disarray.  The ardous day allowed her maple-hued ringlets to free themselves from the confines of the braids.

“There is but little time to dress you for the feast!” The older woman’s eyebrows knitted together and she pointed towards the several different fabrics that lay draped over the bed. Most of them in Arianne’s house colors – black and white, representing the dual swans.

“I had to help Lady Celtigar settle the young princes,” Arianne sighed, unbuckling her overcoat. Her chamber was arranged simply enough, but thankfully, the bed appeared large and comfortable. Princess Rhaenyra left Dragonstone in quite a rush, and so did all of her ladies and staff.

Arianne packed most of her dresses, a few thin books she was allowed to snatch from the library, and her prized possession—a cyvasse set with lapis lazuli squares, Aunt Johanna’s gift for her ninth name day.

“Mayhaps the black one with the feathers?” Her maid crossed her arms, scrutinizing the dress with mild interest. It was ornate, but more importantly, proper and sensible – which was the most adequate thing for a lady to wear according to her mother and septa.

"I don’t wish to wear black though," Arianne pouted as Miriam held up the dark gown. Although the black swan had been her house symbol – contrasting the white one, they were also quite reminiscent of her aunt, the black swan of Lys. Johanna hadn’t really been her aunt since she was her father’s cousin, and Arianne wasn’t really allowed to keep correspondence with her.

Father had almost broken her game set when he realized from whom it came – no daughter of his would fraternize with whores and other unsavory women. He’d kept that hatred ever since his own mother abandoned him to chase the indulgences and liberties Volantis offered.

'This is where my grandmother grew up…and yet the Red Keep shunned her,' Arianne thought while noticing the diaphanous, pale sleeve of the gown she loved.

Finely made white fabric was hard and costly to come by - as opposed to the ones they used for chemises and undergarments. As it stood, even she owned only one pristinely pressed white gown. It flared into a soft bluebell-like skirt from the girdled waist. The bottom of it was embroidered with pale marble-colored feathers. It had been another gift her aunt Johanna sent wrapped in silken cloth, a secret one, shared between herself, her maid, and her mother Lady Swann. If her father knew she was draping herself in gifts from the lyseni courtesan...oh she wouldn’t dare think of the grim consequences! 

“The white one,” She exclaimed secure in the knowledge that it was Princess Rhaenyra she answered to now – and the crown princess was much more lax with rigid rules the septas touted while forcing her to embroider.

Miriam was busy examining a dark blue gown Arianne had yet to wear.

"You’ve worn the white one already, my lady."

She did indeed, the memory of her dear home igniting a pleasant sort of warmth beneath her sternum. Arianne donned the gown for her last name day - mother had called her the loveliest pearl above the ocean and told her the gown was lovely and to keep quiet about who'd gifted it to her. 

"But that was in Stonehelm..." Arianne concluded. Shortly after her last name day, she arrived at Dragonstone for Princess Rhaenyra had accepted her father's request that Arianne join her ladies in waiting.

Though she had spent more time with her children these last few months. 

Her stay this time had been vastly different from the visit years ago when all of them were children. Her father, ever wary of his valyrian kin, was anxious to meet his cousin once removed and heir to the throne.

Thus, young Arianne accompanied him...and made friends with the oldest Velaryon boy. They were the same age, only moons apart and he was kind - and so courteous, like knights from her favorite tales, her own Ser Galladon - and did not tease her for wanting to read or for demolishing his side in cyvasse.

How magnificent the library at Dragonstone had been in her child’s eyes. Jace, as he’d insisted she referred to him, laughed and told her the one at the Red Keep was larger.

She even wanted to stay, as in Stonehelm her only companion was her older brother, who often teased her relentlessly – simply because he was older, and a boy.

 Jace even promised her that one day, when his mother was queen, he would ask her to let Arianne try to claim a dragon - the most coveted companion that was denied to her grandmother for her behavior. 

 "No one actually saw me in it here, so they won't gossip about the poor Swann girl reusing her festive dresses."

The truth was that she didn't want to wear black, and the pride in her house wouldn't let her go with blue. Her friend Princess Rhaena would be wearing the black and red colors of House Targaryen, and so would Princess Baela when she arrived with her grandmother from Driftmark. As would many more, she supposed - for this was Targaryen court. 

Arianne wanted to impress Jace.

Perhaps if other people noticed her, he would cease to be so respectful and finally kiss her. Rhaena had told her how Baela kissed someone moons ago and described it as ‘delightful’.

But Jace hadn't...yet...

It was as if he forgot they promised to marry when they were little. He had to have forgotten a silly, child's words - because if he hadn't then what was he waiting to kiss her for? She was seven and ten already! 

She would have to marry soon and it was Jacaerys Velaryon she had hoped would become her lord husband. 

Miriam sighed and gave up, gathering the ivory dress into her hands to secure it over Arianne.

The neckline was perhaps a bit daring, but it was far from anything that could be considered improper. The sleeves were long and flouncy and Arianne loved that she could hide her fidgety and sweaty hands there.

After Miriam had painstakingly made her hair appear less like a wild nest and more like a soft waves cascading down her back with two neatly folded braids around the crown of her head - a style loved by her Princess Rhaenyra - Arianne went to find the rest of the entourage who would be following the heir apparent. 

She ruminated over her decision to wear white when she saw the other ladies-in-waiting.

Her bright visage stuck out like a sore thumb. How was she supposed to pretend she could dance when people would notice the one person who wasn't favoring those dark, gloomy colors? If she made a fool out of herself -

Rhaena wore a beautiful, crimson gown - but she was Rhaena Targaryen, the Rouge Prince's daughter, she could wear anything she wanted.

Jace turned around and greeted her, his large brown eyes widening slightly at her figure. Oh, he was so princely, the thought flitted through her upon noticing his dark, lustrous curls. They appeared perfectly tousled, and so impossibly soft that she gained a completely preposterous ache – to run her fingers through them.

"You look lovely, Arianne." He smiled softly. 

 "Do remember to ask her for a dance this time around!" Thankfully Rhaena hit his arm so no one noticed the way Arianne's breath lodged inside her throat.

The young lady Swann felt her cheeks burn and suddenly she envisioned herself with very, very red skin. The sizzling pinpricks rolled down her cheeks and neck. She realized Jace was glancing at her décolleté and found herself wondering if it was too daring after all. 

She wasn't like Rhaenyra, or Rhaena, or Baela. Oh, they could do as they pleased, royalty all of them - but for a mere lady like her, reputation was more important than life. 

She was already nervous about being here, at the feast for the first time. Why would they hold a feast the same day the princess arrived? The Queen gave them no time to prepare properly!

Oh, and the Mother above knew Arianne needed preparation.

This wasn't Stonehelm or Dragonstone, this was...King's Landing, the Red Keep, and if she tripped and fell here like an idiot then -

Who would ever consider her a worthy wife for the heir to the Iron throne?

Not to mention, her grandmother was banished from this very same court. 

She barely remembered some of the corridors, the last and only time she stepped her foot into the capital was when she was but a girl. 

Arianne recalled her mother being angry at her for losing the handkerchief she got as a present, but Arianne gave it to a crying boy whose face had been bandaged. It was more polite than offering one of her own, as her needlework left much to be desired.

In his last letter, her father had implied Princess Rhaenyra was considering the union between their houses. Her mind had conjured the idea of this particular union pertaining to Jace and herself - almost obstinately refusing to acknowledge that perhaps Rhaenyra would offer one of her less important sons.

No, father would never consent to a second son, let alone third or fourth-born.

It had to be Jacaerys Velaryon.

The thought sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

‘Jace would be king one day, so his wife would be queen, would she not?’

The hall was splendidly lit, full of people who parted ways for them and Arianne was fascinated, walking behind the royal party - Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their children. If the small council decided so, Ser Vaemond Velaryon would arrive as well and there would be issues, but for now, everything appeared as she had imagined it.

While the King was absent, due to his poor health, his Queen - Alicent Hightower was there.

She would never admit it to a soul, due to the known animosity between the queen and her princess, but Arianne thought she looked perfectly regal and beautiful surrounded by her family. 

She couldn't believe Queen Alicent had children older than her, for her figure was the epitome of elegance.

She didn't know any of them, but she knew their names - Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond and the queen had a daughter - Princess Helena. Prince Daeron was not present, and she had been told he was at Oldtown, with his great uncle Lord Hightower. 

Arianne observed them from the cheerful crowd. She supposed the shorter one was Prince Aegon, as he had both eyes. His bearing wasn’t nearly as princely, at least compared to Jace, even if he possessed the light, silvery hair – a gift of his valyrian blood.

Prince Aegon was staring at his cup, swaying on his feet under the disapproving glare of his mother.

‘A prince and a dragonrider…yet he seems so sullen.’

The other one had to be Prince Aemond then - he was much more interesting to look at. He was taller and leaner than his older brother, dressed so impeccably in his Targaryen black leather - Arianne thought his countenance seemed quite regal.

She couldn't make out his face clearly from this distance, but she could discern the eyepatch and the long line down his left cheek. The story was very vivid in her mind ever since Jace had told it - filling her head with an image of a wicked, cruel boy who claimed Vhagar under the cover of the night.

' "He tried to kill me, so Luke -"

She gulped – her throat constricting tightly with fear.

The mere idea that this poised Targaryen prince tried to kill Jacaerys when they were boys was forcing the fine hairs on her arms upright.

Wasn't it pure luck that it wasn't Jacaerys who was hurt? Thankfully Prince Lucerys came to his defense and nothing happened to Jace, but his uncle had lost an eye. Aemond One-eye was how she’d heard his name in mentions during her stay on Dragonstone.

 His hair, pale as moonlight, cascaded down his shoulders, long and silky and beautiful.

She had never seen a man with such hair. Prince Daemon wore it like that when he was young, or so the stories told.

"Are those your uncles, Jace?" She whispered when Jacaerys Velaryon abandoned his spot to offer her his arm. She touched the crook of his elbow a tad unsurely.

"The ones you told me about."

"They are," Jace shook his head before they were required to make their greetings. The air between the princess and the queen was as tense as a bowstring. Arianne realized the two factions in the dragon court were more than just gossip. This was a public contest, a competition of sorts to see who among the two most powerful women in the kingdoms had more clout.

She glanced towards the prince with the beautiful hair again and quicker than lightning regret flooded into her every bone, vein, and sinew -

because he was staring back at her.

Arianne wanted to hide behind Jace instantly. Prince Aemond saw her look at him and he was now looking at her and so..., so - sharply.

Like she'd done something wrong. As wrong as asking her septa about books other than The Seven-pointed star.

His sole eye was pale blue, a perfectly valyrian shade, and his skin was as smooth as porcelain. 

And he appeared...disdainful.

She didn't know what possessed her to glance back at him briefly. Prince Aemond met her elusive eyes again and tilted his head, his countenance fixed into a glacier devoid of any warmth.

The young Swann girl had never met anyone who seemed to dislike her before she even said a word to them. She made sure to always be courteous and affable  - to not give anyone the wrong idea that she carried a resemblance to her notorious grandmother. 

Then he glanced at some point beneath her chin, trailing his gaze down her dress until it reached the floor where she stood—and Arianne felt a cold shiver of dread creep up her spine and surge through her palms.

She wiped them vehemently on the inside of her long sleeves.

Prince Aemond probably thought she was so rude for sticking out because he was again glaring at her.

She shouldn't have worn white - it drew too much attention, they will talk of her grandmother and she will embarrass her house and –

Mother, Mother above please be merciful to me.

Arianne couldn't even recall what it was that the queen and Princess Rhaenyra talked about but she was thankful to Mother, the Crone, and the Maiden when they returned to the other side of the great hall. She rarely prayed, often falling asleep while reading instead. Mayhaps, Prince Aemond could somehow discern that because his one eye could peer inside her head and he concluded she was a wicked, unruly girl.

Jace was whispering something about Balerion’s skull he wished to show to her but Arianne was too distracted cataloguing the variety of looks thrown their way.

One of the court ladies afforded her a disapproving frown and murmurs wrapped around her throat like vines. The more she moved, the tighter their hold.

"Princess Saera's granddaughter, no wonder she is wearing that -"

"She's a whor...you know, in Volantis." 

Arianne glanced at Jace, wishing he would take her hand and let Vermax fly them away, just like he'd promised when they were children.

The night dragged on, long and tedious.

Although the tables were plied with succulent cuts of meat, fruits, cheeses, and stews, she could scarcely stomach a bite.

Jace rubbed the back of his neck after watching the various lords and ladies twirl around. " I should ask you for a dance, then."

Arianne paled.

"I would love to...but Jace, you know how I am...I'll trip." 

‘And everyone will laugh...and deem me clumsy and unworthy of you...'

Her thoughts lingered on the frosty glare she'd somehow earned earlier from Jace's younger uncle.

She couldn't rationally conclude what possible reason a Targaryen prince had to dislike her so much, but she hadn't dared to even peep in the direction she thought Aemond One-Eye could be. 

"I won't let you fall, my lady. Trust me?" Jace offered her his hand, his full lips curving into a reassuring smile.

.

.

.

(Aemond)

"And what -" Aegon slumped against his brother's shoulder, dark red liquid sloshing and spilling out of his cup. "Are you staring at the whole time? You're sober!" 

Aemond shoved him away, wondering when was the last time the elder prince had a bath. To display himself so unseemly while their enemies were here.

His focus shifted back to the merry crowd, the muscle beneath his jaw ticking.

Aemond wasn't staring at anything. He was simply... observing their kin frolicking around, oblivious to the glaring, gaping wound growing each day: his father was dying, and someone would sit on the throne after him. But who? 

And the kin he wouldn't want to be that someone seemed to have grown their household.

"Oh...." Aegon followed his look, ever so keen on morphing himself into Aemond’s personal nuisance when inebriated.

 "A woman! Ser Criston-" He hiccuped. 

"Pour me another one, my brother has remembered he has a cock!" 

Aemond frowned, how grating his brother's voice sometimes was, especially when -

"Now we need to wonder if he remembers how to use a cock-"

"You shouldn't drink anymore, you look and sound a court's fool.” He sneered, irked that Aegon was not permitting him to think. His sole eye zeroed in on Jacaerys Strong and the woman on his arm, a comely figure adorned in ivory gown.

Aegon shrugged.

"Who is ah...that? She's fine I'd agree." 

Aemond wasn't sure yet. But he found himself glancing at her ever so often. Her face was very lovely, with large eyes surrounded by lashes several shades darker than her hair. Her curls tumbled around her delicate shoulders like a river of molten mahogany – quite the task to follow them as they bounced and swayed with her movement.

He hadn't meant to look for so long but she was truly...inviting to look at.

Prince Aemond took a sip of his drink, and noted how his bastard nephew twirled her around - those white skirts flowing like flower petals.

What bothered him was that he had not known who she was and there she stood - in that disrespectful garment - with the bastard brood. Other ladies in waiting had stood behind, as they should, but she was next to the prince heir of bastards.

His mother would never have such blatant disregard for protocol.

Aemond was privy sometimes to what his grandsire and mother discussed - apparently Rhaenyra the whore was considering giving her eldest bastard's hand to a lady in stormlands. To ally herself there, as Lord Boros Baratheon wasn't as firmly on her side as she had thought.

"Lord Swann's only daughter." Criston Cole answered to Aegon and Aemond both. 

"I do not remember her given name."

It finally dawned on Aemond and he scoffed. So she was pretty and mayhaps the future bastard's queen and also -

"She has valyrian blood." Aemond muttered more to himself than anything. She was the daughter of Saera Targaryen's only legitimate child. Fitting that a harlot like his sister would seek an alliance with a descendant of a most famous whore there was.

One-eyed prince found the idea disappointing for some elusive reason. How woeful that a woman possessing outwardly impeccable breeding – descending from Targaryen princess and the oldest family of the Marcher Lords, was truly the granddaughter of a Volantene madam poised to wed the bastard.

But at least he understood why her delicate face was so lovely — she was, at least partly, of the blood of the dragon. Yet, that riotous hair, as warm as caramelized chestnuts, cascaded down her back, the torrent of curls - 

He thought of his mother's hair, frowning.

"Huh? Who cares about that you twat. Do you think our nephew has gotten there? He does look cunt-struck." 

Aegon fell onto his chair laughing.

"If he hasn't, I cou-"

In a heartbeat, his perfectly spinning spectre of white garments and wild curls misstepped – graciously allowing Aemond to finally blink. She tripped into the bastard, or rather, collided with him.  Lady Swann had found herself a breath away from falling onto the marble flooring.

How disgraceful.

"Oh seven take me-" Aegon continued to irritate his eardrums. 

