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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year ago

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A Lot of Boning [Asgard!Loki Oneshot]

A Link to My Masterlist is HERE Summary: Asgard!Loki loses bet and must wear a corset on a night out. Loki is very pleased about this. (w/c 2.5k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Loki/corsets. Smuttish. Language. Heavy petting. Spoiled, flirty prince behaviour. Stupid stuff. Ridiculous HC lore. Asgardian crones. A/N: That tik tok wouldn't leave my brain. Sorry folks.

“A-HA, brother...you have been bested most thoroughly!” Thor’s voice boomed around the pillars, spilling over the balcony. Loki raised an eyebrow, stiffening and clenching his fists while a smile threatened to betray him.

“Indeed, brother” he purred bitterly, making sure he sounded surprised. "How awful."

In the training courtyard below, Sif held Volstagg pinned to the ground, her sword inescapably pointed to his throat. “It seems I underestimated her.” “And what of the bet, then?” Fandral coo-d, his face emerging between the brothers shoulders. Loki shot a questioning glance at the thin fingers now curled around his triceps, before looking to their owner. “I shall adhere to the stakes agreed. Obviously.”

Thor clapped Fandral on the back, chuckling loudly and shaking his head.

“Brother no one expects you to parade the Asgardian night taverns wearing a corset. Norns, Fandral was only joking. Weren’t you, Fandral?” Fandral smirked, reaching for his goblet. He tipped it briefly towards them both, before sipping.

Loki studied the man’s face, watching a tinge of pink creeping up his neck. He tilted his head.

“I very much think he was not joking, brother” Loki said calmly, seeing Thor’s jaw drop out the corner of his eye. “But never let it be said that a son of Odin reneges on his wagers.” “Loki you can’t be ser-” Loki held up a hand, eyes closed towards his brother’s protestations. “But your reputation...the scrolls of gossip which will circulate. Father." Thor's eyes widened. "Brother I implore yo-” “Enough,” Loki murmured malevolently, shooting Thor a silencing stare. The blonde’s lips hardened in a thin line, as the god of mischief shook dark hair back from his shoulders.

“The usual place?” he drawled, pushing himself away from the balustrade. Thor nodded reluctantly.

“Very well,” said Loki, with a feigned sigh of lament.

When he arrived to his chambers, the staff were dismissed with a wave of his hand.

All save one.

“Wait here,” he soothed as he passed her, trailing a knuckle down her bare bicep. Every goosebump he left in his wake was a promise. “I will have need of you.”

He smirked as she smoothed the front of her silken apron. Loki licked his lips at the memory of the taste of what lay beneath those skirts, already soaking for him he’d wager. That is a bet I wouldn’t intentionally lose, he mused as he threw open the ornate doors to his garment-room. Arms spread wide, he basked in the pungent smell of leather which overcame him. It was warm, and rich. Decadent, just like that chambermaid’s sweet little quim.

He clasped his hands ceremonially behind his back, pacing slowly forward. Loki enjoyed every faint rustle of his leather trousers, each measure thump of his boot on polished marble. The sound of his velvet-gloved fingers brushing together was like the flurry of a lovers skin. All these things and more, he always noticed in the moments before he disrobed. He could feel himself hardening already at the prospect of what was to come. The god smoothed his hair behind his ears and stretched in front of him, lacing his fingers. His knuckles cracked. He stretched his neck to one side, then the other; and with a parting of his digits – a secret compartment blossomed into view.

This was his very favourite selection of garments, each handmade by only the finest knobbled fingers among the Asgardian Crones.

Although responsible for all the royal families more intricate ceremonial costumery....these...they made only for him. For his cabinet of debauchery. And they were well rewarded.

He trailed the pads of his fingertips across displayed fabrics as he moved. Robes of chiffon and silk and leather which cut and hung to his body like honey, so much so that the very sight of his immortal frame wrapped in their embrace had been known to make his lover climax. Into every sinful negligee, every blindfold, every erotic ensemble, every fluttering tail in a well-worn crop; the Asgardian Crones had worked their spells.

‘Are you certain, my Prince,’ one had crooned doubtfully, craning closer to his sketch. Her fingers shook as she did so, tracing the lines of his elaborate request.

“Quite,” Loki had replied with the air of one who did not expect to be asked twice. She observed him craftily, creased skin trembling as one decrepit eyebrow rose. She’d always been a flirt.

“I’m not sure there’s time – tis a lot of boning, Prince Loki-” she hummed, coy undertones fresh even in the creak of her voice. He waved his hand dismissively with a sultry chuckle.

“The tales you could tell about boning, eyh Lagartha?” he purred wickedly. “I’ve heard the songs.” Lagertha’s wrinkled skin had flushed a pale pink as he’d leant across the large cutting table, ensuring to spread his fingers against the wood, making the veins she enjoyed in his hands flex.

She would be able to see down the loose tie of his tunic neckline, to the shifting ropes of muscle beneath. To his naval, most likely. The scent of him, the warmth, the pure essence of masculine, sexual power that flowed from his skin to her nostrils. He watched her cloudy pupils dilate.

A wolfish grin had spread his lips. “Or if you prefer...I could tell you some of mine” he’d winked.

The crone cleared her throat suddenly, hacking. “Are you alright, darling?” the Prince said with excruciating sensuality.

Lagertha hacked louder.

Two new crones had rounded the corner at an alarmingly slow pace. Loki rolled his eyes as they shuffled towards their ailing sister. Loki returned to a standing position. “I shall return next solstice to collect it,” Loki had said pointedly to Lagertha, making a show of stretching out each leather glove before pulling it on. He arched a brow.

Lagertha, close to expiration in her chair, nodded.

The other weavers shot him dirty looks as they began a lacklustre, synchronised fan of her face.

Loki had almost skipped back to his chambers that day. And now, as he rested his thumb beneath his chin in wonder at the finished article, he felt the same elation. He had waited for the perfect debut for this most treasured piece. Oh, how he had waited.

And finally, here it was.