"Does she stumble into his bed like that too? Perhaps we ought to teach her, as a good kin does -"

Much to his chagrin, Jacaerys Velaryon prevented her from falling - Aemond would have relished that scene, the bastard and his inept little wife. 

He observed how he gripped her sleeves, whispering something in her ear and smiling so stupidly while she seemed to extern considerable effort to remain calm.

The dismay suited her - wide eyes and slightly parted mouth - and Saera's granddaughter, if she was clumsy and simple as she seemed to be, ought to be dismayed. The Red Keep will consume her alive and grind her bones to dust. 

Aemond could now focus on something else, undisturbed. Why did he waste that much time on that girl anyway? She was clearly as ill-suited as her grandmother was if she couldn't learn the steps to the easiest court dance. 

He had never enjoyed dancing, but he knew all of them. It was required.

Not to mention, that dress - he could almost...practically see the tops of her breasts - the creamy, smooth skin between her shoulders. A vapid, stupid lady who wanted men's attention.

Why was he even looking at her? 

He would no longer. She was wholly undeserving of it

.

.

.

(Arianne)

She tucked the strand of her hair behind her ear and twirled her earring. Her catapults advanced.

"I think your king is captured, my lord." Arianne placed her heavy horse between her dragon and the opposing tower and smiled. Their king was now stuck in a fork she'd created. A few murmurs surrounded their table but she tried her best to ignore the various timbres. She had almost cried twice already, so she wasn't going to risk it a third time. 

Instead, Arianne focused on Jace, who stood near her with an indulgent smile on his face.

He seemed proud of her. 

They had played countless times together on Dragonstone, and out of everyone she had won the most. Lady Elinda Massey told her she should let the prince win, for no man or boy liked it when a woman bested them. But Jace had never criticized her for it.

Quite the opposite - he joked that when he became a king she would plan his battle strategies. Arianne almost wanted to ask him if that meant he would wed her as they had promised but her insecurity kept her tongue safely behind her incisors.

"You play well, lady Swann." Lord Beesbury's cousin twice removed simply congratulated her and stood up. She wondered if Jace was trying to avoid playing Tyland Lannister when he offered her to play instead or was he trying to make her feel better after her disastrous dancing? 

Arianne was exceptionally skilled at cyvasse. It pained her to admit she was plain awful at most dances, the rhythm eluded her, and the movement – oh she often wondered if a curse had been placed upon her legs sometime after her birth.

She had missed a step and nearly fell on her bottom.

If he hadn't caught her -

How mortifying!

Next, she played Lady Wylde - the current one, for Lord Wylde had already been married twice before. She wondered if Jace was bored just watching her play, but when she peered up at him he was observing the board deep in thought.

She had positioned her rabble on squares between two mountain tops, reinforced with her spearmen and an elephant. It was a much better tactical position than Lady Wylde’s dragon-led crossbowmen. The mountain tops prevented them from moving diagonally, while Arianne’s dragon was freed to advance into an attacking square.

"A very sound tactic, young lady." Lady Wylde flattered her, though she was not much older. Yet, she has children already.

Swann girl twirled her pearl earring before deciding just to kill the opposing king with her black dragon. Her own had been safe behind a catapult and heavy horse.

Arianne had won once more. She thought she was unusually lucky today - in cyvasse, at least – not so much with anything else.

"It is a shame men do not appreciate it when it comes from a woman's mind. " 

Arianne glanced at her ebony dragon and repositioned the piece back at the start of the board. The lady had been kind to her and she was very thankful for it.

"Small-minded men," Jacaerys crossed his arms, his crimson red cape falling back. 

" My mother will lead our armies when she's queen and I would let my wife one day do the same if she so wished."

Lady Wylde's mouth parted briefly before snapping shut again, and at the same time, a wave of pinpricks grazed down Arianne's neck.

'His wife? His future wife? What was Jace implying -'

She shot him a bewildered look as the murmurs slowly quieted. What would people think now? They weren't betrothed, but the way Jace had said it - everyone would think he meant her! 

The encasing flush tickled her skin. 

"Then we can hope Lady Arianne will be so lucky with her future husband." Her opponent squeezed her arm that rested near a board and departed - as if she understood her predicament.

"Is that his paramour?" Someone muttered just loud enough for Arianne to hear.

She froze. 

Her eyes found Jace, and he had to have heard it too! But he merely frowned at the general direction from which the whispering came. Did they know? Who her grandmother was and now they thought she too was an ill-behaved woman. Seven -

Their ongoing competition had gathered quite a crowd. After Arianne defeated Lord Tyland everyone wanted to try their luck. 

'Paramour? If people think that, then -'

Her reputation would be ruined and how would she explain that to her father? Brother? Mother?

They would be so disappointed. She suddenly felt suffocated by everyone surrounding them, even if they praised her skills in cyvasse she knew they were also not her friends, nor allies. Arianne was only now beginning to see how self-serving everyone at court was. If the tales of Saera's wanton granddaughter entertained them, they would tell them without any regard for decency or the girl's reputation.

Her palms perspirated awfully.

"The Red Keep got its new cyvasse champion! A very lovely one! A toast to your health, young lady!" 

"You're brilliant, Arianne." Jace bent down to whisper in her ear.

"Did you have fun playing? We could go eat cakes." 

Arianne nodded and took his offered arm. Her prince had been right to let her play – if only to distract her from ruminating on her misstep from earlier.

She had loved the game from the moment it was taught to her. Lord Swann would spend hours upon hours developing different positional play and when his son showed no interest, he contented himself to letting his daughter challenge him.

Truthfully, she had yet to win against her father but she had been besting most everyone else who casually enjoyed the game for a while now.

"Will the lady spare a few moments of her time to play against me?" 

Arianne froze and turned her head.

It was him.

Jace's uncle, Aemond. The prince who had glared at her as if he wanted to strike her for offending all the seven gods. 

Aemond emerged, the crowd parted for him and sat down, a ghost of a smirk etched upon his face. His cheekbones, his jaw, even his nose - Arianne had never seen someone look so sharp-edged before.

He was like a marble sculpture carefully cut.

Although the uncle wasn't as handsome as his nephew with a perfectly dashing face and curls - his visage had been marred by a large pink gash stretching from his forehead and down his cheek. Yet, he was imposing and so strangely alluring. Alarming. Like something dangerous and formidable and predatory.

His tone was serene - soft in a manner waves crash softly against the shore. The undercurrent dragging the unsuspecting below.

Her eyes flickered to Jace, hoping he would rescue her from this—she didn’t want to! The prince frightened her terribly!

"‘Hmmm,’ Aemond blinked a few times before, with a mocking grin, turning to Jacaerys.

'Does your—'”

He paused and young Swann girl had an inkling of the word he was about to use - paramour, or worse, a whore, or worse even than that, if such word existed  -

But Aemond grinned even wider. " - lady, have permission to play one more game?"

At the same time, her prince hissed that Arianne did not need his permission, and she glowered. How could he all but say such a thing in the open court? Prince Aemond Targaryen didn't even know her.

"I will play." The words tumbled forth from her lips before she could ponder on them.

.

.

.

(Aemond)

How dared she draw all this attention? 

Aemond tapped his fingers impatiently against the table, his irritation growing.

How did this clumsy granddaughter of a whore - a blight in his proud Targaryen ancestry - manage to be the talk of the evening? Was it that attire? Saera's notoriety? Being close to the future crown prince, should his whore-sister rule?

She was a good cyvasse player. He couldn't deny it much as he itched to.

After she demolished Lady Wylde's defences, Aemond loathed to admit he was intrigued.

When Aegon told him to come and see - his little wench  - the younger prince was confused at first.

He didn't have a...wench.

Aemond was quite careful to avoid ladies at court. Most of them were frightened of his face and he had little interest in them anyway.

He knew he would marry soon and there was no point in forming a relationship that would only result in a court scandal.

He wasn't like Aegon; he was above such base stupidities. So he didn't have a paramour, a wench, a woman.

"You're good at cyvasse, aren’t you? Tyland was just telling me how outmaneuvered he was. He’s considering proposing to her—can you fucking imagine? Perhaps she wouldn’t die of boredom with you, unlike the others."

Aemond glanced at the little crowd playing cyvasse. He didn't know who his little wench was supposed to be, but there wasn't a lady at court he recalled being skilled enough to best Tyland.

He could see the top of Lady Wylde's hair and tried to remember which number wife she was.

 " My mother will lead our armies when she's queen and I would let my wife one day do the same if she so wished." Rhaenyra's bastard's grating voice boomed. In his Keep.

Aemond would sooner plunge the realm into war than let that mongrel sit on the throne.

"Then we can hope Lady Arianne will be so lucky with her future husband." 

Aemond halted.

Her.

It was her.

Arianne - he found out her name - had captured Lady Wylde's king and killed her jade-colored dragon.

Her hair fell in shiny waves down her back, framing that cosseted waist as she leaned forward above the board.

She smiled.

Something slashed the walls of his throat – like a rigged knife that hadn’t been properly sharpened.

"The Red Keep got its new cyvasse champion! A very lovely one! A toast to your health, young lady!" 

Aemond was flabbergasted.

The court liked her. Her riotous hair and her overly daring attire and -

She was clearly at least somewhat intelligent to best Tyland at it. And others.

How many games in a row did she win?

Aemond couldn't accept it - there had to be some fatal flaw, something uncouth about her because bastards didn't deserve to have such beguiling paramours - something worse than just being clumsy – how could the bastard's whore be the court's darling? Were all these toads so simpleminded?

He thought for a moment how he should leave, what business this was of his? The bastards will be gone by the end of a month, one Driftmark seat short.

The one-eyed prince observed the lady - Arianne - place her black dragon and catapults into their starting positions. 

One of her curls fell over her shoulder, and he followed it until it stopped just above her neckline.

He was the last man in this Keep to cast inappropriate glances at women's bosoms but he found himself wondering how hers looked like underneath that dress.

Round, firm, the perfect size for his palms -

He clenched his fingers. 

This was unlike him. Lust was a weakness.

His ivory-clad wench offered her hand to Jacaerys Velaryon, and Aemond's eye twitched at the sight.

If she was indeed his nephew’s bedmate, surely she wouldn't mind satisfying the trueborn Targaryen prince. 

Her harsh response - brows furrowing and her heart-shaped lips pressing into a tight line - ignited a flicker of doubt in Aemond about her alleged proclivities with the Strong whelp.

And he hated how his blood bloomed with contentment at the thought.

Her eyes were now on him and he realized they were so very green. Glittering with determination.

As green as his mother's beacon.

Almond-shaped and lovely, they stared back at him, firm with quiet resolve.

Green was, after all, his favorite color.

.

.

.

(Arianne)

Arianne was having fun.

Aemond made her think twice. She arranged her trebuchets adjacent to her rabble with her heavy horse defending. The catapult was her favorite piece so she placed it far back and let her dragon defend her king.

Jace hummed behind her, clearly agreeing with her defensive tactic.

It was sound, certainly, as she’d seen something similar in a scroll her father bought from a Volantene merchant.

Upon seeing the Prince’s pieces, her eyebrows drew together. Arianne pulled her spearmen back, deciding to see what he would do first.

The rest of the opponents she faced earlier followed a similarly structured play, which allowed her to outmaneuver them - she had spent hours upon hours playing her father and knew the middle-game well.

But not One-eyed Prince; he immediately attacked her rabble.

Aemond wasted no time.

She defended her left flank by placing an elephant diagonally across the trebuchet, humming thoughtfully.

Aemond curled his index finger, it hovered above his jade dragon.

She felt his gaze flicker to her face.

Arianne knew this was irksome for he clearly intended to remove her trebuchet from the board by blocking her with his dragon piece and attacking with the catapult.

However, his catapult was now pinned between the mountain and her elephant.

He could attack all he wanted, but she would keep avoiding battle until it angered him; then, she would have to use his mistakes.

Her orbs settled on him now that he was so near. Arianne observed the way his thin-pale eyebrow moved as he frowned.

Even with that deep gash splitting his left cheek in half, he was beautiful. Not like Jace, but differently, disconcertingly so. Like those valyrian dragonlords she read about. 

He moved his heavy horse instead and then his sole eye zeroed in on her. 

Aemond's gaze was so intense that Arianne thought he might be trying to kill her with it. How dare she meet him head-on? - It seemed to threaten her.

"Hmmm," His voice startled her. 

It had a melodious tilt to it that was strangely pleasant. 

"Will you just spend the entire game avoiding battle?" 

She had to glance back up. Jace shifted on his feet.

"I haven't decided yet, Your Grace." 

Well, it was the truth. Someone muttered something behind her and Arianne groaned inwardly. 

Aemond moved his dragon again, trying to have one of her horses removed from the game. The sigh that escaped her lips as she accepted the exchange and discarded both their light horses from the board was barely audible.

"Will Your Grace just keep attacking?" She didn't know what possessed her to ask. He hadn't developed any of his defensive pieces. His jade king was simply placed behind the last mountain, as lonely as an island in the middle of the vast ocean.

"You do know how this game is won, lady -" The prince waited again. Arianne almost wanted to bristle and snort - he knew her name. He heard Jace say it! Was he pretending it was so unimportant or did he just want her to introduce herself again? Would she have to curtsy as well?

"Arianne." 

"Arianne." The corner of Aemond's mouth quirked up. She hated how it sounded on his tongue, as if he was measuring each syllable for its worth, as if he was tasting whether her name was to his liking.

"I do know," Arianne muttered, avoiding his look and focusing on her figures. It wasn't like he was winning or pressing any advantage for now, he was just forcing them to destroy the pieces. The goal was to kill the enemy king, one could do that without wasting resources annihilating every opposing elephant, spearmen, and rabble.

"Perhaps you'd like to ask my nephew for help, lady Arianne. He is very strongly versed in tactics." 

Before Jace could react, Arianne shook her head with a hint of reactive defiance in the motion.

"It wouldn't be fair. Besides," She dug her nails into her palms and forced her thundering pulse to slow.

She will not let him win because he frightened her.

"I am having fun." 

Taking her trebuchet far back to bolster her king’s defense, Arianne smiled.

He didn’t know she could do this for literal hours.

.

.

.

(Aemond)

Aemond's expression darkened.

She was having fun? 

'I pity any unfortunate wench forced to spend time with you as she'll throw herself from the Keep out of sheer boredom.'

'Boring, studious, exemplary Aemond.'

How Aegon had laughed at him, how they all did, bastards- 

He couldn't remember ever having fun unless he was flying atop Vhagar. 

Cyvasse was part of his studies, something he had to endure but never truly enjoyed. Even when he outmaneuvered his brother, his nephews, and even his teacher, they somehow still found ways to make jabs at his expense - You can only play with a dragon toy on a board, Aemond. I have a real one.

But he had to admit it was somewhat entertaining to chase her across the board. 

Most of his opponents would sooner give up and engage.

"Will you say the same once you lose?" He had removed one of her crossbowmen from the game.

Arianne's laugh was making his fingers tingle - a cacophony of tiny, silver bells.

"Why wouldn't I? I do not always win," Her eyes held some sort of mirth - and Aemond wasn't sure if he wanted it to keep blossoming or quash it down. 

"Contrary to the evidence from tonight."

Jacaerys Velaryon snorted.

Aemond pointedly ignored him.

"What about Your Grace?" Arianne lifted, her long curls spilling over her shoulder. Aemond decided he would not pay them any more attention because they distracted him.

"I do not play for fun," he remarked, not realizing how harsh his tone had become. "I play to win."

Her hand hesitated in placing her next piece.

"Do I bore you, Your Grace? I did win once because my opponent gave up." He peered at her and she seemed to be reminiscing.

"My brother got bored of trying to force my king to fight."

Aemond couldn't help but chuckle, despite himself

"Your brother lacked patience," He admonished. 

"I do not."

Perhaps that wasn't the full truth for he harshly placed his catapult in front of the rabble closest to her king. Arianne simply moved her king away, opting to sacrifice her weakest pieces.

However, if he were to remove them she would have an opening to take his trebuchet, which was a far more valuable piece.

Aemond bit the inside of his cheek and relented, allowing her to escape unscathed.

How fucking infuriating that tilt of her mouth was, as if she was truly enjoying this childish hide and seek across the board. How fucking lovely - pillowy, pink, with a delicately shaped cupid's bow. 

"For how long do you plan to do this?" Aemond forced out in his best attempt to hide impatience. 

"Till' morning if I have to. Perhaps Your Grace would consider developing his side of the board so we could play nicely." 

Aemond bristled.

"Perhaps the lady would consider trying to win instead of just avoiding defeat." 

He forcefully showed his dragon in front of her elephant and removed it from the board.

Aemond noticed his mistake only when he’d already done it.

His heavy horse was now pinned, leaving him dangerously exposed!

If he moved it to safety, his king would be vulnerable to her black dragon—he could either lose the horse or, worse, compromise his king.

His fingers flexed.

He had to retreat his king to safety, sacrificing his heavy horse to the opposing dragon.

Her vibrant green eyes glittered with satisfaction.

Aemond felt the veins in his face throb, the fire licking at his temples. How dare this little descendant of a whore -

"Perhaps Your Grace would keep better watch over his horses?"

Was she mocking him?

The muscle in his jaw spasmed.

Oh the nerve -

"Your pieces will all be destroyed. I won't just kill your king," He snarled, as terrible wroth of embarrassment sloshed inside his stomach. 

"My lady." 

Her large, doe eyes widened.

"What has my kingdom done to earn such hatred from the Prince?" 

Aemond glared at board then back at Arianne Swann.

He didn't know.

He hated how long her lashes were and how decisively she moved her game pieces, and how -

He wanted to win so badly. To have all her pieces toppled until she folded her king over herself and admitted he had been right. 

Suddenly his mind was conjuring reveries where he was the most devastating opponent she ever had and would never be able to forget.

It wasn’t until his nephew cleared his throat that Aemond realized he wasn’t alone with her. Why would he even want to be alone with her, anyway?

But he was enjoying the game, and he would feel even better once he cracked that stupid tactic and won.

"Arianne, just engage his pieces." He noted the bastard putting his hand on her shoulder. A growing itch in his neck told him to cut his hand off.

"Don't you wish to go eat cake with me instead?" 

"Oh," She glanced at the board before giving a small nod to Jace, clearly unfazed by Aemond's growing irritation. 

No -

"You're right of course, Jace." 

Why would she listen to the stupid fucking fool? She said she was having fun, just like he was. 

Arianne moved her trebuchet against Aemond's jade dragon, shrugging, her neckline tempting his gaze despite his efforts to look away.

"Perhaps Your Grace will finally get what he's been hoping for."

The bastard nodded to himself, clearly pleased with her foolishly reckless move.

Why would she take his advice? His nephew had no clue about the game. He was atrocious at it. 

Aemond could feel his blood boil.

.

.

.

(Arianne)

Arianne felt like she was in some sort of daze when Jace pulled her back from the brink.

Perhaps Prince Aemond wasn't that awful, at least not when he stubbornly tried to destroy her side of the board instead of simply killing her king.

His features didn't seem that frightening when he wasn't frowning.

She didn't want to engage all her catapults into attack positions but if she didn't this could last for hours. The moment her king moved forward, Aemond responded by placing his jade-dragon against it, blocking her move.

Arianne noticed he had beautiful hands. His long fingers easily enveloped the jade pieces. 

"Fool's move," he hissed and she had to look up.

His fiery glare was set on her again.

Had she imagined he was civil towards her when they began to play? What had she done?

"But you are Saera's granddaughter," Aemond sneered, his nostrils flaring. "A fool if there ever was one. Banished from the King's Landing for..." 

He left it hanging in the air, but everyone knew. And if anyone didn't know this about her, Aemond now made sure they did.

Arianne could practically feel the japes from around her. 

"If Arianne is a fool what does that make the men that sit on the queen's council? She defeated quite a few of them." Jace bit back.

The Queen was Prince Aemond's mother. 

It was an offense, no doubt.

"Ah," She sighed, rubbing her ear before quickly moving her dragon. 

"The catapult, your grace." She indicated it was destroyed, hoping Aemond would return his hand to the board rather than where it now hovered - near a dagger at his waist.

Aemond bestowed his attention on her and seemed to observe her face for longer than it was considered appropriate. He blinked slowly, then a small, sardonic smile played at the corner of his mouth.

She hoped there wasn't something on her forehead.

His next move was predictable, so Arianne defended.

The game continued, and it seemed he countered every time she tried to retaliate. She placed her onyx dragon adjacent to her catapult, and the one-eyed prince moved as though he had already predicted it.

It was jarring.

Either he was a far better player than he let on or he was reading her thoughts!

Prince Aemond was terrifying enough...he couldn't be reading her thoughts, could he?

Arianne rubbed her pearl earring nervously and moved her black king to safety.

"Now you lost your most powerful piece." Aemond proclaimed coldly before kicking her dragon off the board.

How did he know what she -

"I happen to prefer my catapult." She hoped her pouting wasn't visible. 

"Do not fret then, my lady. It will soon follow."

His visage morphed into one of complacent malice. Aemond leaned back in his chair, a truly sly grin playing on his lips as his fingers tapped the board lightly.

Arianne deflated, realizing her king was trapped. Unless he blundered, death in five moves would mean her defeat.

She moved her catapult but in vain, as somehow the Prince again realized she would try to go for his elephant. Four moves later it was over.

"Do not worry, Arianne. You played very well. Uncle Aemond is..." Jace squeezed her arm reassuringly.

 "Obsessive in his studying."

She met his warm, dark eyes and smiled.

She did feel bad for losing. Perhaps she should write the game down and send a letter to her father, he’d know how to properly convert defense into open play.

It was a rather fun loss though, unlike her loss of balance – and she had tried so hard to grit her teeth and dance better, for Jace.

Arianne inspected the board once more - she had wasted half a night playing cyvasse already and she did want to try the sweets.

She attempted to smile politely at Prince Aemond, showing him she accepted the loss with all the grace a loser could muster. But she halted halfway—his mouth was set in a frightening glower, and his eye blazed with something malignant.

The twinge of apprehension coiled tightly around her ribs.

"I c-concede," she stammered, reaching to fold her king. But his hand was quicker, snatching it in his large palm.

The one-eyed prince slammed the figure against the board with unnecessary vehemence.

"A waste of my time," he hissed. 

"Perhaps this teaches you it is bad manners for a woman to make such a spectacle of being slightly above average at play." 

Her muscles locked.

A spectacle?

Bad mannered!?

Arianne blinked twice to dispel the itching in the corner of her eyes, but she was fairly certain he could notice. What a sore winner if she ever knew one. It was like he wanted to humiliate her and make her cry.

What could she have possibly done to him?

"I..." She peered down at her fallen king and her slain dragon. 

"I was just..." 

"Your manners are lacking, uncle." Jace helped her stand up. 

Arianne was thankful his pace was brisk for she couldn't get soon enough from there.  Now, everyone would think her not only clumsy and inept but presumptuous as well. How stupid she had been to imagine she could best a prince whom everyone praised for excelling at everything

.

.

.

(Aemond)

Aemond's mood was positively sour for the remainder of the night. The hour was growing late and various royal guests had begun to disperse. 

He had won the cyvasse game.

All because she’d listened to the idiotic advice of her rumored paramour.

They could've still been playing if she stuck to her own gameplan and he wouldn't have to be forced to interact with various simple fools throughout the night.

Because she couldn't stop twirling her stupid earring.

Her stupid curls.

Her stupid, stupid, stupidly noticeable ivory dress. No matter where he looked, she seemed to command his attention, an unrelenting presence in the corner of his eye.

And yet when he had won and she -

Knocked over her king. For a fleeting moment, he thought she might cry—and to his surprise, the idea wasn’t as satisfying as he’d imagined

But how luminous and green her eyes were -

I concede -

To concede is to surrender, to yield.

He imagined her saying it to him in private, with no one else to hear.

His chambers, not hers – because he would have the door barred shut lest they get interrupted again.

She'd admit he won and sit on his bed and wait - wait for him, wait until he approached and took his spoils.

She'd be his paramour then.

Aemond groaned and downed his cup. He was on the verge of being drunk. He never allowed himself to indulge that much.

The realization struck him like a longsword—he wanted to take Arianne Swann to bed. And that was... a problem. More so if he was forced to interact with her for the next moon. If she was to stay with his half-sister's entourage.

Was she going to cry over losing? Would she cry if he took more from her? 

Was she the bastard's lover?

What if she wasn't? What if she was untouched and waiting for him to take her? 

Was she really going to cry from losing a stupid cyvasse game? 

Unfortunately, Aemond wouldn't find out as she took his bastard nephew's hand and left.

She hadn't glanced in his direction once.

How dare she leave without his consent!? He had given no such permission.

Aemond tried to focus on remembering the lords who tried to speak to his mother and the ones who didn't -

He tried to keep an eye on Aegon.

Tried to focus on ladies he hadn't met, the sweetcakes and various fruits brought on golden platters - anything to keep his mind elsewhere.

Even tried to observe Daemon, the only real threat should the whore of Dragonstone insist on taking the crown his mother had clearly intended to put on Aegon’s head. The Rogue Prince was true blood of the dragon, unlike his weak father. Daemon would not hesitate to hurt Helaena, her little ones, his Mother. It was Aemond's duty to ensure their safety whatever might come.

But his eye drifted back to Arianne Swann ever so often. His mind finally made the connection that had been eluding him. The black swan of Lys. While brushing up on his knowledge of Kingdom of the Three Daughters, he was rather chagrined to learn that Lyseni let themselves be ruled by a courtesan they enslaved to a pleasure garden years prior.

Aemond gripped his goblet tightly, as his lips parted in silent realization.

The abducted Westerosi noblewoman - the barbaric act that finally prompted the crown to act against the Triarchy - wasn’t she the kin to Lord Swann, hence the moniker?

Lady Arianne covered her mouth with her hand and her body shook, her curls bouncing from whatever it was that entertained her. Did she even notice the throng of men trailing after her as if she were a piece of sweet meat? Was she truly oblivious to how her dress clung to the curve of her waist—how it managed to be so indecently enticing while revealing nothing at all?

The neckline dipped to frame the delicate lines of her collarbones, ending just before revealing her womanly attributes.

She’s wearing that on purpose, Aemond concluded tartly. Saera’s granddaughter, kin to another famed harlot—was there a single decent woman in her wretched family?

So that was why she was grating on his mind, he bit the inside of his cheek in vexation – because clearly there was something nefarious about the women of her line that drew men in. Not him though, he wasn’t weak-minded like all these toads.

He could see right through her.

Her very presence was an affront—to the court, to him, to everything dignified.

What an utter shame for there were very few of them – those with the blood of the dragon - and to have it wasted on a vapid tart who warmed his bastard nephew’s bed.

A vapid tart, yet one who’d somehow managed to best Tyland at cyvasse.

Aemond took a sip from his goblet again, wondering where they carted Aegon off to before his eye inevitably stuck to the object of his ire again.

How disconcertingly pretty she was.

And what, pray tell, was she laughing about with those fools?

.

.

.

(Arianne)

Arianne covered her mouth and laughed at herself. They were competing who could eat more lemon-flavored cakes and although Prince Lucerys was in the lead, she was trailing right behind.

Her stumble during the twirl long forgotten, she visibly relaxed while listening to the rapt stories of her dragon-riding friends. 

"Don't you ever wish you had one?" Rhaena elbowed her. 

Huh?

"Um...I suppose not?" Arianne hesitated, trying to be tactful. It would be a lie that she never ever wished for a dragon of her own, but coveting it would be unseemly.

 "I am not a Targaryen like you. Besides...they are frightening."

"Even Vermax?"

"Vermax only behaves because Jace tells him to." Arianne shrugged.

Rhaena snorted and drank her wine.

“Still, it is odd. Vermax is so prickly!” Lucerys shrugged. How nice that both he and Rhaena already knew they would be wed – they liked each other and it was leagues preferable to marrying a stranger. A fate that could still await Arianne.

She tried her best not to dwell on it but often her nightmares included her being given away to an old, mean, ugly lord that scarcely washed.

It was so unfair!

The lemon turned sour upon her tongue.

It could be worse, she supposed, there was a lady that would have to suffer being Prince Aemond’s wife. He was meaner than a Stranger.

"I wish I had one. It isn't fair. Vhagar was supposed to be mine." Princess Rhaena glowered. Following her gaze, Arianne noticed the one-eyed Targaryen staring intently at his plate.

She had heard this story several times by now.

"I hate him." Rhaena's frown deepened. "Vhagar was my mother's dragon, I was supposed -"

Arianne didn't know what to say, from what she had read the dragons chose their riders but she wouldn't want to upset her friend. It was still Prince Aemond who attacked other princes and princesses. And even more, she didn't ever want to say anything in defense of that malcontented boor.

"Is he mean to everyone then?" She asked instead. 

Sensing the questioning glance the Targaryen princess threw her way, she explained. "He defeated me in cyvasse earlier and...well, he insulted me."

"Oh, that stupid twat." Rhaena snapped. 

Arianne snorted. 

Aemond Targaryen was a boor and a twat indeed.

"I am going to fraternize," Jace approached them, "with my mother's liege lords. Gods be good." 

"I am going to retire before another moronic Hightower asks me to dance." Rhaena crossed her arms and turned on her heels, inviting Prince Lucerys to escort her.

"I should too, then." Arianne sighed. She's had enough disasters for one night. The Red Keep hadn't been the idyllic court she imagined it to be. If she ever truly became Jace's queen she would rather make it nicer - with kind people and less gossip.

Jace's warm, brown eyes widened slightly.

"No, don't go yet. I just...I'll be done quickly and - I need to tell you something." 

"Oh...alright." She acquiesced without putting up a fight.

But it wasn't alright, with Jace and Rhaena gone Arianne was left fidgeting with her sleeves. She tried to engage in a small talk with other stormlanders but the moment her grandmother was mentioned the murmurings pricked at her ability to do so.

Lady Broome was a cherry on top of her sour cake.

"If I had a daughter with certain...indecent predilections coming from her father's side, I would have whipped her within an inch of her life. You would be sewing and praying, not playing games. " 

Arianne merely smiled and held her retort at bay. She gave up after that, deciding to leave and wait for Jace in the courtyard.

Swann girl walked around a few drunk knights that were lying on the stairs and sighed when she felt fresh air.

'I will not cry. I didn't do anything wrong.'

She had walked a little further away until she could see the sprawling town beneath the keep. How vast the settlement was, its lights spreading as far as she could see. Yet, Oldtown was even larger, though she had never been there.

Arianne leaned on a tree and observed the line of people carrying carts through the Keep's gates.

"What use is a daughter who does not know how to run a household and be a quiet wife to her lord husband?" 

"Bringing unnecessary attention to yourself by playing games."

She gripped the sleeve so tightly that she almost tore it off. Princess Baela, from what Arianne had heard, had behaved ten times more scandalously than she, yet no one dared to mutter their discontent.

But she had a dragon and so did her father.

Arianne’s lungs filled with chilly air.

 If she only had a dragon, a great, monstrous beast - like Balerion - she'd threaten them to stop or else.

Or else I'll have my dragon roast you. Not that she'd ever do it, though. She’d once seen Vermax devour a lamb, and the sight had made her both retch and cry. 

What did those old witches even know about her? She wished to slap them and declare that Jace was no mere lord, and she would not be some lord’s quiet wife. Jace would be King and she would be Queen and sit on his council. Then they'd hold their tongues, for Jace had Vermax, and as her lord husband, he'd frighten them for her. 

"It is not wise to walk around alone at night." The voice startled her into jumping from her skin.

Arianne's neck cramped from how quickly she turned, alarmed by the silent approach.

"For a lady." Aemond clasped his hands behind his back. 

Several moments passed before she recovered from her shock.

What was he doing here? Why was he here? To shove her off the edge until she fell and broke her skull on the cobblestone below? 

"Y-your Grace." She did a quick curtsy before glancing around for any sign of Jace to rescue her as he did after a cyvasse game.

Aemond hummed to himself before he stepped forward. He hadn't come closer than a few paces from her, his angular face trained on the town. An errant shiver rolled down her backbone, not from any chill in the air, but from fear.

She was frightened of Aemond.

‘ Well, who wouldn’t be?’

The prince glanced at her after some time, his gaze slowly traveling lower.

"Are you not cold in that little dress?" 

Arianne's eyelids fluttered several times. 'Little dress?'

The heat blossomed through her cheeks.

"No," she answered with a note of confusion in her tone. 

"I rather prefer the cold."

King's Landing, unlike her home, lacked any wind. She was used to far worse weather. 

Something passed over the one-eyed prince's face.

"A fortune then," he chuckled. "Your...friend is no true fire and blood. Nor salt and sea for that matter." 

She pressed her lips tightly together as she instantly had an idea who he was referring to. It would seem the entire court thought her loose with her morals, and the realization stung. Arianne knew she would have to dispel such misconceptions if she ever hoped to marry her gallant prince.

Was that what he had implied? That Jace was a bastard and she...?

Jace was Laenor Velaryon's son. He was Princess Rhaenyra's heir. 

"I truly am fortunate, your grace." It was hard to make the acid in her tone undiscernible. Arianne returned her attention to the people below, but she could feel his stare on the side of her face.