Fandral thought to cast tarnish on his masculinity? On his virility? On his very power and reputation in this realm? Well, Loki thought with a smile as his eyes tracked every immaculate detail of the corset; he thinks wrong. His brother might be excused for being blinded to Loki’s ability to outplay any trickster-like attempts, but Fandral? Loki had given him far too much credit in the past, clearly.

To save time, Loki peeled the clothes from his body with magic. New garments unfurled around his limbs, having been drawn from the everyday closets outside. Tight dark chinos, and a thick cotton shirt; such a depth of green it was almost obsidian.

The thrill of unfamiliar Midgardian clothes on his body sent a shiver of anticipation up Loki’s spine. They were so light. Almost like being naked. If not for the tightness. His cock ached, heavy desire throbbing with renewed vigour. The demon thickened against his leg, each wince from the cotton pants making him hiss as he screwed his eyes shut in pleasure.

Migardians and their fascination with tightness, he mulled as he spun towards the flickering doorway.

“Girl?” he called expectantly. There was a pause, before the chambermaid’s brisk footsteps sounded, stopping abruptly in front of the door to the concealed portion of Loki’s closet. Her eyes were wide in wonder, gazing around until they stopped at his feet. She worked her way up his statuesque body, legs wide and triangular; arms crossed and straining against the shirt. “My P-prince,” she stammered, covering her eyes. Loki chuckled. “Come now, you don’t look this bashful when I come to you with sword in hand,” he teased as he straightened his back. She lowered her hands, revealing only her eyes. They shone. I really should move these ‘suits’ to the cabinet of debauchery, he pondered; watching the chambermaid squirm.

He suddenly wondered how she would fare on her knees, fumbling with the other-wordly zipper, biting her lip as she salivated impatiently for his cock. No time, he chided as he raised a hand, beckoning.

“I require your assistance with this,” he gestured to the side.

He didn’t. Not truly. But Loki Odinson knew how to wring every last screeching sliver of drama from a production. And after the time he had waited for this debut, he would make it drip until its last drop.

Her eyes grew wider. “Loki...” she murmured in awe, protocols forgotten.

The corset handcrafted by his loyal crones hung perfectly lit, showcased on the wall. Exquisite boning curved the sides, cutting inward at the perfect dimensions to cinch the sluttish nips of his taut waist.

The bodice was boned to perfection, thick strips of Nilfheimian narwal tusk holding shape. Golden flashes glinted at the shoulders, down the deep V of the neckline. His richest shade of royal green adorned the bodice, silken threads stitched so close it slid beneath the fingertips like polished glass.

“For what do you require my assistance, my Lord?” she murmured, letting her eyes fall wantonly to his curled lips. Loki slipped the corset from its display, swirling it elegantly over his arms and slotting it in place, much like a reverse waistcoat. “For this,” he said, spinning slowly on his heels. He raised his arms, raking his hair into a messy bun; fingers fastened to his scalp, exposing his neck.

The back of the corset splayed open. A long thread of ebony silk unfurled in Loki’s hand. One end of the ribbon poised upward from his palm like a snake, head pointed to the maid. It lunged towards her before stopping abruptly.

“Take it,” Loki smouldered, “it won’t bite.” The chambermaid’s trembling hands diligently wove the silk through the intricate holes of the corset, each pull of the length together making her groan gently against his back in spite of herself. She was taking her time, wondering at the creases of shirt beneath the boning. Wondering at him.

Loki’s eyes closed, the press of her fingertips between his shoulder-blades making fucking her over the nearest chaise greatly tempting. She pulled the binds tighter, looping strands with a final flourish. Loki hummed quietly, clenching. “I hope this is acceptable, my Prince” she murmured, trailing her fingers wilfully down the criss-cross of ribbon. Her breasts pushed flush to his spine, her words low and sultry. “I have not laced a corset since my lady Frigga’s.” “Do not speak of my mother,” Loki moaned quietly as he guided her hand to the crook of his thigh. His cock met her palm, the resulting squeeze rewarded with a buck of his hips. He spun towards her and guided her to the wall.

Her lungs emptied as he pressed to her, feeling her digits tugging gently at her handiwork. Loki could feel the boning press against her curves, the tight outline of his glamorous armour making her struggle for breath. His lips traced hers with the lightest of touches, her hot breath filling his throat. She thrust against the thigh pressed between her legs, gasping like a virgin as he nudged upwards to her sex.

“Pretty thing,” he whispered warm and wet into her ear. She whined, bucking against him. Loki released a dark chuckle. “Be here to undress me on my return.”

In Asgard’s busiest tavern, the evening’s festivities were in full swing. Thor stared into his tankard, watching thick bubbles pop lazily on the surface.

“Oh Fandral, what have we done?” he lamented, sliding a meaty palm further up his cheek. “He will be here at any moment. Reputation? Ruined.” Fandral scoffed, glancing at the door for the third time in as many minutes. “Do you think he’ll wear a garter?” announced Sif, swinging a leg over the bench with two large tankards in each fist. Volstagg spat ale in a cloud of laughter. "I bet he wears a garter," Sif continued seriously. "I hereby claim first attempt to rip it off with my teeth." "No fair," Fandral whined. “-Tis no matter of mirth,” Thor snapped loudly. Plates on the table rattled. Fandral patted his hand with a sigh. “Your brother knows us well enough. He is Asgard’s biggest tease. He will not wear ladies underthings - not in public anyway..." he paused, momentarily taken away. " I am most sure of it," he continued breezily. "Fragile masculinity, most likely.” But as he spoke, his face simmered with excitement.

Sif narrowed her eyes at him warily, realising in tandem with the others that the raucous tavern had grown quiet. The four of them spun to face the door, where a hundred other patrons also stared, transfixed.

“Brother?” Thor murmured disbelieving. But there, in all his splendour, was Loki.

The figure cut against the star-littered sky, the outline of his body as crisp and clear as carved marble. Thick curls spilled over his shoulders, fluttering in the nights chill. Long limbs strode rakishly over the paved floor, the click of his heels making onlookers jump as their arousal fizzed like malevolent static.

His cheekbones slashed, the determined set of his smoulder making him look like a king. A demon of the night.

Simply the sight of him moving across the floor made the captive audience hold its breath. The tight grip of the unfamiliar style of shirt to his muscles, the mercilessly cinched nip of his waist which exploded the breadth of his shoulders. A golden brooch in the crest of a snake was pinned to the centre of his chest, complimenting the lavish glint of the corset piping. The god of mischief's ordained colours were saturated by the auburn glow of candlelight. Loki smiled wickedly, winking at an unsuspecting woman grasping feverishly at her friend’s shoulder. He stood at the end of the table, spreading his arms wide before clasping them behind his back. “Well?” he asked smugly, giving them a slow spin. There were a series of thumps as members of the Asgardian public hit the floor. “You know midgardian garments are frowned upon,” Thor grumbled, casting glances over his shoulder. Loki rolled his eyes. “It’s about the ensemble, brother” he snipped. “Although I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.”

Fandral cleared his throat, standing and raising his cup towards the ceiling. “Prince Loki you look-”

“-Ravishing,” Loki drawled. “I know.” He cast a scathing glance down Fandral’s body, making his way leisurely back to his face. “Smarts, doesn’t it? To see me the victorious antithesis of your childish plot to humiliate me.” Sif snorted. “He just wanted to see you in a corset” she remarked, pushing her tankard from one hand to the other. Loki’s lips pursed, folding his arms as he spoke. “The evident stirring in his breeches betrays that much.” Fandral sat down immediately to the sound of raucous laughter round the table.

A crowd had begun to gather at a respectful distance around the dark prince, dozens of eyes combing over every deliciously wrapped inch of him. The air was bubbling with sexual energy. Hair on Loki’s arms bristled. He was just about to bestow greetings upon his inflamed public when Thor tugged his shirt sleeve.

“Brother, the gossip-scrolls will still remark on this…”

Loki scoffed, rolling his eyes. “What care have I? I look incredible brother, as you well know. Desist with your petulant jealousy.” He straightened, enjoying the wistful longing in Thor’s gaze as it swung from Loki’s cinched trunk trussed in boning to the feral, shifting stares of his lustful devotees. And tonight, that was everyone it seemed.

Loki paced around the table, settling his hands on his wary brother's shoulders. “It was supposed to be funny” Thor grumbled, shaking his head while Fandral squirmed beside him. Loki’s mouth twitched in a knowing smile as he watched the man run his palms down his thighs repeatedly. Trying to distract himself. He lowered himself, hovering between Thor and his misguided best friend.

“The wager did not include that we were to wear lace and brassiere and frill and garter. Although I do have those effects in my personal collection, too.”

He winked at Fandral, who flushed crimson.

The god of thunder folded his arms. “It’s just very...you” he whined. The envy, Loki mused, is palpable. His fingers curled around Fandral’s bicep, giving him a knowing squeeze. “Exactly, brother” Loki whispered with finality in his siblings ear. The triumphant god straightened before raising his arms. Dying embers nestling in the tavern fireplaces roared to life at the command. Tonight, he was a king. And the squeals of the crowd grew to a roar.

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coco-loco-nut · 4 months ago

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The Albatross

pairing: Lance Stroll x reader

summary: You have quite the reputation, but maybe all the danger Lance has been warned about is a lie

masterlist ttpd masterlist

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“A pleasure doing business with you,” you stand up from behind your desk, letting the representative extend their hand to you first. Only then, do you shake their hand, letting your perfectly manicured nails scratch them ever so slightly so they remember who is in charge.

You just closed an acquisition deal, further sealing your reputation as a ruthless business leader. When you want something you go after it, a force of nature that leads to others downfall.

That’s what happens when you are the heir to one of the largest business families in the world. You were raised to be cutthroat yet savvy from birth. You are a L/n, your name strikes fear.

Lance Stroll was lucky. Any other guy in his position would be working under their father. Well, he is, but as an F1 driver, not some c-suite executive. That doesn’t mean he is obvious to other powerful business families, he reads business news often.

“Y/n L/n closes another deal in a string of acquisitions to her portfolio,” the headline says one morning as Lance reads before a team meeting. He’s heard your name, either cursed out or praised by his father, Lance is unsure which. That isn’t the only place, Lance has heard the warnings about you, how you cause death to whatever you set your sights to. Maybe that’s what intrigues him. How can a 25 year old be so feared?

“Lance, I need you to woo Miss L/n. She is interested in sponsoring a team, we need to get her money,” Lawrence says, knowing his son will understand the business side. He hopes that Lance’s business talk will appeal to you. Lawrence heard the mumbling of warning and apprehension across the paddock, likening you to an albatross who will bring death.

“What if she tempts our drivers away, distracting them and killing their career. Or she takes a majority stake and ruins the team,” one team leader had said, more worried about your looks than your money as he added the afterthought. To them, you are the seed that can kill a garden.

Lance finds you walking through the paddock, speaking rapidly in a foreign language into your phone. He waits carefully for you to finish before approaching. You are strikingly beautiful, it disguises your lethal edge. You immediately clock him, knowing who he is before he opens his mouth.

“Mr. Stroll, I assume you want my money, like everyone else here. What make you special? Doesn’t your family have enough money to sponsor the team?” your words cut through the air, a nonchalant air around you. Lance’s brain freezes for a second, he didn’t quite believe your reputation. You weren’t wrong either.

“I’m not here to talk sponsorship. I admire how you conduct business, you know exactly what you want, and you go for it. You probably already know who you will sponsor, you just want to make everyone sweat,” Lance says without thinking, not seeing the ghost of smile on your face.

“Because I am the devil? The albatross? I believe that’s what they call me. Tell me, Mister Stroll, why should I sponsor your team. I could easily buy a whole team, say Haas, get my name out there as the main sponsor. What is in it for me?” you question, curious as to how much Lance knows about deals and negotiations.