She wondered if walking away would be rude. Would she even dare? Did she need his permission? Technically, he was her sovereign. 

Maybe if she remained quiet, the boredom would usher him away.

They stood in relative silence, the cheers and music from the hall still permeating the air before Aemond spoke again.

"I was perhaps harsh earlier," he cleared his throat. 

Arianne felt her sinews coil in apprehension. Was he trying to talk to her?

"You...play well." 

Her breath hitched.

What?

Her pulse fluttered nervously through her arteries, rushing so relentlessly her ears rang. 

"T-thank you," She muttered, peering up at his expression. Was he jesting with her? Or was he serious?

The trepidation overwhelmed her.

"It certainly is an honor to hear that," Arianne fiddled with her sleeve. "When Your Grace is clearly the better player."

The compliment seemed to soften the harshest of lines adorning his face, yet he made no comment on it.

Aemond blinked and pored over something near her temples.

"Well, at least when we came to the endgame, all my attacks were predictable," she had started to ramble because his stare was making her dig her fingernails into her palms and shift the weight from one foot to the other.

"It is because you have a tell," he interrupted her offhandedly. 

Arianne halted, offering him a questioning pout.

Aemond moved his arms, bringing one to the pommel of his knife while raising the other to touch his earlobe 

"Before you move a piece into attacking position," he explained in a voice as soft as a pillow. 

"You touch your earring."

'I...what?'

'Wait what?'

Arianne had to blink numerous times before she could think this through. She wasn't doing that, was she? She'd never noticed - and neither had anyone else.

Her hand shot up to twirl her pearl earring, and she paled, realizing he was right.

She tended to do that.

"I...well...h-how did you...I never realized..." 

Something was flooding her cheeks and forehead - it wasn't frustration that was brimming under her skin the entire night - it was an embarrassment

Aemond hummed, the corner of his lips curving.

"I watched you play Lord Rosby and Lady Wylde ..."

'He was watching her?'

Arianne didn't know how to answer that. Why was he watching her and not the board?

Perhaps Prince Aemond realized she was struggling to formulate the sentence because he spoke again.

"Why did you abandon your tactic in favor of my nephew’s?”  

Her eyes shifted towards his collar. The black of House Targaryen made a stark contrast against his pale skin.

Arianne tilted her chin up to better see his face. Seven above, he was tall.

"Well, it was taking a long time and...I had wanted to eat cakes with him. We were supposed to...do that." She wondered why his marble-like face hardened as she spoke – his jaw locked and his mouth settled into a frown.

Aemond flexed his fingers. 

"What fucking foolish reason!" He scolded, his eye blazing with indignation.

Arianne took a step back, surprised at both his vocabulary and vehemence. 

"Well...why did your grace help me with," - She touched her earring, - "this, if he thinks me a fool?" 

His nostrils flared.

"I took pity!" His answer dripped venom and Arianne realized he was only pretending to be civil and she had been right - he hated her.

"We are family after all." the prince added with a hint of amusement.

'Family? Sure, his father was her grandmother's nephew but that was too distant a relation to-'

"I suppose -"

"Dragons are so...ah, generous with their family aren't they?" Aemond snarled, regarding her naive expression. "We welcome everyone, traitors, bastards, bastard's mistresses..."

Arianne stiffened. 

Even him? Was this what everyone thought?

That she was Jace's paramour...that she lost her honor before marriage?

What will her parents think?

Much as she tried, she couldn't stop the itching in her eyes.

Targaryen Prince simply stared at her – the blue of his eye as turbulent as the most voracious of oceans.

Arianne wiped her cheeks when she felt the droplets. 

She was crying. Crying.

She couldn't cry in front of Prince Aemond. He would humiliate her even further.

"I...I a-am not...and I would...like to leave now." Her line of vision fell to her feet and she willed them to move. Unfortunately, his long legs moved as well, blocking her path.

"I do not give you permission to leave, lady Swann." Aemond spat, forcing his arms to rest at his sides. His sole eye moved to map and catalog the wet trails left on her cheekbones.

'W-what?'

What was wrong with him? She was crying! It was common decency to allow a lady her dignity! From the moment she arrived, there was gossip about the debauched Prince Aegon and the dutiful, impeccable Prince Aemond, whose only fault was his missing eye. But she realized the Keep was as full of horse dung as the dirtiest stable in the Seven Kingdoms

He was the most ill-mannered boor she had ever had the misfortune to meet! How did no one else realize this?

Arianne glared up at him through her damp eyelashes. 

"Your words offend me so I... please move-"

"Offend you?" Aemond sucked his bottom lip in and narrowed his eye.

 "So you are not a mistress then? Perhaps like your grandmother, he pays for your company in gold. How much of the crown's coins does he spend to share your bed? More than your famous grandmother? Is he the only one -"

Before she could think her foot flew and hit him in the shin.

Aemond hissed but he didn't stumble. 

"I AM NOT SHARING ANYONE'S BED!" Arianne screamed. 

She yanked off both of her earrings and threw them at his head. 

"How dare you insult me so? I haven't done anything to you! Yet, you state all these awful things about me when I haven't even had my first kiss. You judgmental, prejudiced twat!"

Arianne didn't wait for him to strike her head off, she ran past him. She ran until she reached the stairs and then she ran in the other direction until she was looking for her room.

She couldn't stop crying.

Miriam was sleeping when Arianne opened the door.

The young lady Swann had no heart to wake her and she didn't want to be interrogated about the worst night in her life.

She simply hugged her pillow and cried. She was dead. Tomorrow they would come for her and lead her before the Queen and she would sentence her to hanging for insulting and hitting Prince Aemond.

Not even Jace will be able to save her.

She had forgotten Jace wanted to tell her something.

That awful uncle of his!

The sweet embrace of sleep eluded Arianne for hours as she indulged in fantasies of setting her own dragon on that evil man. If she only had one, she’d let it devour him in one bite and she wouldn’t cry or retch.

She’d laugh. 

.

.

.

Miriam woke her with a scolding.

"My lady, you should've woken me to prepare you for bed! How did you sleep in that corset?" 

Arianne had a splintering headache.

Last night happened.

Oh, the Seven!

"D-did the guards ask for me?" The fearful tilt of her tone made Miriam frown.

"No," she eyed her lady suspiciously. "Why would they?"

Arianne breathed a relief. For now.

‘I kicked a Prince…’

Groaning, she buried her face into her pillow. She didn’t want to die! It wasn’t fair!

"Please get up and eat. I need to do your hair, it's completely knotted!"

"I am not leaving my room today," Arianne pouted. Perhaps if she never showed her face again, Prince Aemond would forget she existed?

"Oh...what happened last night? Did Prince Jacaerys kiss you?"

She winced.

Absolutely not.

"It was awful. I hate this place." Arianne muttered, taking a sip of water. She ate while Miriam fussed over the state of her dress.

"My lady, where are your earrings?" The question caught her unprepared and Arianne blanched.

"I...lost them."

"Both of them?" Miriam blinked several times.

I tossed them at that awful, awful -

"Yes." She pursed her lips and realized her appetite was missing.

The morning was uneventful. She had a bath and she and Miriam shared a meal later. Lady Massey informed her yesterday that she was to ensure Princess Rhaenyra’s things were put in order as these servants cannot be trusted for they are employed by the Queen.

The Swann girl hoped she wouldn’t have to scold too many of them.

Also, the younger princes needed to be taken to their lessons.

Arianne was still pretty upset but she tried to think about what Jace wanted to talk about. Her daydreams imagined him professing she was dear to his heart and -

her worst scenarios had him solemnly telling her that she was mistaken and he could never accept her for a wife. Not next to Princess Baela, not when Lord Paramount of Stormlands had four unwed daughters.

Miriam stood up because she heard a knock. 

'Oh no.' She turned rigid. They were here to put her in chains. To have her arrested for capital transgression against the prince. 

Aemond would have her executed.

Or Queen Alicent would.

"My lady, this is for you." Miriam was holding a small box and turning it around in her palm.

"Do you think prince -" Her other hand flew to her mouth to stifle the giggles.

"Just give me that!" Arianne scowled. She wasn't going to get excited over Jace's gift only for it to be from some lesser lord trying to marry her for her nice dowry.

Her fingers trembled as she opened it.

Arianne descended into shock.

Her pearl earrings.

What?

Was this another cruelty from One-eyed Prince?

Arianne put the box on the table and pulled a small piece of paper.

When she had read it she got up, tossed herself onto her bedding, and screamed into the pillow.

' Much as I appreciated your gift, Lady Arianne, I have no use for earrings. When we play cyvasse again and you win, you might be entitled to my forgiveness for the epithets you gave me. Should you lose, know that you would owe me twice, and I will not forget to collect your debt. Mayhaps you'll think of something of more value than jewelry—something of firsts.

My leg is completely fine, in case your ladyship was worried.  – Aemond Targaryen.'

Seven hells take him, he hadn't forgotten about her. 

"Miriam," she wailed. "I am not leaving these chambers until we are to return home." 

Her maid crossed her arms disapprovingly.

“Well, must I remind your ladyship that you are to take the young princes to the maester for their lessons?”

Next

[mordecaispe]

i miss my old ocs so here's a list of all of them

lizzy the labrador: THE OG!!!!! MY VERY FIRST FURSONA!!!!!! she was a fnaf oc at first (hence the animatronic versions of her) but eventually she just became a Regular Dog. she had a sister named lisa i think and she was dating littledawg (pictured below)

littledawg (second image made by jennycaro70 on scratch): he was a character i got as a prize for winning a coloring contest! i remember i couldn't think of a drawing i wanted as a prize so i just said "a green dog with a red paw screeing at the camera" and that's what i got! he died in a car accident and came back as a zombie demon dog :3

cotton candy: she was a fox who was lizzy's ex-girlfriend and she was CRAAAAAZYYYYY and liked to kill people. i think she was a princess too. also heterochromic...smh what's wrong with a man and a woman marrying... /joking

shigo: another old fursona! he was just a wolf with cool dyed hair, didn't really have any lore apart from being Me. i originally made him for an old youtube intro where his name was rika and then i picked him back up when i first came out as trans and renamed him to shigo! i love him

kaiz and snake (they're heavily related so i'm listing them together): these two were brothers! i originally made them for someone else but then i got too attached and they gave them back to me...snake was based on a childhood drawing apparently but my memory is so bad i don't remember which one lmao

lillypad: this character was originally a warrior cats oc! but then she became a fursona of mine not related to warriors. i honestly don't remember much abt her, but she still means a lot to me.

nyx/jinx: i don't remember much abt this character either apart from the fact that she used to be named jinx until i gave her the name nyx instead...also she was CRAAAAAAZYYYY and liked to kill people ig. she had a half cat half dog son iirc. girlboss. let her kill

flappy: THIS IS THE ONE THAT HAD ADHD AND STIMMED BY FLAPPING HIS ARMS. he's so silly i love him. he was CRAAAAAZYYYYY but he did not like to kill people. also he was friends with littledawg

REV (second image drawn by moonpaw12345 on scratch): OHHHH THIS GUY he was a robot dog that was nervous more than half the time but was so so sweet...i remember when i was younger i got a popular person on scratch to draw REV (the person who drew the second image) and i was SO excited about it...i need to draw him again he was Cutes

miriam: i originally made miriam for a series of horror games! she was the result of a father experimenting on his own daughter and killing her and so she turned into an evil dog demon that haunted an old video game and would break through the screen and kill people. moral of the story: human experimentation is bad and also don't abuse ur kids

i owned way more characters than just this but it'd honestly take forever for me to list them all LOL so here's all the main ones i owned and the ones i cherish the most!

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

Are you willing to write a kingdom of heaven fic where the reader has a child from a previous marriage that ended when her previous husband died. A girl like 6-8 years old who is shy at first

♡ New Family - King Baldwin x Reader ♡

♡ Fluff ♡

A/N: Hello Anon, thank you for your request! This is such a cute idea, so sorry its taken so long to get to. I hope it's what you had in mind! As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

TW: Leprosy, Mention of Death, Mention of Domestic Violence (Not Baldwin dw), Nightmares/PTSD, Mention of Trauma.

It was a warm spring day when y/n and Baldwin were wed.

Their marriage was one of preference instead of arrangement after the two had met at the Jerusalem market.

Y/n ran a silk stand with her daughter, Miriam, when the king had decided to attend the market himself one day instead of sending a servant. He had been feeling well lately and wanted to take the opportunity to get some fresh air.

When their eyes met, it was love at first sight. There was no denying it.

However, there was one small problem. Y/n was a widow. Her husband had died in battle and as much of an inconvenience as it was, she couldn't help herself but feel slightly relieved.

He was a cruel man, a harsh man who believed in discipline for both wives and children. So needless to say, y/n couldn't help herself but feel relieved when she received news of his death.

But because of this, it was expected that she would not be married again and for a time, she had no issue with this. That was until she met Baldwin.

At first, she thought of herself as ridiculous when he had come by her stall. He was the king! And she was a widowed peasant who already had a daughter. It was simply not possible she had thought, until a servant came by her stall with an invite to the castle sent directly by the king.

Their love bloomed from there and despite being frowned upon, they were wed.

Y/n’s daughter was a naturally shy girl. The first time she had met Baldwin, she hid behind her mother and peeked out at the man from behind her robes.

His metal mask was less of the issue when it came to her fear (even though it did make him look far less human to her), it was more the past with her father.

At only seven years of age, she had experienced so much which was a great pain to her mother.

When they first met, the king gifted her a small carved, wooden horse as a present. She loved it and even approached him to take it from his gloved hand.

She was still nervous around him in the beginning, but she began to enjoy the benefits of becoming royalty. She loved the teachers who taught her all kinds of things that a peasant would simply not have the resources to know and she enjoyed playing with her cousin, Baldwin V.

She thought it funny that he had the same name as her step father and looked up to him as a big brother and he protected her as such.

Miriam’s nervousness around the king ended in just one night when her mother was away on royal duties overnight.

------------------

It was late at night when the girl’s eyes snapped open and she came awake, sweating and shaking.

She was prone to nightmares from the incidents with her late father.

Usually, Miriam would run to the royal chambers and call for her mother, who was a vastly light sleeper due to her own trauma. She would comfort her and bring her back to her own chambers. Y/n would read her a story and hold her until she fell back into sleep, but this time she was not there to do that.

The girl sat up in bed, her heart racing. All she could think about was her mother. She knew she was not going to fall back into sleep easily and would most likely lay awake in bed, with the fear of her fathers undead spirit returning and harming her.

Then she remembered Baldwin.

She was incredibly nervous approaching him about the subject.

It was late at night as she assumed he would be sleeping, she caught herself wondering if he slept in the mask or not. After a few minutes of thinking, a small noise made her practically jump out of her skin and she sprinted to the royal chambers.

Stopping outside the door she realized that her body had made the decision for her. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door as quietly as she could and slipped inside, closing it behind her.

Inside she was greeted by a comforting warmth and the distant sound of the king's quiet snoring. Taking another deep inhale, she focused on her footsteps as she approached the bed.

Her heart was pounding.

What if he was angry at her for waking him? What if he told her to get over it? No, he would not do that. He was a kind man, a gentle man. The opposite of her father.

He had told her the day they met that “if you ever need anything, I am here when you are ready”, and she really needed him now.

Finally, she reached the side of his bed.

The moonlight that shone through the window illuminated his face that was covered in.. bandages? His cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin were all covered with clean, white bandages. That explains the mask.

Seeing him like this took her nerves away instantly.

He looked entirely human without his mask. Without it, he was just a man. A human, like herself.

He had soft curly blonde hair that spread out on his white pillow like the halo of an angel, this was completely different to the harsh, rough textured brown hair of her father.

He lay on his back with one hand resting on his chest, the plush blankets covered his body and he looked quite comfortable.

Miriam observed him for a moment longer as she decided whether to wake him or not. Finally, she made up her mind.

Reaching out an arm, she touched his shoulder softly. His night clothes were just as soft as she imagined them to be. She pulled her hand back quickly when he shifted.

Baldwin groaned and stretched as his body awoke from a deep sleep. He turned his head, fully expecting Tibarias to be standing there with important news as he had done countless times before.

His eyes widened at the sight of Miriam standing beside his bed, her cheeks stained with tears.

“Miriam, are you okay? What happened?” suddenly realizing the absence of his mask, the king panicked and reached to his bedside table for it.

“No, don't! I like your face without it” the girl said urgently. Baldwin smiled slightly at that.

“That's okay. Are you alright? What are you doing here?” she was surprised at his concern for her over his concern for being woken in the dead of night.

“I had a nightmare” she whispered. Baldwin’s face turned from one of slight panic to one of sorrow and concern.