“There isn’t, but you’d be partnering with a brand that is known for luxury and class. My family has money in it, meaning it is a safe choice, but you don’t always like safe,” Lance says aloud, knowing there is no way to swing you his way completely.

“I like you, you are honest,” you say before walking away. His point is moot when looking at Mercedes and Ferrari are options. The money isn’t completely yours to spend either, you will propose the sponsorship to your father.

You spend the rest of the warm summer day in the Paddock making the smaller teams sweat. You are unlikely to sponsor a small team, but it is good to check out the options of buying a team.

Lance finds his thoughts drifting to you, you visit his daydreams. He finds you alluring, despite any warning he’s gotten about you. Meanwhile, you sit in your bland hotel room, notes strewn across the bed as you go over the day. Neither of you are aware of your father’s meeting with one another.

The next morning you are sitting in a cafe near the track. It’s cozy, the kind of place with rugs, plants, books, and other decor filling the space. It’s nice, different from your office and the upscale hotels you stay at. You are focused on the book in your hand, so much so that you don’t notice Lance sit across from you.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” Lance says, a tired smile on his face. You raise your eyebrow, placing a bookmark in the book. You are a naturally curious person.

“Were you searching? Perhaps you can answer some questions for me regarding your team,” you say, setting the book on the table and leaning in ever so slightly.

“I guess so, yeah,” Lance sips his coffee, trying to recall what he can about sponsorship numbers.

“Why are you in Formula One? Every article that I’ve read says you are a pay driver and don’t deserve your spot,” you stare him down, but stop him before he can defend himself. “Luckily, I don’t believe every article I read, and you have okay results, but convince me why I should fund your team,” you suddenly seem so closed off to him, a sharpened dagger ready to kill. Lance feels a thrill run through him, ready to go head to head with you.

“I won’t lie and say my father didn’t help me, but I worked hard to drive with Aston Martin. Bad drivers in good cars consistently don’t place well, but I average a qualifying position of 13 and average a finish of 11. I work hard to improve and move up through the midfield,” Lance watches your body language closely. He can tell by the way you slightly relax and your eyes aren’t narrowed that you are satisfied with his answer.

“Good. Now, partnerships are a two sided deal, ask me what you want,” you lay down what most people believe to be a trap. Those willing to take the opportunity tend to see a reward.

“Are you really that bad? Why do people call you the she-devil of business?” Lance asks the hard hitting question, but you appear unfazed as you sip your coffee.

“I have been known to raise hell and kill a business if needed, but you of all people should know what it is like being the heir to a large corporation. Half of it is exaggerated, and the other half is misogyny. I know what I want, it is unsettling to people,” you answer. Lance feels a strange feeling in his heart, and he knows he is in danger if he falls for you.

“One more. Besides the money, how will I benefit from the partnership, hypothetically,” Lance asks, leaning in slightly, careful not to rest his elbows on the wooden table.

“I will help you with your PR, or at least how to handle the negativity. We seem to be more similar than many realize,” you tell him, catching him off guard. You know how to handle the hate, something he could benefit from. “Even if I don’t sponsor your team, I will help you. Consider a gift, from one nepo baby to another,” you wave your hand between you.

“There is always a catch, nothing is free,” Lance says warily, catching your smirk.

“Ah, yes. Consider it a favor that will be returned someday then,” you don’t show your complete hand, but it is enough to satisfy Lance. You gather your items and leave him at the table. He watches you leave the cafe, the warm atmosphere lacking something without you. Little does he know, he’s slowly worming his way into your thoughtless heart, making you care a little and want to help.

You make your way to the paddock, ready to be wooed by teams as you narrow your decision. As the day progresses, you keep open ears about anyone and any team, needing to know what you may get yourself into. As you take a private lunch in some team’s hospitality, your father joins you.

“Daddy,” you stand up and greet him with a hug. He mentioned that he may stop by to help in your pursuit of an investment.

“Hello, sweetheart. How are things going so far?” he sits down across from you, immediately being served lunch.

“It is going well, I have narrowed it to three teams. The pitch will be complete in a week. How have your meetings been?” you ask in return, knowing your father is hiding something regarding them from you.

“Good, I reached a deal with the Strolls,” you stare at your father, silently requesting more information. You knew he was meeting with Lance’s father, but you were unsure what it was about.

“We have arranged a marriage, of course you can back out at any time, but it does give us access to luxury fashion brands,” your father says. It is a smart business deal, one you had thought of before. The only issue is that your family is better off and more powerful than the Strolls.

“Interesting. I will read over the agreed upon contract and give me thoughts,” you take the tablet from your father, reading the main points of the contract. Of course, it will be combed through and revised by your family’s lawyers, but you appreciate where the deal is at.

You see Lance next later that day. It was a complete accident, you were on a phone call sternly telling off a director who royally fucked up when you walked into the Canadian.

“Consider this your one and only warning,” you say before hanging up.

“Bad day?” Lance holds your arm to prevent you from falling.

“Average. I’ll get out of your hair, I’m sure you have plenty of people wanting to talk to you,” you hide a grimace as you sidestep Lance who follows you anyway.

“That’s okay, I have a feeling you need to vent and no one really wants me around here anyway,” Lance says, you get the same feeling that he had. He’s definitely hiding something. Lance leads you to the rooftop bar of the Aston Martin motorhome.

“It really wasn’t anything serious, well, it was. One of the directors screwed up, but I have a team fixing it. You heard me on the phone chastising him. Your turn to share,” you explain, drinking the complimentary booze.

“I usually try to not let the fans get to me, but sometimes it hurts. It’s not easy having people telling you that you suck at your job and shouldn’t be here,” Lance vents, trusting you enough to be vulnerable. It’s risky, but you both have a silent understanding of the tentative marriage contract.

“I’ve been there, the persona non grata. Have you tried being a business mogul as a young woman? It’s hard getting respect, especially when running and expanding family businesses,” you smile bitterly, looking out over the paddock before continuing.

“None of what they say matters. Every choice we make has gotten us here. Those fans don’t know how hard you’ve worked to get here. I made a ruthless reputation for myself to protect myself because I thought that was how I gained respect that never came. Don’t let that be you,” You finish the drink and stand.

“Wait, can we talk about-“ Lance starts and you know exactly what he wants to bring up.

“This isn’t the right place or time, perhaps after the race,” you say, turning and heading towards the exit, leaving Lance on the roof to think about your advice.

“Ah, Miss L/n, visiting your future family?” Lawrence says quietly, a little humor in his voice, but you see through it.

“Not at all, simply observing. If you think that the contract would gain you my money for sponsorship, then you’d be wrong. Good day, Mr. Stroll,” you say firmly, continuing your journey to the next team.

In the end, your decision surprises everyone. You provide a large sponsorship deal to Mercedes, after many teams expected you to sponsor Aston Martin having being spotted around Lance.

You renegotiated the marriage contract, agreeing to marry by the age 35, but it will be on yours and Lances terms and allows both of you to pull out before then.

Lance convinced you to go on one date, claiming it would be beneficial to have a good foundation for a potential marriage, a claim you couldn’t deny. One, turned into two, then three, then four, which turned into both of you quietly dating one another. You both we each others escapes and rocks.

Everything was going fine until media captured you and reserve driver Fred Vesti laughing at a sponsorship event. Apparently you two looked too cozy and the media was going to run a story on it. You are lucky enough to have connections that saw it before it was send off to publishing.

“Y/n L/n seen with reserve driver, Fred Vesti, at a sponsorship event for her company. We can’t help but wonder if she sponsored the team to get with a driver,” you read aloud part of the article to Lance, it’s the snippet you were sent as a warning, and from your experience there is usually more to whatever rumor they are spreading.

“They are vultures,” Lance huffs, holding you tighter in his arms.

“This is only the start. People read fake news like this and they believe it, then they get mad about it. You wouldn’t believe it,” you shake your head, might as well let it run, trying to kill it will make it worse.

“Is that why you want to wait?” Lance asks, running his thumb over your engagement ring, the one you only wear around your family and close friends, never in public.

“Consider this your warning about what will happen, but ten times worse,” you can only think of what the headlines will be. And if they get wind it started because of a contract? Inconceivable.

To Lance though, it would be worth it. He could go out and defend your relationship and to hell and back. You don’t know about how dark of a place he was in when you met him, and how you were able to help pull him out simply with your presence and your advice.

You may be a devil to the business world, but to him, you are an angel, his savior. He chose this life with you and he would do it again and again, even if there is danger being in a relationship with you.

He helped you too. You were thoughtless, didn’t quite care if you were mean and cold hearted. To you, the business world hated you, so you didn’t show them any care, only focusing on bettering your company and making a name for yourself. You may have swept in and rescued him, but he returned the favor.

A year later you announce your engagement and subsequent marriage. Of course. there are questions about your sponsorship interfering with your relationship -it won’t and it hasn’t- and assumptions it is all PR. Despite all the “warnings” about you, the two of you find the once thing you both wanted in each other. Happiness.

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll #lance stroll imagine #the tortured poets department #the albatross

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sea-owl · 3 months ago

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(Anthony storms into Kate's study.)

Anthony (furious): Where the hell is he?!

Kate (spooked): Who?

Anthony (pointing at Newton, who is casually laying on his bed beside Kate's desk): You!!!

Kate (confused): What?

Anthony: You never believe what that bloody dog did!

Kate: What did he do? Did he bury one of your shoes outside again?

Anthony: No!

Kate (more confused): Then what did Newton do that make you so extremely upset?

Anthony: Well my dearest wife, I has received words from my brother Colin that your demon dog from hell decided that it would be a splendid idea to start a family of his own by having Penelope's dog Artemis carry his puppies. Unchaperone!

Kate (shocked): What?!

Anthony: And now we are the grandparents of your bastard son's children!

Kate (sighing deeply): He's becoming just like you Anthony...

Anthony (groaning): Now I have to get the marriage license again, first Daphne and now this!

Newton: 😁

Anthony (frustrated): It's bad enough that your dog has been running around unchaperoned and gotten Penelope's dog pregnant!

Kate (trying to remain calm): Surely it's not that big of a deal. Dogs will be dogs, after all. I'm sure the puppies will be adorable.

Anthony (throwing his hands up): Adorable?! This is a scandalous! Our family's reputation is at stake.

Kate (furrowing her brow): I fail to see how a few tiny puppies will ruin our family's good name.

Anthony (pacing): Don't you understand? First I have to deal the incident with Daphne and Simon, and now this!

Kate (sighing): Anthony, you worry too much. Newton is a good dog, even if he does have a bit of a... wild streak. And as for the puppies, I'm sure we can find good homes for them.

Anthony (exasperated): Find good homes?! That's the least of our concerns. I have to go speak with my brother Colin immediately and sort this whole mess out while you and Penelope plan the wedding together.

Anthony storms out of the room, leaving Kate to shake her head at his dramatics.

Kate (to herself): Sometimes I wonder how I ever ended up with that man.

Not Newton taking after his daddy. Newton, please, your daddy has ptsd when it comes to special licenses.

Putting aside potential health issues the puppies might have, I am curious about what they look like. Because for those who don't know these who be there parents.

Of course we all know baby daddy Newton

But here's a potential pic of mama Artemis

Irish Wolfhounds also come in red, but I can't find a reliable picture. I do kinda wanna go with the red coat to stick to the Featherington women's hair color. And this would be Artemis and Newton next to one another.

Poor Anthony and Colin are gonna have their hands full.

Lmao, what if Kate and Penelope were pregnant around the same time, too? Colin would definitely think Artemis somehow planned this. Anthony's stress levels are through the roof because not only is he about to he a dad again, but he's also about to be a grandpa! He's not ready to be a grandpa! Colin is even less ready to be a grandpa! Not to mention having two pregnant ladies he needs to take care of.