“Oh angel, it will be okay. Come on, let's get you back to bed and you can tell me about it if you would like?” he offered, she nodded quickly.

Baldwin sat up from the bed, desperately attempting to keep his face free from a pained expression as he stood slowly.

-------------------

Once back in the girl's chambers, the king tucked her in and sat down on the edge of the her bed.

“Would you like to tell me about this nightmare of yours?” he asked, his voice was so kind.

Miriam nodded and began to tell him all about the recurring nightmares that she had been having since she was five years old.

The nightmare consisted of her father returning from beyond the grave to kill her mother and eventually her, after he forced her to watch her mother be torn appart.

The king listened to her words intently as she spoke.

“That sounds awful Miriam, I am so sorry” he told her, a look of sincerity on his bandaged face. She thanked him and gave a weak smile.

“Would you like me to read to you until you fall asleep?” he asked, returning the smile.

The girl nodded, her eyes lighting up at the words.

Baldwin walked to her bookshelf and retrieved a short story book that he recognised from his own childhood.

He sat down on the edge of the bed when Miriam spoke, “could you sit here?” she asked, gesturing to the space right beside her, against the headboard of the bed.

The king smiled at the innocent request and shifted positions to where he was sitting right next to her.

She moved closer to him, leaning against the side of his body.

Baldwin tried his best not to smile, it was the first time she had requested his affection. This was a massive step in their relationship.

“Could you stay with me the whole night, father? I don't want to be alone” she whispered, causing the young man's smile to widen.

“Yes of course Miriam'' he replied, relishing for a moment in the fact that she called him ‘father’.

Baldwin moved his arm and placed it around her, pulling her close as he began to read.

---------------

Around twenty minutes past when the king looked down to see that she had fallen asleep against his side, her eyes were shut peacefully and her chest moved up and down silently.

The smile returned to his face at the sight, before he moved his hand to cover a soft yawn.

The king gave his daughter one last look before letting his eyes fall shut, joining her in sleep once again.

---------------

The following morning, y/n arrived home early. The sun had only just started to peek above the horizon when she entered the castle.

Entering the royal chambers, she expected to see her husband sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep. But he was not there?

Placing her bags down, she assumed he must have left to attend his duties early.

Y/n decided to check on her daughter, since she missed her greatly overnight.

She entered the room and a wide smile crossed her face at the sight before her. Baldwin and Miriam curled up against each other, sleeping soundly as the first rays of sun streamed in through the window.

She walked up to her daughter's bedside, pulling the covers further over the two.

This certainly was the progress that she hoped would happen while she was away.

Y/n bent down and kissed her husband's forehead gently.

“Im so proud of you” she whispered to him before turning to leave her beautiful family in peaceful rest.

[syntheticavenger]

Splinter - Three

Two

Dark! Alpha! Thor x Omega! Female Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, world building, Alpha/Omega dynamics, intimidation. We get some Breakable and Fragile mixed in here as well. I know I said the last part was going to be tame and this is… sort of tame but we’ve lit a match for sure with this powder keg.

Summary | Your dream job provides prestige, security and a chance to shape your future. When one little mistake leads to Thor saving you in a time of crisis, his past promise comes back to haunt you.

As if on cue, the three warriors bow to you, Paloma’s eyes widening as her hand covers her heart. They place their fists on their chests, tapping twice. You’ve seen it once before, a long time ago in Asgard.

What she finds as a sweet gesture, you know the importance of what it means.

An unbroken promise.

“It’s been a long while,” Volstagg says with a heavy nod. “You’ve done well for yourself. A peacekeeper in a time of uncertainty. Much like our Thor. He’s taught you well.”

The trio laughs, Paloma joining in before your eyes narrow at his comment.

“He did not teach me to be a peacekeeper. I know my own way.”

Their laughter ceases at your censure, Paloma clearing her throat to try to ease the tension. It’s obvious that she’s enthralled with the men in front of her. They look massive standing next to her, their eyes still on you.

“They’ll make sure you’re safe,” Paloma reminds you, giving you a careful gaze of a reminder to not lose your temper. “That reminds me… there’s a dinner tomorrow, I believe the Ambassador to Sakaar has invited you to a dinner to discuss their opportunity to bring sanctions to the Scrappers.”

”Sakaar,” Hogun repeats, turning his head at the mention. “What do they want with you?”

Before you have a chance to answer, Paloma rushes in.

“The Sakaarians have a bit of a problem with people being stranded on their planet,” she says quickly. “With the creation of the IDD, the Intergalactic Diplomacy Division, they are looking at a possible goodwill tour of how they are perceived in the general universe.”

“Does Thor know about this?” Volstagg questions.

“No,” you answer. “And he doesn’t need to know because there will be a full security detail, including yourselves apparently, to make sure that the meeting does not go off the rails.”

”Sakaarians,” Fandral repeats to Volstagg. “They’re not to be trusted.”

”Well,” you say loudly, interrupting their side conversation. “Since you’re deemed to keep me safe, be on your guard then. But I’m going. This is my job, you’re here to keep me safe at my job and that is that.”

Their silence unnerves you when you continue down the hallway, hearing Paloma clap her hands together before speaking.

”Shall we order take out?”

⚡️

“The Intergalactic Diplomacy Division is kicking off the first of their initiatives, created by President Miriam Sharpe to attend to the universe’s complex societies after they were first discovered over ten years ago. Congress voted to create the division after much speculation surrounding trades with other planets,” a news reporter says, Steve looking up at the TV.

”I don’t like it,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Since when does the government lean into diplomacy?”

“Since you decided to ignore everything about the Sokovia Accords,” Clint reminds him.

“Didn’t make sense then and it doesn’t now,” Steve counters. “What about her?”

He points to you, standing next to a senator and a person identified as a Zehoberi, a green skinned man wearing a formal suit as you smile for the camera as they sign a declaration of peace.

Thor doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, reading a message from Fandral before he hears his name being called again.

“Let her believe that she is creating peace in worlds that I know will never see it,” Thor says with a shrug. “What is the harm?”

”First the Zehoberi,” Clint chimes in. “Then what, the Sakaarians? They’re next on the list, aren’t they? They shake hands with the Kree and -”

”It won’t happen,” Thor snaps. “She wouldn’t betray us, meeting with the Kree.”

“Does she know the history? With Steve’s wife stepping down from her director spot, the job hasn’t been filled. Not for lack of Fury trying. All these threats,” Clint reminds him, slapping a hand on Thor’s back. “Makes sense this diplomacy division is suddenly created if we’re trying to scramble to make sure every society is on their best behavior.”

”That’s our job,” Steve replies, meeting Thor’s gaze. “She’d tell you if she met with any of them, wouldn’t she, Thor?”

”She has a security detail,” Thor answers with a simple shrug. “They’ll tell me before she does.”

Steve seems to relax for a moment, Thor showing him his phone as there is a picture of you sitting down and going over a stack of reports, Volstagg in the background. Your expression is tense, your eyes focused on the giant man sitting behind you.

”Warriors Three,” Steve says with a smile. “Why didn’t you say so?”

⚡️

At the knock of the door, you open it to find Hogun standing in front of you. He says nothing at first, giving you a once over before he finally speaks.

“For your event tonight, will the Sakaarians accompany you there or are they sending you transportation?” He asks.

“I have my own,” you reply, Hogun nodding at your response. He seems a little relieved but you know there is more under the surface of his calm demeanor.

“Do you think it’s wise to meet with them? Sakaarians do business with the Kree.”

“This isn’t about the Kree. This is about the Sakaarians trying to make amends for the people who have been stranded on their planet.”

“Stranded,” Hogun repeats. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know. Scrappers drop them off at a planet and the Sakaarians are forced to take care of them. It is a strain on their resources but they continue to do so out of goodwill.”

“Forced to take care of them? Is that what the ambassador told you? You are a smart woman. I would have expected you to do your own research.”

“Asgardians have an understandable grudge against the Kree that goes back centuries, maybe more. Sakaarians may do business with the Kree but I’m not sitting down with the Kree, am I?”

“Not yet,” Hogun counters. “Not that it would matter. I highly doubt you would kowtow to the Kree, even if you and Thor are no longer together.”

“Is that why you’re guarding me? To make sure I stay in line?”

Hogun stands at his full height, giving you a hard look.

“I have to tell him you’re meeting with the Sakaarians.”

“No,” you snap, shaking your head. “You do it and you’re no longer part of my security detail.”

“We don’t answer to you. We answer to Thor, who provided us to keep you safe. When he tells us that we can go, we’ll go. But he’ll want to know that you’re determined to meet with them.”

“Determined?” You echo. “It’s my job, Hogun. I’m sorry that you can’t understand that. I’ve worked for years to get to where I am and I’m not letting anyone, not even an Asgardian God, stop me from what I’ve worked for. Tell him that.”

“Does the Ambassador know about your designation? They are a sensitive sort, nearly primitive in a way. You might want to think about that as Paloma has blocked out your calendar for next week, hasn’t she? Thor has made it clear he wants to help you. I can’t see this boding well for you if you don’t take heed of what is happening biologically.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Hogun simply cants his head toward you before walking away.

Closing the door, you lean up against it, opening your shirt to inhale your scent. Gripping the collar, you close your eyes in defeat, knowing your upcoming heat cycle will be here soon. Hogun is right - Sakaarians could hold it against you, especially if you find yourself fending for your designation.

There’s only one way out of this and you know you won’t be able to get past the three of them by going out the front door.

Opening your bathroom medicine cabinet, you spy the suppressants in the bottle, only a month away from expiration, leaving two pills left. It had been for emergencies, you’d told yourself, popping the top off before you pause, looking in the mirror.

This was one of those times.

⚡️

Even though you don’t see them, you know they are hiding somewhere in this upscale restaurant, Paloma following you to the table. She’s been oddly quiet, so much so that you’re beginning to wonder why she’s changed in such a short amount of time. Perhaps it’s the fact she has to wrangle three burly men without much of a plan, navigating their directive to guard you and get you to your events in a timely manner.

“Ah, welcome,” the Ambassador to Sakaar greets you, shaking your hand as he motions to a woman in a tuxedo, her hair slicked back as she gives you a cold smile. “This is General Topaz. She is the direct head of the Sakaarian Guard and personal assistant to the Grandmaster.”

Paloma freezes at the statement, watching you extend your hand to General Topaz.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” you begin, General Topaz warming to you by placing her hand on top of yours.

“The Grandmaster is very sorry he could not be here today.”

“He was going to be here?” Paloma sputters, gaining a concerned look from the Ambassador and General Topaz. “I… I’m sorry, I just didn’t know that he was planning to come. Was the IDD notified? This is a big deal.”

“He was planning on making it a surprise but he was held up, as the Grandmaster seems to be more often than not,” General Topaz admits. “He extends his best wishes and hopes that you will visit him in Sakaar very soon.”

The Ambassador narrows his eyes at the invitation, shaking his head slightly.

“How very flattering,” he says, assisting you into your seat. “I’m sure there will be time for that, one day. Right now, we are here to discuss an on-going issue, one that General Topaz is extremely passionate about.”

General Topaz shifts in her seat, looking at the champagne being poured in the glass.

“You have shimmering water here,” she says in awe. “Very dangerous to drink on Sakaar when it flows from the mountains.”

“It’s champagne,” you correct, the General picking up the glass to sniff it, looking at you for a moment before she takes a small sip. She pauses for a moment, looking back at you and the Ambassador before she takes another.

“Not poison,” she grunts with a laugh. “Dry… but good.”

”General Topaz, please tell me about Sakaar and some of the issues you’ve been facing.” You want to get back to business, feeling eyes on you that you know won’t reveal themselves until they are ready.

“Most think of us as a scavenger planet. That all we do is pit the stranded ones against each other in a fight to the death. We are so much more than that,” General Topaz declares. “The system is designed for them to have dignity. Those who survive, continue on to be greatly well regarded in our society. Much like your… people on the… televisions, you call it?”

“You’re still allowing them to fight?” You question, giving the Ambassador a look. “Under Title 4, I believe Sakaar had promised they would not be pitting survivors against each other.”

General Topaz downs the champagne, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“We’re scaling back.”

“Scaling back?” You question the Ambassador. “Were you aware of this?”

“That’s why I asked you to come. We need your assistance, your counsel in this delicate manner,” he says in a near plea, Paloma shaking her head in disbelief.

“Delicate manner? You’re killing the stranded! I fail to see how I can assist you. You’re due to sign a treaty in three weeks, pledging peace.”

“Then you understand that time is of the essence,” General Topaz agrees. “I know that we have a lot of work to do but I assure you, we will cease fighting in the arena.”

“That’s not a promise that you will cease your fighting altogether, General,” you point out, General Topaz nodding.

“That would be for the Grandmaster to decide.”

”Then you need to go back and demand him to stop it.”

General Topaz lifts an eyebrow at your command.

“You want me to demand him to stop it,” she repeats. “He takes no orders from me. Only counsel.”

“Then counsel him to cease the fighting or there will be no treaty.”

General Topaz’s polite demeanor fades, her eyes narrowing at the Ambassador as she speaks rapidly in a foreign tongue. Whatever it is, you know she’s not pleased, the Ambassador nodding as he replies back in the same tongue, stopping the conversation to sigh, giving you his full attention.

Before he can speak, you look up to find a man standing there, placing his hand on the Ambassador’s shoulder.

”Ambassador De Wren, what a surprise running into you.”

The Ambassador looks up, pushing back his chair at the sight of Sergeant Bucky Barnes, shaking his hand as the two men greet each other.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Sergeant Barnes continues. “I heard some commotion and I wasn’t sure if I needed to assist.”

“A spirited conversation,” General Topaz interjects with an embarrassed laugh. “The sparkling water, it makes my tongue loose.”

”And you, advisor?” Sergeant Barnes asks, looking right at you. “You’ve been very popular in the political circuit. You’ve done well for yourself, all things considered.”

“Considered as what?” You ask.

“The Intergalactic Diplomacy Division is a fledging government branch and yet, you sit here with General Topaz herself. Outstanding work for someone who started out as a local journalist. Thor must be happy.”

You refuse to correct him, knowing that he is aware that you and Thor are not together. Paloma greets him, breaking your irritation for a small moment to slide in a small jab.

“Fury must be happy to find a new surveillance director, I’m sure. Seeing as you were up for the job, I’m sure it must be a relief to know that you’re being utilized for other positions.”

Becky’s smile fades as you take a sip of your champagne, Paloma nudging you under the table with her foot.

“I’ll let you all attend to your meeting. Good to see you all.”

When he leaves, you follow, seeing him look toward the right as you spy Fandral sitting with his back to you. The simple reminder that you’re being watched only sours the mood, leaving General Topaz to continue to the subject at hand.

“Let me get back to you on the Grandmaster’s agreement on ceasing the fighting. We can continue this at another time.”

Before you can stand, Paloma smiles brightly as a camera somewhere snaps. 

“It has been a pleasure, Ambassador De Wren and General Topaz,” you bid in a farewell, a full smile on display. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

When you stand, Paloma follows suit, Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun standing up nearly in unison as you walk out, feeling them following behind you.

“I want them gone, Paloma,” you instruct through bared teeth, smiling for the cameras snapping once you open the door.

“This is dangerous,” Paloma smiles back, waving to the photographers. “Once they find out what’s happening, the treaty is off the table.”

“Then it’s off the table,” you answer. “The IDD won’t have blood on their hands.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Paloma says, leaning close to you as the car door is opened, looking back at the three men behind you as they whisper to each other. “I’m worried about you.”

⚡️

Scrolling carefully, you stop at a picture of a woman, smiling cautiously while out in the field, her S.H.I.E.L.D. badge on display as she stands with Nick Fury, celebrating a win over a takedown of communications that were in the hands of HYDRA. 

S.H.I.E.L.D. Surveillance Director Goes Missing 

Clicking another article, you find a picture of her again, a grainy photo of her at a grocery store.

Saved By Captain America, Former Surveillance Director Gives Up Job for True Love

Narrowing your eyes, you remember the whispers, the gossip of how quickly she had disappeared after rising in the ranks to be Fury’s right hand. There had even been talk to have her join the IDD to help with their translations and training.

Fury Still Looking For Top Spot Of Surveillance at S.H.I.E.L.D. - Still Mum On If Former Director Will Ever Return

She stays on your mind on nights like this, thinking back to when Thor had threatened you. Largely, it’s been out of mind, out of sight but seeing Sergeant Barnes sent you right back down the rabbit hole to find out what happened to her. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been rocked by illegal drugs dealt and sold within the ranks, Steve Rogers himself going after the suspects. While she had not been named as a suspect, the rumor had been that the rampant illegal suppressants and drugs had happened right under her nose. Fury had disputed this, fiercely until the rumors had stopped and she had been seen with Steve, renouncing her role as surveillance director and giving no interviews.