But also, this would be kinda cute. There be like a Bridgerton reunion for Newton, Artemis, and their puppies, all the puppies got some of their mama's height and are all taller than their dad.

#bridgerton #artemis x newton #artemis the irish wolfhound #anthony bridgerton #colin bridgerton

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total-drama-brainrot · 4 months ago

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Do you think Gwen Total Drama and Alejandro Burromuerto could be friends

My first instinct here is to say no.

Gwen's a tried and true goth who follows the traditional gothic values - that is so say, celebrating personal uniqueness, individuality and your "true self" through creativity and embracing the darker aspects of life. She's very much against "fakes" and people who aren't genuine or accepting of their true selves, hence why she's so quick to dislike Heather (outside of Heather's blatant antagonism towards her) and so quick to befriend Leshawna (who is, at her core, unashamedly true to herself).

Alejandro is the definition of a phoney. If you looked up "faker" in the dictionary you'd see a picture of him smiling in the margins. His portrayal of himself during World Tour (and, asumedly, All-stars) is incredibly ingenuine and fabricated by design, and he very rarely lets himself be, well, himself. It's entirely possible that he doesn't even know who the real Alejandro is, given the hints towards his homelife imply that he's always had to don his perfect mask.

So Gwen would, in all likelyhood, dislike him on principle.

She's also one of the few contestants in WT who doesn't show any outward interest in him at all. Maybe it's because of the whole Gwuncan fiasco, but I'd like to think it's because she could see that Alejandro wasn't nearly as genuine as he liked to pretend - she was just too preoccupied with other things to call him out on it.

And Alejandro wouldn't really see any value in befriending Gwen either, at least not during the competition. She's a strong competitor, sure, but not in his debut season so he's have no way of knowing that. To be completely honest, I don't think Alejandro ever really acknowledged her at all.

After the competition, however? When Gwen's reputation has been thouroughly ruined and Alejandro's been exposed as the "archvillain"?

Well, I think Gwen's one of the very few contestants who'd be willing to speak to him, since she doesn't have the same baggage Alejandro has with the rest of the cast. In turn, Alejandro doesn't have that same stigma against Gwen - he doesn't really know the cast as well as they know each other, and outside of using the "love triangle" to his advantage, doesn't have any emotional stakes in the matter.

Should Gwen be given the chance to talk to him, I think she'd take it. If only to figure out why Alejandro felt the need to act as he did. In turn, if Alejandro let himself be honest and real for once, I think Gwen would be receptive to helping him get back on his feet (maybe literally, depending on if this is pre or post Drama Machine).

They could form a friendship based on mutually helping each other; Gwen helps Alejandro learn who he is outside of the expectations of the show and his family, and Alejandro helps Gwen work through her own internal struggles and her tattered reputation using whatever PR knowledge he surely has as the son of a diplomat. Plus, they're both quite snarky and they'd absolutely talk shit about their shared "enemies" with each other.

So I guess my answer here is; I think they could be friends, but it depends on the circumstances.

#I think the only time I've seen Gwen and Alejandro interact is that one time he tries flirting with her in All-stars.#And I'm ignoring that because. It's All-stars. I haven't seen the full season yet so I'm not adding it to my mental cache of information.#I do think these two could be a fun duo but it'd mostly be in the context of AUs. Because in canon they're literally strangers.#total drama #td alejandro #td gwen #replies

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coltermorning · 2 years ago

Text

Wanted: Day One (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Arthur needs a good take for the gang and decides to go after the bounty on your head.

Author’s Notes: I needed to flesh this one out to get the ending how I liked it so there will be a few chapters. Told from both your and Arthur’s pov and set just before the Blackwater massacre. Also this doesn’t feel like high or low honor Arthur but a good in between so I didn’t tag it.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, eventual smut, enemies to lovers

AO3 Link

Wanted: Day One

Word count: 4822

The Van der Linde Gang had come to rely on two things and two things alone: hard work and money. All else came down to that. Dutch could claim it was family, faith, or whatever else he dreamed up all he liked, but Arthur knew better. He knew the bigger their gang grew, the harder it was for anything but those two things to drive them. That that, above all else, was what they needed to stay together and survive. He may have preferred the old ways when it was just the four of them, doing some good here or there, but those days were long gone. Now it was bring in money or die trying. And when Arthur stumbled across a particularly nasty bounty posted on Blackwater’s board, he figured he would have to do just that.

He and Hosea had been scouting out a scam on their own, letting Dutch and the others plan their boat robbery. It was nice working with Hosea—simpler, somehow. The man was sharp enough to make Arthur feel a fool time and again, but he felt he could take a back seat and let Hosea run things, something he normally couldn’t trust others to do well. And with this came an unusual calmness, a sense that he wasn’t doing enough. He always had to be going, running, finding a lead. So, when he rode into town and saw a brand new bounty poster, he couldn’t resist swinging off his horse and seeking it out.

The poster was for a shocking amount of money—a thousand dollars. Stranger still was that it was a lone soul, and that it was a woman. He read on to see the many crimes committed. It was nothing he hadn’t done himself which made him wonder what the price on his head would be. The amount still seemed high to him, but maybe committing as much murder as was mentioned tended to up the stakes. He pocketed the poster and went to mount his horse.

“I’d be careful with that one, mister,” said a voice from the porch of the Sheriff’s. Arthur looked over to see a deputy, a grave expression on his face. “Almost didn’t put that poster back up, how many people she done killed already.” When Arthur didn’t flinch at the threat, the man went on. “They all take that poster down, all as cocksure as you, and none of them’s ever come back. I’d think long and hard on that if I was you.”

“Why put it back up then?”

“We figure someone’s bound to catch her sooner or later. Get lucky more like. You think you’re the man for the job?”

Arthur chuckled. If anyone was, he was. It took a fellow degenerate to smoke one out. “I guess. Against my better judgment,” he mumbled.

“Well good luck then. I tip my hat to you.”