For the usual Omegas, it seemed like a romance novel come to life - the hardworking Omega falling for a strong Alpha who could take care of her. The parallels had seemed too good to be true, at least when you looked at yourself and Thor.

At least you knew the truth - Thor wanted you to fall in line and you were never that sort.

At the knock of the door, you close your laptop, padding to the door to open it to find Volstagg. He seems apologetic, finally looking you in the eyes before he speaks.

“I come with good news,” Volstagg says in a whisper. “Grandmaster is apparently going to cease all fighting. Not just in the arenas.”

“What?” You ask, Volstagg tapping his finger to his lips.

“They want the treaty,” he says.

Exhaling softly, you feel like you can finally breathe.

“That’s great news,” you finally say. “Thank you Volstagg. You made my night.”

“Get some rest. I’m sure tomorrow they’ll announce it and you’ll get to travel to Hala to see it in action.”

Nodding sleepily, you give him another smile of thanks, closing the door.

Hala. A name you’ve heard before but barely, mostly by political commentators. 

You’ll research tomorrow, you tell yourself, climbing into bed and falling asleep.

[sleepyangelkami]

BUTTER ICING d.grayson

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 1.5K

DICK GRAYSON X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - thinkin' about dick grayson taking care of his baker!so who sometimes forgets to take care of herself.

 ☆ WARNINGS - mentions of eating? fluff, pet names, reader is mentioned to be short, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

yet another call from his ex-bulter had dick rolling out of the bed at, according to his beautiful girlfriend, you, 'ungodly hours'. he had pressed a mere kiss against your forehead, telling you that he'd be home soon and joking for you to 'be good'. you'd merely giggled under the blankets, thankful no one was waking you at such an hour and snuggling back into the comfort of your bed.

and he couldn't help but admire you. one would think after so many phone calls for him to leave whether it was early hours of the morning or the late hours of the night, you'd be somewhat mad. but you understood dick and his line of work and his especially impatient father.

he truly didn't deserve you.

he kept his promise, somewhat. he wasn't exactly home 'soon' but he was home as soon as he could be. getting bruce off his back was like a work out he hadn't prepared for. but nevertheless, it was around seven in the evening when he was walking through the door, charming smile on his lips. "honey, i'm home!" he'd joked in a sing-song voice. he did this every time he stepped through that front door. he could only imagine you rolling your eyes with a grin on your lips.

"kitchen!" you'd yelled back as he found himself walking towards that very room, discarding his bags near the living room door, deciding to deal with that later on. all that was on his mind was you.

and there you were, in the kitchen as you'd told him. only you weren't standing up, instead you were knelt on the kitchen counter, attempting to reach past the top cupboard where your containers for your baked goods were. "darling?" he received a hum from you, your tongue darting out between your two lips. "what are you doing?"

finally, you turned with a huff. "i can't reach the containers." his eyes glanced to the kitchen table which held a multitude of cupcakes. they were all decorated with yellow butter icing, little chocolates placed delicately on top. the smell of cupcakes was rather rich in your shared kitchen.

he could only chuckle softly, his hands moving to your under arms and gently lifting you down from the counter. if you kept climbing up there, you were bound to get hurt. "you shouldn't put them where you can't reach them then." he spoke, a playful smile on his lips as he reached his long arms up, taking down one of your containers. "who are these for anyway?"

being a baker had it's perks but being the baker's boyfriend was even better. he could eat as many treats as he liked and he didn't even have to lift a finger. "miriam." you spoke, thanking him softly for getting the container before loading the cupcakes in. "she'll be here at eleven tomorrow." as you turned your back, dick eyed you before taking one of the cupcakes into his grasp. by the time you turned around, half of it had been emptied into his mouth. you just blinked at him. "you know, i make extra cupcakes just because i know you'll eat them all."

with a mouthful, he spoke. "sorry." but you could only smile at him, placing the other cupcakes into the container and leaving a couple extra scattered across the counter for the dog to eat, oh, my bad, for dick to eat. "you can't just make cupcakes and expect me not to get hungry."

your eyebrow raised. "you were at the manor all day, don't try to convince me that alfred wasn't practically shoving food down your throat."

god, he did love alfred's cooking. "a man's gotta eat." he shrugged. "what'd you have for dinner."

he watched as your eyes widened. "crap! i was supposed to make―"

"shh." he pressed a kiss against the crown of your head. "i'll make some spaghetti bolognese." he was already moving toward the fridge where he new the contents lay.

you often times forgot to go shopping, it was always him that was stocking up the fridge, making sure you didn't go hungry while he was away. don't get me wrong, you still went to the manor with him more often than not. but as a baker, as a home-working baker, you often had to spend your days cooped up in the kitchen so you couldn't join him on his trips.

"dick, you don't have to do that." you were standing behind him, all bashful as your fingers fumbled together.

dick loved taking care of you, don't get me wrong, he just wished you loved it as much as he did, perhaps then you wouldn't be forgetting to feed yourself. you were often times forgetting to do the simple things, the things that involved caring for your own mind and body but when it came to others, you were in tip top shape, ready to care for the next person who walked in the door. he loved that about you but he really wished you'd care about yourself as much as you cared about others.

but it was okay, because as long as he was alive and breathing, he'd make sure you were taken care of.

he'd turned around, his hands finding your waist as he gently soothed the skin. he watched as your cheeks heated up and your smile couldn't wipe from your cheeks. dick was well aware of the affect he had on you. "let me cook you dinner, baby." and when he talked to you like that, well who could refuse?

"okay." you mumbled gently. "thank you."

"don't mention it." but he still leant down, pressing yet another kiss to your face only this time it was to your lips, short and sweet.

by the time dick had started cooking, you were sitting up on the counter, your legs dangling as you took a giant bowl into your hands. dick glanced over, his brows furrowed. "what's that?" he questioned, watching as you lifted a finger from the bowl, covered in butter icing. he couldn't help but roll his eyes. "you know, i think eating mouth fulls of butter icing is probably worse than a couple cupcakes."

you merely shrugged, licking your lips clean. "a baker's gotta have some relief." and it was true.

you didn't just bake because you thought it was rather easy, you loved baking. baking was both a stress reliever and a way to calm down whenever you needed it and hey, it also got you money. but your all time favourite thing about baking? licking the bowls, spatchala's, really anything you could get your hands on, clean.

especially the sweet butter icing.

"here, lemme taste." and as you moved, your hand turning towards the drawer so you could get him out a spoon, you were cut off by the feeling of his lips on yours.

you practically melted into him, allowing him to kiss you sweetly yet slightly rough. you didn't care, feeling your mind go hazy at the mere feeling of his lips. dick always had such an affect on you, you should have been embarrassed yet you simply couldn't find it in yourself to be.

he was the first to pull away, watching as you blinked up at him, slightly dazed. "hmm, sweet." he commented before turning around to the frying pan and using the wooden spoon to turn the contents around.

you, whose stomach had turned to a swarm of butterflies, hopped off of the counter. "I'm gonna..." your head feeling slightly floaty. god, you thought, pull yourself together. "gonna go fill the dishwasher."

and dick, who didn't even bother looking up from the frying pan, wore a little smirk that tugged his lips upwards. "okay, pretty girl."

he really was going to be the death of you.

however, you were sure you could die a happy girl while eating the dinner he'd made for you. sure, you liked to bake but nothing did taste better than one of dick's homemade dinner's. you'd been seated across the couch, your legs had been on dick's lap before he'd gotten up a couple minutes ago, pressing a kiss to your lips and not telling you where he'd been going.

you assumed it was to go eat more of your cupcakes and this theory was proved right as you turned your head over the couch, spotting him bent down slightly to read the calendar, chewing on a cupcake while another was in his hand. "sweetheart?" he called out, not bothering to move his gaze from the calendar.

"yes?" you leaned yourself up on the couch, laying your arms flat on the back of it and placing your head down on top of them, admiring your pretty boyfriend. he truly was beautiful, even when he was stuffing his face and he had a smudge of butter icing on his nose.

"when's your next day off?" he questioned, standing up straight again as his eyes flickered back to you.

you shrugged your shoulders. "had a big cancellation for sunday, why?"

"then it's settled." he spoke, opening the buncase of the next cupcake. "i'm taking you out for dinner on sunday."

"wha― you don't have to do that." finding your heart soften at the mere offer.

"it's only fair." he spoke, shrugging his shoulders. "i ate half of your cupcakes."

the perks of being the boyfriend of a baker.

the perks of being the girlfriend of a billionare's son.

main masterlist/dick's masterlist

[girlactionfigure]

Do you think rejoicing at the downfall of the enemy isn’t Jewish?

Think again.

This is an English translation of the Song of the Sea (Exodus 15:1–18). 3337 years ago, Pharaoh tried to destroy the Children of Israel.

This was their response when God swallowed Pharaoh’s army in the sea.

The text specifically says that Miriam the Prophetess (sister of Moses and Aharon) led the women in jubilant song and dance. Miriam was not important because she was “sister of”; she was important for her prophetic vision and independent leadership that enabled all of this to happen – Moses would not have survived to lead the Children of Israel if not for her proactive leadership.

Note that the Song of the Sea mentions the nations of the surrounding region, trembling in fear after witnessing what God does to those who try to destroy His children.

The drowning of Pharaoh’s army in the Red Sea happened on the 7th day of Passover – what we call “the second holiday” of Passover – that we will be celebrating this weekend.

There is a reason it says in the Passover Hagaddah, “In every generation enemies rise up to destroy us and God saves us from their hands”. Our experiences today are very similar to those 3337 years ago – we are fighting for our existence, and we are on the journey to becoming a sovereign Nation.

And when God vanquishes our enemies for us, it is only fitting to rejoice.

The Song of the Sea – English Translation

Then Moses and the children of Israel sang this song to the Lord, and spoke, saying:

I will sing to the Lord, for He has triumphed gloriously;

Horse and rider He has thrown into the sea.

The Lord is my strength and my song, and He has become my salvation;

This is my God, and I will glorify Him;

The God of my father, and I will exalt Him.

The Lord is a man of war; the Lord is His name.

Pharaoh's chariots and his army He cast into the sea;

His chosen officers were drowned in the Sea of Reeds.

The depths covered them; they sank to the bottom like a stone.

Your right hand, O Lord, is majestic in power,

Your right hand, O Lord, shatters the enemy.

In the greatness of Your majesty You overthrow Your adversaries;

You send out Your fury—it consumes them like stubble.

At the blast of Your nostrils, the waters piled up;

The floods stood upright like a heap;

The deeps congealed in the heart of the sea.

The enemy said: "I will pursue, I will overtake,

I will divide the spoil, my desire shall be satisfied upon them;

I will draw my sword, my hand shall destroy them."

You blew with Your wind, the sea covered them;

They sank like lead in mighty waters.

Who is like You among the gods, O Lord?

Who is like You—majestic in holiness,

Awesome in praise, working wonders?

You stretched out Your right hand—the earth swallowed them.

In Your steadfast love You led the people whom You redeemed;

You guided them by Your strength to Your holy habitation.

The peoples heard—they trembled;

Pangs seized the inhabitants of Philistia.

Now the chiefs of Edom are dismayed;

Trembling grips the leaders of Moab;

All the inhabitants of Canaan have melted away.

Terror and dread fall upon them;

By the greatness of Your arm they are as still as a stone—

Until Your people pass by, O Lord,

Until the people You have acquired pass by.

You will bring them in and plant them on the mountain of Your inheritance—

The place, O Lord, which You made for Your dwelling,

The sanctuary, O Lord, which Your hands have established.

The Lord will reign forever and ever!

Then Miriam the prophetess, Aaron’s sister, took a timbrel in her hand, And all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances. And Miriam sang to them:

“Sing to the Lord, for He has triumphed gloriously;

Horse and rider He has thrown into the sea!”

HAPPY PASSOVER.

May we meet next year in Jerusalem, rebuilt!

art by Yael Harris Resnick Art

Forest Rain Marcia

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Found my way back to you

A/N: Something for our CACW broken and sad boi Tony? Written for @fandom-free-bingo Here ya go. Special mention to @nicoline1998enilocin for proofreading, love you girl 💛 Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you enjoyed the story.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Avenger! F! Reader (our reader has Falcon-like abilities and Red Wing as well)

Warnings: Angst, hurt comfort.

Word count: 4.3k ish

Square filled: “Please don’t go.”

Fandom Free Bingo Masterlist

.

“Please don’t go.”

You weren’t sure you heard it at first as the voice seemed fainter than a whisper. Collecting your forgotten phone from the conference table, you were almost out the door when you heard him speak. Tony Stark sat at the far end of the table, nursing a glass of whiskey, his eyes downcast and shoulders drooped. There was a pleading in his voice that you couldn’t turn down.

Ever since Pepper left him for good, Tony had been heading towards a steady downfall of self-destruction. He was never one to talk but the team knew it, you knew it. You silently prayed that he would seek help and not be so stubborn for once. But you knew better than to push your teammate.

“What happened today, Tony?” Grabbing the nearest chair, you slid into it and waited for Tony to speak. You frowned as he took in a deep breath, as if preparing himself to relive whatever he was about to say.

“I met a lady named Miriam Sharpe today at MIT. She had a son, Charles Spencer. Great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia. He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.” he raised his eyes to meet yours finally, guilt and regret swimming in them, almost drowning his soul with it. Pressing your lips in a thin line, you remained silent. How does one process this kind of information anyway?

“He would have been working at Intel come fall. And now…She blames me, Y/N. And she’s right. I blame myself. I created Ultron. It’s my fault.” his voice was so low, you had to strain to hear. You could see his guilty conscience eating him alive, and your heart broke for the man.

“It’s not all your fault, Tony. We all share responsibility for what happened in Sokovia. Could we have done without the blood-thirsty artificial intelligence that threatened an extinction-level genocide? Sure. But you have to stop blaming yourself for Ultron. We got him, he’s gone. The world is safe again, the Avengers made sure of that. You made sure of that, remember?” you reached out to place your hand over his, he didn’t resist, instead he gave you a small nod indicating he understood your point before offering you a small but grateful smile. Your words provided him comfort, temporary though, yet he was battling a world of obsessive thoughts on the inside.

Excusing yourself, you headed out the room once more, only for Tony to grab your attention once again.

“The world is only safe until the next big threat, Y/N. And then what? Another conference where I meet another parent of yet another child that didn’t deserve to die? We need to be kept in check.” he muttered assertively, downing the rest of his glass before heading out the door himself. Leaving you to ponder over his words that somehow rang true the more you gave it a thought.

.

“So you’re really going to leave huh?” Clint Barton knocked on your door softly before he made his way to your room, followed closely by Natasha Romanov.

“Yep. I’m really leaving.”

You were packing the last of your suitcases, cramming one of the many photo frames that held a picture of you with the team. A Midgardian suit-clad Thor stood tallest brandishing his humongous glass of beer, right next to Steve, Nat and Clint; Tony had decided to go for dramatics as he laid down in front of all of you, his suit jacket discarded as he laughed pointing at Bruce who had just spilled his drink down his shirt - all thanks to Red Wing - your trusted device that you secretly used for a jump scare. It was worth it. Taken at one of Stark’s parties, everybody looked happy, less frown lines, less stress. Good old days, you thought.

“That was a good night.” Clint chuckled, pointing at the picture and making you nod in agreement.

“I’m gonna miss you.” Natasha pulled you in for a hug, making you tear up in the process. She didn’t try and convince you to stay, she was probably the only one who truly understood why you chose to step away, even if she didn’t agree with the decision.

“I’ll miss you too, Nat. More than you know. You too Legolas. Don’t die on us.” you chuckled after hugging Clint. The nickname Tony gave just sort of stuck around, and it irritated Clint the most which is why you always chose to call him that. Both of them were the closest thing to family around here for you.

“I feel like I’m probably gonna be the only one who miraculously survives, Y/L,N.”

“Seriously though, be careful you guys. I have a feeling this is not going to end well.” you added, zipping up the last of your bags. Saying their final goodbyes, they left you alone.

Your room was now empty, all packed up into boxes, the space looked smaller somehow, even though it wasn’t. It was time for you to start a new chapter of your life and close this one. It came with unfinished business but you chose to move on. Whatever moving on from a superhero life meant.

.

“Please don’t go.”

Those three words rang in your ears months after they were uttered. As much as your heart wrenched, you had to leave, it was time.

The Sokovia Accords lay on the polished oak table, bringing dreadful silence across the room. It was hard to believe what your world had come to, and yet here it was. A choice. A choice that nobody benefitted from, except maybe the government. The accords meant that the Avengers would no longer function as an independent association, instead, the government would control and track their moves and influence their decisions. Not signing them would be considered as retirement, so there was no easy way out of it.

Did you agree with them? Absolutely not. Was it necessary? Probably. What shocked you most was that Tony Stark had agreed to comply, in fact he was coaxing each and every one to sign the papers. You knew what was about to happen. And you knew where you stood.

It didn’t make sense for you to stay anymore.

So you left. Retired as the government had you call it. And Tony tried to stop you, once. He assumed you would fight by his side no matter what. And for a brief moment, so did you. You wanted to be by his side, however, what Thaddeus Ross had asked of you was simply unacceptable. You could never live with your freedom taken away from you like that. It wasn’t regulation, it was manipulation and you couldn’t believe Tony for siding with it. It broke your heart.

And so with that broken heart, you fled town. Bought yourself a country home and a small farm with animals, you made a good life for yourself. A life so distinctly different from the one you previously had. No fights, no aliens dropping from the skies, no threats, but no Avengers either. And more importantly, no Tony.

It came as a huge shock the day King T’Chaka was killed in Vienna, and the terrorist later identified as The Winter Soldier only was going to make matters worse, you knew that.

A part of you felt guilty for leaving, while another part was relieved to be away from it all. The constant tug of war gave you several sleepless nights. The main cause for those was the fact that you left without saying goodbye to Tony. You wondered if he hated you for it. He probably did. The two of you were…complicated to say the least. The nature of your relationship was never clear, it came with baggage, one you were more than willing to carry before you were presented with the Accords. There wasn’t much left to say when Tony Stark became spokesperson for regulating and controlling the Avengers under the government’s shadow. Arguments seemed futile when the man was determined on what needed to be done to keep the team in check.

.

An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That's dead. Forever. - Helmut Zemo

Tony Stark was a man left wounded by many battles, some he drew upon himself, others he didn’t. The Sokovia Accords had caused a schism in the Avengers, a public feud with Steve Rogers and those he trusted at an airport in Germany. He had now the burden of involving a child in the fight, and the fact that he almost lost his best friend. Rhodey was built an exoskeleton to aid him in walking after he recovered, that was the least Tony could do. Although James never blamed him for anything, deep down it cut him that he was responsible for most of mayhem caused.

And then there was you.

You had left the team, left him without a goodbye. Disappeared one night without a trace. Tony felt abandoned by the one person he had hoped would never leave, and yet you had. He had had many sleepless nights thinking about you, hoping that one day maybe out of the blue you would come back and explain yourself.

And now you were gone.

.

Tony,

I’m glad you’re back at the compound. I don’t like the idea of you rattling around a mansion all by yourself. We all need family.

The Avengers are yours, maybe even more so than mine. I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen. I never really fit in anywhere, even in the army. My faith is in people, I guess. Individuals. And, I’m happy to say that for the most part, they haven’t let me down. Which is why I can’t let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but maybe they shouldn’t.

I know I hurt you, Tony. I guess I thought by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but I can see now that I was really sparing myself, and I’m sorry. Hopefully one day you can understand.

I wish we agreed on the accords, I really do. I know you’re doing what you believe in, and that’s all any of us can do. That’s all any of us should do.

So no matter what, I promise you, if you need us—if you need me—I’ll be there. The team may be scattered for now but I believe if and when the time comes, we will assemble as one. And it’s probably not my place to say this but, Y/N stepping down certainly does not mean she’s no longer with the team. She is out doing what she always dreamt of, living a normal life. Something all of us wish for every now and then. I hope you guys work it out someday. Take care, Tony.

Tony stared at the letter after reading it for the fourth time, the flip phone that came with it still in his hands. His mind invariably wandered to the last bit of Steve’s message. You.

Over the past few years, Tony had come to realize how integral you were, not just to the team and your contribution but to his life too. He had on many occasions found himself seeking you out for a chat, it always made his heavy heart just a little lighter. From the moment you joined the Avengers, you had intrigued Tony Stark. He admired you for your abilities, you were more capable than you were given credit for, you were compassionate, kind and a team player. You never said much but whenever you did, you always knew the right things to say, especially to Tony.

He recalled many occasions where you had leant a listening ear when he had wanted to rant, provided a logical solution when things seemed to get out of hand. He would never forget the comfort you provided when Pepper left him. You were there, holding his hand, hugging him tight when he asked to be left alone, knowing how much he needed a human touch. He didn’t fight it, instead he had let himself be held by you, by arms that provided safety, touches that soothed him and words that rendered all the uncertainties silent.

And yet you had left the compound without a word, or maybe without a conversation with him. It angered and worried him in equal parts.

The more he thought about it, the clearer the picture became of your possible whereabouts. One particular conversation stood out indicating where he might find you, memories of that evening brought a smile to his face as he recalled.

“Farm animals, definitely. I will get myself an alpaca, call her Ms Brain.”

“Are you serious?” you giggled, looking at Tony incredulously. The man was always full of surprises. You were lying on your backs on the compound lawn, it had been a particularly eventful day. Tony found you out here all by yourself, staring up at the gray sky. Getting him to lie down with you wasn’t easy but you managed, bribing him with his favorite whiskey later.

“What about you, Y/L/N?”

“Hmm..Let’s see. I want a huge backyard where I will grow my veggie garden, make the most delicious foods, and have a cat since I’ve always wanted one. Somewhere peaceful and quiet, away from the city, of course. Some place that’ll show me actual stars instead of these twinkling airplane lights, you know?” you murmured, chuckling as a plane flew right above, its red lights mixing with the gray smoke and clouds before it disappeared, effectively making its point.

Tony remained silent, turning his head towards you so he could see your face, your eyes still focused on the sky, he gazed at you fondly. Admiring you for having the courage to dream of a different life so freely, something he used to be able to do but now it all seemed too far off.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours, Y/N?” Tony murmured, reaching his pinky finger out to entwine with yours.

“I’m just picturing you on a farm with Ms. Brain on a leash.” You smiled looking down at your hands.

“Do you think about running away from it all?”

“All the time.” Tony replied promptly, turning his body to face you as you did the same.

“What stops you from doing it then?”

As if on cue, his phone rang, disturbing the quiet of the moment. He murmured a ‘that’ under his breath before sitting up to answer it, thereby ending your little heart-to-heart.

.

It was a lovely spring morning when you awoke. Your usual wake up call was meowing his way up your bed, demanding to be fed. Once the cat had his fill, you made yourself a cup of coffee and breakfast and went about your day.

Your life out here was simple, just the way you wanted it to be. Your savings had bought you a decent sized house with a large enough backyard garden for you to grow your veggies - something you always dreamt of having. The difference was so stark, it took you a while to adjust to this new life. But eventually you did. The peace and quiet it brought you was indescribable. But that didn’t mean you didn’t miss your Avenger life. To be more specific you missed the team, mostly Tony Stark.

You felt horrible for leaving without notice, especially after finding out about the fight that took place in Germany. You often found yourself wondering how he was dealing with everything. Did he have anybody by his side? You knew the answer to that. Did he get back with Pepper Potts? You didn’t want to find out the answer to that.

As evening rolled by, you poured yourself a glass of wine and got started on dinner, hearing a sharp knocking sound on your door right after. Frowning, you wiped your hands on a napkin and went to open it. You weren’t expecting anyone.

On the other side of the door stood the man you least expected to find, and yet the same man you were hoping to find all this time.

Tony Stark.

He wasn’t the Tony Stark you recognized. No. He seemed different, and not in a good way. His face was still the same, handsome, striking and yet it lacked the usual charisma. There were several bruises decorated all over his face, some healed, others on their way but definitely promised to leave a permanent mark. Words had escaped your vocabulary as you stood there dumbfounded, until he cleared his throat.

“Tony.”

“Y/N.”

“You’re um, you’re here.”

He gave you a nod, grateful that you stepped out of the way to let him in, still trying to process. Red Wing flew in after him, having scanned him for being a potential threat. It was a habit you couldn’t shake off, even in retirement, you were prepared for the unexpected.

“You turned Red Wing into a bellboy? You should’ve left with Dum-E, he would’ve been the perfect lawn mower.”

He made you chuckle, immediately reminding you of the Tony you had missed all these months. A part of you was relieved to see him, your heart beating with excitement now that there seemed a possibility that he was here to see you.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

He shook his head in a no, explaining he had had too much coffee before, his trembling fingers spoke for themselves. Wordlessly, you made your way towards the kitchen, putting on a kettle of water to make him a cup of chamomile tea instead.

“Will you stay for dinner? I was only just getting started.” you offered, taking his noncommittal shrug as a yes.

He seemed to be busy digesting your new home, the surroundings that now glowed under the light of the setting sun. Your cat jumped out from his hiding spot, greeting Tony by walking between his legs, rubbing his scent over him, already claiming the man as his.

“He’s never that friendly with anyone.” you pointed out, smiling a little when Tony bent down to scratch him behind his ears, causing a cat to purr in appreciation. You brought him a cup of piping hot tea which he accepted wordlessly, taking a seat on your couch where you joined him. Several moments of silence passed where you watched him blow on the hot liquid before taking a small sip.

“You left without saying goodbye to me.”

Tony’s words fell on your ears but cut right through your heart. You should’ve been prepared for this to come up.

“Would you have stopped me from going, Tony?”

“No. Probably. I–I would’ve wanted you to stay and fight back, Y/N.”

You laughed humorlessly, shaking your head at the thought.

“Fight you, you mean? You know I was never going to sign those Accords. I was not going to fight by your side, Tony. You knew that.” your voice shook as you spoke, getting up from your seat and heading back to your kitchen, you put some distance between the two of you.

“Then you should’ve fought me! Anything was better than leaving unannounced, Y/N.”

His words made you turn around, his eyes shone under the candlelight, burning with embers of unanswered questions. You stood quiet, your breathing shallow now.

“Clearly I didn’t mean anything to you.”

“Is that what you think? You’re wrong, Tony. It’s because you meant the most to me, Tony. I couldn’t say goodbye to you because if I had, I wouldn’t have survived. And I couldn’t stay. So forgive me for running away, alright? I took the easiest choice at hand because the alternative was just too damn difficult.” you had a few tears strayed down your cheek by the time you finished, your heart now pounding wildly against your ears as you stood gripping the dining chair so tight your knuckles had turned white.

Tony sat still for a while, his brain comprehending your words before a hint of a smile made its way on his face, a sense of temporary relief - something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something inside of him had led him here, the longing to see your face, questions that needed answers, the loneliness he felt that only grew more and more once everything that could go wrong went wrong. And yet, as he sat here after finding you, his heart felt lighter. Like he had made the right choice in what felt like forever.

“You haven’t asked why I am here.” he murmured, turning his attention back to the cup of tea in his hands.

“Wasn’t it to donate Dum-E to be my trusted lawn mower?” you jested, taking a seat on the chair you were previously clutching.

“I found out it wasn’t a car accident that killed my parents. They were murdered. By James Buchanan Barnes.” Tony stared ahead, gripping the cup tightly in his hands as he spoke.

“Oh my God, Tony…”

“And Rogers knew. He knew, Y/N.” he whispered, the anguish and hurt in his voice evident. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The Avengers having a difference of opinion was one thing, but this piece of information was enough to cause a definitive crack, you knew that.

“It wasn’t Barnes, Tony. It was the Winter Soldier, he was being controlled.”

“They’re still dead.”

That made you understand he wasn’t looking for a logical explanation, at least not now. What he needed was comfort. Without another word, you made your way back over to the couch, placing your hand on Tony’s back to let him know you were there for him.

“I almost lost Rhodey. I saw him fall to his death from the sky, Y/N. I couldn’t make it to him in time. And now our team is scattered. Gone. All because I–”

“Because of the Accords, and a difference of opinion, Tony.” you shifted closer, placing the cup away to grab his hands in yours.

“But I signed them. I failed.” his words broke your heart, unshed tears now made their way into his eyes as he tried his best not to break down in front of you.

“Hey, it’s okay, Tony. We’ll figure it out, like we always do, right? It’s okay, come here.”

Wrapping him in a hug, you held him close to you as he broke down, finally allowing himself to be vulnerable. He held onto the light sweater you wore like you would disappear in his grasp, shoulders burdened heavy now shaking in silent tears as months, maybe years of pent up and unaddressed feelings resurfaced.

“Shh. You’re okay, Tony. Let it out, I’ve got you.” You carded your fingers through his hair softly, blinking your own tears away.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Tony. I should have been there for the team, for you. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head slightly, the movement a little difficult with his head safely tucked against your chest. After his tears subsided, you clasped his hand and led him upstairs to draw him a bath.

Tony Stark hadn’t known what it felt to have someone else care for him in a long time. He didn’t allow himself to be vulnerable the way he had now, because for the first time in forever, he knew felt safe. Safe enough to show his scars, his wounds. As you wordlessly undressed him, your eyes scanned the bruises littered across his skin, old scars and new. Your fingers traced them delicately before you nudged him to step inside the tub while you sat out. He needed this more than you at that moment.

The warm water healed his sore muscles, the ache that had settled deep within them slowly slipped out as your hands massaged the knots away. There was no way he could express how thankful he was for you in words. He chose to express it all with a kiss instead.

Right after you were done washing his hair, he held your hand to pull you closer to the edge of the tub, his gaze lowered as his face inched closer to yours.

As your lips met, you felt yourself melt against him. There was still a lot to work through but for now, you let yourself be lost in Tony Stark. All of him. You let him consume your senses. He was all that mattered.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Hmm?”

Your question seemed irrelevant, you probably guessed it had been a while since the man got a good night’s rest. Now that you were out in your backyard, lying on a soft blanket you’d brought out to watch the night sky. Tony held on to your hand, placing it right over his chest where his arc reactor once was.

Several stars twinkled in the inky black sky, a visual you had missed in the city life. You remembered the nights you laid out here alone, rethinking past choices. You were content then, but you only understood peace now. There was no one else you would rather be here with than Tony.

His heart was beating steadily against your hand, his breath calm, features relaxed. This was the Tony you knew and loved.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I found my way back to you.”

[imagoddamnonionmason]

Oisín "Stray" Doherty

Icons by @/cillirishan, @/shitedits, @/dilfgifs.

Basic Information

Other Name(s): N/A

Citizenship:  Irish/English

Language(s): English, French (minimal), Arabic (minimal).

Place of Birth: Cork

Date of Birth: 07/12/1990

Occupation: SAS (formerly), Shadow Company

Status: Alive

Physical Appearance

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Dark brown

Skin: White, cool undertones

Tattoo(s): SAS insignia on upper right arm

Scar(s): right cheek, from a stray bullet that grazed him. It's a reminder of how lucky he is.

Face Claim: Colin Farrell

Description: Oisín stands at 6ft tall, has a mesomorph body type and so finds it easy to gain muscle through rigorous training. He has a strong jawline, sharp-ish nose but soft eyes. He also has rather thick eyebrows. His hair is also shaved around the back and sides but kept a little longer on top and normally has a mind of its own, even if he brushes/combs it, styles it, after a few hours stray strands will start to fly.

He also has two moles on his left cheek and tends to sport some form of sunglasses (he owns, like, 15 pairs at this point, he has a problem).

Oisín is also very hairy man, with his body being 90% covered by body hair and facial hair; if Oisín decides to grow out his beard, which is not often the fully thing, he grows a thick bushy one. He usually tends to be shaven, leaving a short-haired goatee.

As for clothing, he tends to prefer jeans and a t-shirt with boots/trainers for casual wear, but does enjoy wearing a three piece suit and tie for formal occasions. This man does like being crisp and clean and smart. As for work, he still wears jeans and a t-shirt, but has a lot of tactical gear on top and wears better footwear than just trainers.

He also always wears a silver analogue wristwatch on his left wrist with the face of the watch facing inwards; this was a gift from his step-father for passing SAS selection.

Personality

Like(s): hiking, camping, playing guitar, whittling, flirting with Steph, 80s/90s comedy TV shows, classical music, film soundtracks, video games, reptiles, a good drunken karaoke session

Dislike(s): slow walkers/drivers, unkempt spaces, coconut, films where the dog dies, stolen valour, the eggs out of Haribo share bags, unfaithful people, smell of lilies

Strength(s): brave, confident, charming, natural leader, is a gentleman, willing to make tough decisions when others might stall

Weakness(es): self-sacrificial, can be impulsive, stubborn, can experience incredible jealousy, can sometimes be quick to anger, perfectionist to a fault at times, carries the weight of blame for things he shouldn't

Relationships

Parent(s): Miriam Evans (mother), unnamed biological father (status unknown), Dylan Evans (step-father).