Arthur nodded at the deputy and turned his horse, heading for camp. He would need a few things before he tried his hand at this bounty, namely to tell everyone where he was going so that if he really did get in a bind, they could find him.

Upon reaching camp, Hosea sought him out and told him a few new details about the job they were running. It would be a week still until they could do it—it didn’t hurt to plan as well as they could in the meantime. After settling on that, Arthur made way to his tent to load up on ammunition. He put his bandolier on which drew Dutch’s attention like a moth to flame.

“You look like you’re preparing for war, son. Where’s the fight?”

Arthur pulled the bounty poster out of his satchel and handed it to Dutch. “Real nasty reputation on that one,” he told him. “I ain’t taking no chances.”

“No. Rightfully so.” Dutch finished reading it over and handed it back. “She sounds nice. Hell, may even fit in with our bunch.”

Arthur chuckled. “You ain’t kidding. Too bad she’s worth so much or I’d consider it.”

“You need another gun?”

“No,” Arthur said quickly, knowing this type of outlaw and that having anyone with him would just slow him down.

“Fair enough.” Dutch turned to go back to his tent, sighing as he went. “Good luck then. Do try to make it back in one piece.”

“No promises,” Arthur muttered.

With this, Arthur made for his horse, checking his weapons as he went. All was as in order as it could be, and the only thing remaining was the ride. Arthur mounted up with confidence, knowing what it would mean for the gang to bring in this much money. He would outsmart this bounty target if it took days and all his might to do it.

Barely out of camp, Arthur steeled himself and let determination take over, ready for the fight, ready to unknowingly go after none other than you.

Twenty days. It had been twenty days since you last saw a soul—a bounty hunter you’d left dead in the dirt. So far, you had put down five since coming to the wind-worn canyons of Hennigan’s Stead. It was the perfect place to evade capture. There were no trees, no cover for bounty hunters to hide in, nothing but the wide open. Sneaking up on you was not an option, and anyone bold enough to approach you outright would die for it. This was a game of strategy, and strategy was something you were deadly good at. You had booby trapped the paths at your back, sat yourself up at high vantage, and left the rest up to your skill and your sense. All that remained was luck, and with all the preparation, it had leaned in your favor every time.

As you sat at the campfire cleaning your revolver, you pondered how long you would stay here and where you would go next when your horse’s head snapped to attention. You looked to where it looked, down the canyon path below. Nothing and no one was there. It would be difficult for someone to hide there seeing as it was just after noon and the sun and shadows were currently working in your favor. Plus, you didn’t hear a horse—didn’t hear anything for that matter. You chalked it up as one of those gila monsters your mount hated so much and went back to cleaning your weapon. You didn’t completely wave away the threat though. Doing so would be unwise and the very thing to get you caught. You therefore shifted around the fire so that you faced where your horse still looked, rapt with nerves.

Minutes passed by, and the animal went back to standing with its leg cocked and its head bowed. You moved on to your rifle, cleaning it with precision, counting the ticks you had marked into its grain with your knife—one for each man put down. You didn’t ever think that would be something you prided yourself in, but life could certainly harden a woman. Your circumstances had forced you into your wayward nature, and you weren’t ashamed of it a bit. That is, as long as you weren’t caught. Meeting your maker was certainly something you had pushed far down the road, not intending to think about it if you didn’t have to.

Just as you finished with your gun, you heard a rock skitter down the path at your back and whipped around, glad once more for the daylight. The path rounded the corner behind you, so if anyone was around the bend, you wouldn’t be able to see them. You moved silently, flattening against the canyon wall at your back and moving steadily up the path, gun raised. You didn’t know how anyone could have gotten past the lines you had tied across the path farther up, especially not without alerting you. You were beginning to think this was your paranoia at work and that some snake or lizard waited just around the corner when you stepped around it, preparing to shoot.

You brought the gun away from your shoulder when you saw what lay in the path: absolutely nothing. No animal, no bounty hunter, nothing. How the rocks could suddenly start tumbling down the path on their own, you didn’t know. But you were suspicious enough to find out. You raised your gun again and made for your camp when you heard the quiet crunch of rocks underfoot. It could have been your horse shifting its weight, but you weren’t taking any chances. You rounded the corner again and felt your heart skip a beat when your gaze landed on a man standing just behind your horse, patting its neck like it was his own.

“Don’t touch the horse or I kill you where you stand.”

“You would have done that already,” he quipped. “If you could.” You noted he stayed standing just behind your horse, his legs behind its legs, his head behind its neck. Unless you wanted to kill your own horse, you didn’t have a proper shot. Not to mention shooting a gun this close may startle the animal enough for it to get in the way. You cursed yourself for letting this happen and held your gun steady.

“How’d you get up here?”

He chuckled, continuing to pat your horse fondly. It leaned into his touch, unaware of the danger. “Those lines you got drawn across the way reflect the sunlight. May want to reconsider where to put them during the day.”

You narrowed your eyes at his arrogance but pushed on. “Then how’d you get around me?”

“Climbed.” You hated the simple answer, especially for not thinking of it. A man of his height could easily catch the lip of the canyon just above your heads and pull himself up. He had probably watched you walk up the path just as he walked down it one level higher.

“Clever.” It was all you would give him. He was brave for coming here in the day, and it had paid off, as he had avoided your traps. But beyond shooting you where you stood, he didn’t have a way to catch you alive. You would put a bullet in him before it got to that.

“Was that you on the canyon floor?” you asked, stalling. You needed a better plan than what was unfolding now. The only problem was that he got more time to plan too, learning your nerve all the while.

“Yep. Backtracked when I realized you had the high ground.”

“How? You never saw me.”

“Saw the smoke.” He looked at you, one eye barely visible from behind your horse. And damn him for that temptation because your finger was itching to pull the trigger, but you still couldn’t guarantee your horse’s safety. “A word of advice. I know most bounty hunters are too stupid to go after their targets in the daylight, but it has its advantages. Learn to work against them.”

You felt anger rise in your belly at his patronizing tone, like he wasn’t about to try to capture you and have you hanged. “Yeah, well some have tried. They’re all dead.”