Sibling(s): unnamed step-sister

Spouse(s): Stephanie Miller

Child(ren): none yet

Biography

Born to a Northern Irish mother and an Irish father, there was a lot of conflict that Oisín was unfortunately witness to when growing up. Both sides of his family were at war with each other, much like the country was in at the time. His father, who believed that the IRA were right in their fight for unification between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland, whereas his mother believed the opposite. Though they had their differing sides, the two did try to find common ground in order to provide for their son. Eventually, a few years after Oisín's birth, his parents split and his mother promptly moved back home with her parents, Oisín's maternal grandparents. This was located in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Despite finding initial comfort there, at home with her family, his mother still felt unsafe with the conflict that was going on, and so she and Oisín moved around every 12-18 months, until they eventually moved over to Wales in 2004. It was here that the two settled, finally finding a place to call home and his mother finding love with a an ex-SAS soldier. Oisín didn't trust the guy at first, but after a while of him trying his best to build a relationship with the teen, Oisín found himself seeing him as a father figure.

It was the stories that his step-father told him, of his time in the SAS, that spurred Oisín on to join the military himself; the sense of adventure, of heroism that his step-father spoke of, it gave Oisín a sense of purpose, something to strive for. He wanted to be the best, do the right thing, protect people.

As son as he turned 18, Oisín joined the British Army, though his mother tearfully wished he would reconsider; his mind was already made up, however, and nothing could change that.

He originally joined the Army Air Corps, serving as part of that regiment for 3 years before applying for the SAS selection. He was successful and passed.

He was trained in counter-terrorism, demolitions, hostage-rescue and other combative training. He excelled most in hostage-rescue. A lot of the service that Oisín did within the SAS are confidential and he doesn't speak about them, but there are rumours that he was discharged from the SAS dishonourably after allowing a HVT to be captured and killed by the enemy. To this day, Oisín will not speak of that mission but classes it as one of his greatest failures.

He then dropped off the face of the earth, only resurfacing a couple of years after his discharge now working for Graves and his Shadow Company.

Divider Credit: me.

[rmoony12]

Hebraizinng the names of the Marauders & co.

𝗛𝗲𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘇𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 (definition) - Hebraizing names means adapting or translating non-Hebrew names into Hebrew, often to make them sound more familiar or culturally aligned with the Hebrew language and Jewish tradition.

𝗥𝗲𝗺𝘂𝘀 𝗝𝗼𝗵𝗻 𝗟𝘂𝗽𝗶𝗻

בנימין יהונתן זאבי - Binyamin Yehonatan Ze'evi

(Benjamin Johnathan Ze'evi)

𝗕𝗶𝗻𝘆𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗻 - youngest son of Jacob and one of the 12 Tribes, last son of Rachel. Like with the name Remus, Binyamin doesn't mean Wolf, but it as connection to wolf.

Jacob bless each of his sons, each one with a different metaphor and unique blessing."Benjamin is a ravenous wolf; In the morning he consumes the foe, And in the evening he divides the spoil" - translation of the Hebrew bible.

𝗬𝗲𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗮𝗻 - one of the names that in translation to English can be shortened to John. Yehonatan was also the son of king Sha'ul, and they are part of Binyamin's tribe.

𝗭𝗲'𝗲𝘃𝗶 - basically means "Wolfy" in Hebrew.

𝗟𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗘𝘃𝗮𝗻𝘀

שושנה חנניה - Shoshanah Hanania

𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗮 - "Shoshan" is the name of the lilies flower in Hebrew. Adding "ah" and the and makes the name female and is also considered as adding part of HaShem to the name. The name Shoshanah is often shortened to "Shoshi"

𝗛𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗮- the name Evans comes from the name John (Johnan/Yohanan) and means god is gracious or god has shown favor: "Yo" - god, "hanan" - grace/favor. Another word for grace is Hen, which also means beauty.

Though Yohanan isn't usually a surname, so I chose Hanania, aince it has the same meaning: "Hanan" - grace, "ya" (ia) - god.

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗠𝗰𝗱𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗱

מרים בן-מלך - Miriam Ben-Melech

𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗺 - the original name for Maria/Mary. Miriam was Moshe's (Moses') older sister. Common nicknames for Miriam are "Mira" or "Miri".

𝗕𝗲𝗻-𝗠𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗰𝗵 - meaning son of king, as the "king" usually referred to god, who is the king of all and the ruler of the world.

McDonald means son of Donald", and the name "Donald" itself means "ruler or king of the world".

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗲 𝗠𝗰𝗞𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻

מרים יוספי - Miriam Yosefi

(Miriam Josephi)

𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗺 - the name Marlene has similar origins as Mary, both have an Hebrew origin which is Miriam.

𝗬𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗳𝗶 - Mckinnon means "fair born", someone who was noted as having been a beautiful child, youthful look and attractive. One of the first things the Tanakh (Hebrew bible) tells us about Yosef is "handsome in form and appearance" -translation of the Hebrew bible.

𝗣𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗣𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗴𝗿𝗲𝘄

שימעון קטן - Shim'on Katan

(Simon Katan)

𝗦𝗵𝗶𝗺'𝗼𝗻 - Peter is a the name Jesus gave to on of his apostles, who his name was originally Shim'on Ben Yonah (Simon son of Jonah).

𝗞𝗮𝘁𝗮𝗻 - the Hebrew word for little/small, just like Pettigrew means small.

𝗦𝗶𝗿𝗶𝘂𝘀 𝗕𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸

יזהר שחורי - Izhar Shchori

(Izhar Shchori)

𝗜𝘇𝗵𝗮𝗿 - unlike the name Sirius, this name doesn't have a "dog" origin, but the name Izhar means "will glow" or "(one who) sparkles".

𝗦𝗵𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗶 - means "blacky" in Hebrew.

𝗦𝘆𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘄𝗻𝗲𝘆

חנה בן חורש - Hana Ben-Choresh

𝗛𝗮𝗻𝗮 - one of the seventh prophetesses in the Tanakh, mother of Shmu'el. In one of her prayers to HaShem for a son, the Cohen Eli saw her moving her lips without making any sounds, and thought she was drunk.

𝗕𝗲𝗻-𝗖𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗵 - Meaning "son of the forest", works well as an hebraization for Trelawney, which means "town of the grove".

𝗣𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗿𝗮 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱

חוה לב-טוב - Hava Lev-Tov

(Eve Lev-Tov)

𝗛𝗮𝘃𝗮 - Hava (Eve) was the first woman to ever exist, and she committed the very first sin, eating the fruit if knowledge. In many cultures there is a similar story - back in the beginning of time, a woman who was curious about something she new she isn't allowed to do, and did it anyway. Usually the woman in the story is tempted by something god(/s) created specifically for the test, and even more specific - to test the man, and not the woman herself. In Greek mythology, the woman is called Pandora.

𝗟𝗲𝘃-𝗧𝗼𝘃 - a combination of the words "Lev", meaning heart, and the word "Tov", meaning good.

𝗝𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗣𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿

יעקוב עשהאל - Ya'akov Asah'El

(Jacob Asahel)

𝗬𝗮'𝗮𝗸𝗼𝘃 - James is one of the names that their origin is Jacob.

𝗔𝘀𝗮𝗵'𝗘𝗹 - one of King David's heroes. His name means "made by god" or "god is the creator".

Potter is used in the bible to describe god, and in the Hebrew bible, instead of potter it's "Yatzar", meaning "(one who) created" . The word "Asah" means "(one who) made".

𝗫𝗲𝗻𝗼𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘂𝘀 𝗠𝗮𝗹𝗳𝗼𝘆

גרשום אמיתי - Gershom Amitai

𝗚𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗺 - was the first born of Moshe & Tzipporah (Moses & Zipporah).

The name means "a stranger there". Moshe name his son that way because he was a stranger in an foreign land when he met Tzipporah. "Ger" in Hebrew means a stranger, a foreigner, a person from a different place or someone who converted to Judaism (disclaimer! Ger is not a slur or an insult).

𝗔𝗺𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗶 - Malfoy means unfaithful or bad faith. Amitai is quite the opposite, it means "truthful" or "my truth".

Sometimes Jewish people hebraizing their surname to a more positive version of the original name meaning, usually because they want the name to be full of luck and purity.

˚𓍢ִ໋✡︎˚

[superconductivebean]

#1606: Fig's Death Theory, Everyone

I have chosen angst and violence tonight.

Eleazar dies not so much from a physical injury but from inhaling the junk from the repo after it has been dismantled, and veined the entire area with what we know is called 'pain'. Then, Eleazar subsequently suffers a heart arrest (supposedly).

The junk is not really 'pain'. It is not Ancient Magic either; everyone is able to see them. Pieces of souls, these are. Memories. Something that stings you in the very heart when a thought of something happy, painful, awful, horrifying, or aggravating crosses your memory in that very specific way that makes your mind screech I MISS YOU / I HATE YOU / I AM MISERABLE / I MISS MY LIFE / I WISH TO HAVE DIED.

It's melancholy—or the bittersweet longing for something ethereal of depression. A dream, maybe, or a wish for something that cuts that pain—that sting—that scald away.

As all scalds, it can sit deep. Rather, this repo junk are the condensed spirits of Depression, or the amplifier of rage and violence in us—the Desperation.

Someone like Ranrok or Isidora, idealists to the brim deep within themselves, are also *violent* and stubborn. They are most prone to fall in the state of rabid desperation. They are pained by not seeing a better world; they want to bring it closer, in a way they imagined it.

They got lost in how best to achieve it, if they even thought of any plans whatsoever past a certain point. Ranrok's Loyalists, some of whom used to be peaceful protesters and activists, had fallen for that feeling as well (Belgruff the Bludgeoner, to name an one).

That was their demise, ultimately.

Someone like Eleazar—a kind and a simple man, honourable, nor prone to get what he needs by force or deception, well, except just a little but he fails a it—would succumb to grieving upon taking in some of that junk.

Throughout the game, rarely a scene passes where he is *not* mentioning Miriam or *not* being fascinated by her findings and research or, evidently, being very much in love with her; he keeps a tiny letter near his bed, written in her hand, where she wrote that he was right about the bowtruckles and that she owed him 3 knuts. He remembers. He loves. He does not let go.

He would've been overwhelmed—on top of suffering from an injury.

Perhaps, he could've got by just fine. He is a strong man. He had never betrayed his composure, and when it did happen, we see it only briefly and in passing, fleeting even. But at the last moments of his life, he was also extremely proud of MC.

He saw his young charge of just four fucking months* defeating an unfathomable creature of unknown powers and abilities. They were at their prime, they have also shown that to the entire staff body minus few people; they are everything Miriam could've wanted to see, plus the fight with Ranrok.

It would've *hurt* because it's how the Depression-Desperation just might manifest. I am going to give an insight into this, it might feel like TMI, but Depression is my brand so please bear, hee hee.

Sometimes, it's the feeling of being left behind and needing to keep up—without dissection, it translates to spurs of envy. What you really feel is, you aren't as productive and/or as amazing in raw quality, which are just… skills. It shouldn't eat you up like this. You can and will learn, and you will develop your own techniques.

The feeling of happiness for yourself or someone else, but it burns you away because just *feeling* feelings is unbearable, like washing a fresh cut in a lukewarm water or breathing on a burn. It's just… too much sensitivity.

The feeling of trying to comprehend the *comprehensible* but the sheer scale of it frights and induces a weird sting of panic that you will not ever understand what you have just seen, let alone repeat. If you have ever learnt a difficult skill or another language, you know how it feels sometimes.

Eleazar, overwhelmed with grief for Miriam, but also brimmed with pride for MC, dies from his heart stopping, unable to process such complex and intense feelings. Maybe, he was just too old for this. Or maybe, the injury wore him down just enough for the third thing to play its part—the stress. Anyway. He had too much. And yet. On the deathfloor, he does not just remember Miriam.

He acknowledges MC as a friend, of him and Miriam, who would've absolutely *loved* them to be around and not just *liked*. Well. I lied. His heart was able to process—but not keep up with it.

Thank you for staying by my brief violent moment of indescribable sadness. I ascend, okbye.

*the game starts on sept 1ts, 1890. the fourth trial and the final repository quests happen shortly after christmas, so it must be january, 1891, perhaps, even early january, still during the christmas break. i typically place the repo quest on jan, 4th, 1891.

tags @espressoristretto-patronum @endeavour12345 @girl-named-matty @thriftstorebabayaga @the-magiarcheologist lets commiserate

[wyn-n-tonic]

That's A Real Fucking Legacy: All of You, All of Me

Word Count: 968 Warnings: Uh.... death talk? Author's Note: SHE'S BACK ON HER BULLSHIT, BESTIES.

TARFL Masterlist | Author Blog

It’s been years in the making at this point.

You, Joel. Baby. Except her name isn’t Baby anymore and it’s not Thomasin either.

There was a lot of discussion, a lot of broken hearts and tears from all parties involved. Tommy was touched but he ached. Even when he got over it, found somebody else, he ached so deep in his being that there were nights he thought he’d split himself in two.

Because at the end of the day, he still believes—with all his heart—that your little girl should be his, too. He believes that when you took the last name Miller, it should’ve been gifted over from him.

“I’ll hold onto this hurt for the rest of my life, sweetheart,” he’d said.

Said he’d accepted that he’d caused it but that didn’t make the pain go away. Didn’t soothe that raw, bruised part of his heart—his soul.

There was no begging, Joel was on board from the beginning. Joel was on board before anybody else. Change her name, something more appropriate for who she is to you and Joel and this world. A gift.

A second chance.

Or third. Fourth. Fifth.

One hundredth and many more than you deserve after years and year over this life; this way of living. 

Especially for Joel, your strong, broad mountain of a man who believed himself irredeemable in the eyes of everybody but especially yours. He cradled her with such gentleness, even as she grew, that it was hard to believe he was capable of any kind of violence.

So, after a year of late night and early morning talks whispered across the pillows, decisions had been made. A lot of them, actually.

Joel admitted that he felt his humanity pouring back into him with every breath he took beside you; every moment he held your daughter in his arms. He bloomed as father, color darkening his cheeks with emotion every time he looked at her. He felt like before in some sense of the word, like he was being given the gift of fulfilling the only thing he ever felt he was good at. 

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, you know where that thought would often go. Silent promises to himself that he wouldn’t fail this time. Or, God help him, he hoped his failure was no longer being in this world to protect her when it came down to it.

In the registry office of town, where all the records of who was who and where they were were kept, you both signed as a new birth certificate was made. 

Clara Miriam Miller. No Thomasin, no Baby. No placeholder for who she was or name to carry as if she were some memorial, just Clara. 

It means bright. Clear. Joel joked that she was the only light in the darkness he’d ever seen or needed.

It was good, beautiful even. As you finished your signature on the page detailing everything you could remember about her birth—bloody, loud, an early morning surprise that still exhausted you to this day—Joel cleared his throat.

Trying his best to tuck an unruly piece of hair behind your ear and failing, he took a deep breath and finally said, “will you marry me while we’re here?”

That’s the last piece to his puzzle, always has been. The thing he always wanted before—-companionship. Love in such an intimate way. Not that your relationship lacks that as it is but there’s something about being official.

There’s possession to it and there’s this bit of submission as you vow to give all your life and love and hurt and pain and, even, your death to one person. 

No. No doubts in your minds about this one either. He loved so fiercely, so deeply, and he’d whispered all his insecurities and broken parts in all the nights you’ve lived together. He didn’t have it before, not when it happened. Selfishly, you’re glad that he didn’t, that his wife had walked away from him years and years before that. If he’d lost her the way he’d lost the others, the way he fears losing you or losing Clara…

But if that had been the case, there would be no you. Not for him. There wouldn’t even be a Clara, there would be somebody else with somebody else.

Or maybe nobody at all. 

Your vows are even more selfish as you tell him how grateful you are that you found one another through all this and the more that life tried to throw at you; that you went to him the way Tommy had said to when there was trouble even though it scared you so much to knock on his door.

It scared you to tell him the things you told him, to make the decisions for yourself and decide you were tired of pretending it wasn’t love that you felt for him. 

In the end, with Clara’s small face tucked neatly into the crook of his neck, he took your hand, looked at his brother and apologized with gratitude tacked onto the end. 

Looking back at you, he smiles and you reach out to touch your thumb into the hidden dimple as it wells deep into his cheek.

“When I go, I hope it’s peaceful,” he says. “I hope it’s beside you, Mrs. Miller, and I hope it’s only after years. And, selfishly, I hope it’s not a pain or absence you have to feel for long because I am going to be mighty pissed off if you make me wait for as long as I did to have you in my bed in the first place.” 

Going back to your signature on Clara’s paperwork, you pick up the pen and add -Miller to the end of your name.