“Not all of them,” he said lowly, holding your gaze as he hid like the coward he was. You noticed the pair of guns climbing up his back into the sunlight. A fat load of good they would do him strapped to him. It was the likely sidearm you couldn’t see that worried you. But if he hadn’t shot you yet, he wouldn’t. He wanted you alive, and he must not be a good enough shot to try to disable you. You considered running for the path at your back and killing him when he pursued. In fact, that was looking like your best option when he spoke again. “Don’t think about bolting or I’ll shoot. Just come quietly. Don’t nobody need to get hurt.”

You adjusted your aim, wondering how your horse would react if you shot this man’s hat off his head to prove a point. For the brim of it was nearly all you could see of him, sticking out past the shining coat of your mount. “I’m still debating putting a bullet in you. The horse’ll live.”

“And if you kill it? For pride?”

“Not for pride. For survival. And if I did, I would just go find yours. I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” That gave you an idea.

On a whim and before he could decipher your plan, you fired near enough but not at him, your gun louder than a cannon in the close quarters and with the resounding echo bounding off the canyon walls. Your horse reared in fear, but instead of lining up a shot on the now coverless man, you were already long gone, rounding the corner as fast as your feet would carry you. You heard him curse behind you and start in hot pursuit.

You ran faster than you ever had and followed the path upward, spotting a lone horse standing up the way. You ducked under the wire you’d planted, careful not to graze it, and turned when you got far enough away. You had spun around just in time to crouch as the man shot straight at your head. Taking you alive didn’t seem to matter anymore, and your aim suddenly became crucial as you raised your gun toward the wire he was nearing and fired right back. He was close enough for you to see his eyes widen in fear when he realized your plan. It was too late for him to do anything about it—the familiar snap of wire resounded, your bullet ripping straight through it. The man leapt backward as your rigged dynamite blew, the explosion louder than anything yet. You prayed your horse was okay but didn’t turn back to see the damage, too busy running for the man’s spooked mount. It was staying in place but only just, prancing as if its tether to this world was nearing its end. You jumped on its back and dug in your spurs hard, only looking back when you were well on your way. You saw enough dust rising to mean you had probably taken out the entire canyon path. You let out a laugh in triumph as you spurred the horse harder and let it fly.

Arthur was madder than a hornet and twice as vengeful when he finally got the horse calm enough to mount it. He spurred it hard, rounding the now dangerously narrow path out of the canyon, shooting through the dust clouds still forming. He couldn’t see where you’d gone, partially because of the dust in his eyes and partially because his head was still spinning from a blow to the skull. He knew the warm dampness at his temple was blood but ceased to care as he pursued you, angry with himself for getting close enough to that wire to let it blow him up along with the canyon. At least the horse was unscathed, and it was a good one besides—fast and sure-footed. When he topped the hill, he saw a speck in the distance racing toward the ranch he had passed on the way in. If its unbridled speed was any indication, it was his horse. And he owed the woman atop it a damn killing.

Arthur was at the ranch in no time, searching it up and down for signs of you. He didn’t spot his horse until he reached the other side of town, seeing its familiar coat flash in the sunlight as his mood soured further—it had no rider. He demanded the person nearest to explain what had happened. It was a boy worried sick about his new horse that had just been stolen.

“Was it a woman?” Arthur demanded as he dismounted, preferring his own horse.

“Yes, but…well, she was dressed funny.”

“What color’s the horse?”

“A bay, sir. Are you gonna bring it back?”

Arthur was already riding away when the boy finished his question. He hit the path and flew, pushing his horse hard. Once he had a better vantage, he spotted you. And what a sight you made as he felt the satisfaction of victory overcome him, knowing he would have you captured soon enough. For the horse you had taken liberty to must have been green—it was bucking higher than any he had seen before, snapping in half in its attempt to get you off its back. He had to hand it to you though, you were sticking to its back like you had grown straight out of it when he finally caught up to you. He got his lasso out and was setting his sights on you when you noticed him.

“Forward, damn it!” you yelled at the animal. Then, “Leave me alone you bastard! Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Arthur laughed at this. If it weren’t for the stunt you had pulled in the canyon, he may have even admitted he liked your daring.

He began swinging the lasso above his head, readying it with a big enough loop to go over your shoulders. He would need your arms trapped with no chance of reaching the gun at your hip. When the horse came down again, as stationary as it would ever be, he threw the rope. It went straight over your head. As the horse bucked, Arthur pulled hard, separating you from the animal with enough force that you wouldn’t fall underneath it and be trampled. The horse continued its bucking but moved away, far enough for Arthur to dismount and run to you. He flipped you over, noting your joining with the ground had knocked the breath out of you. Good. It was easier to work when his target wasn’t throwing insults left and right.

You let out a strangled cough, looking over to the horse still bucking like mad. Arthur smiled and continued his work, tying your hands tight behind your back. “You know, I reckon you nearly had that horse broke.”

You didn’t respond, still heaving in breaths. Arthur moved on to your feet, tying them just as tight.

“Shouldn’t have switched. You’d taken mine and you’d be on your way to freedom by now.”

“Screw you,” you said on an outward breath, falling into a fit of coughing after you managed the words.

He smirked and double checked his work before taking your gun from your hip and your rifle from your side—it had fallen away from you when you came off the horse. When he had both secured, he lifted you, making you grunt when he slung you over his shoulder. “You’re coming with me. Got a sheriff in Blackwater who wants to meet you.” When you didn’t respond to the jab, he lowered his tone. “And if you ever try to pull another stunt like the one in the canyon, you’re a dead woman. Mark my words.” There was still no response when he lifted you onto the back of his horse. He sighed in annoyance and made sure you still had a pulse. You did—your silence was just formed from spite, it seemed. He’d certainly seen it before, though he couldn’t say he expected it from you. All he knew of you so far was the fight you had in you, and if he had his guess, he would have thought you’d be kicking and screaming for your freedom by now. But maybe he was wrong. Or maybe you were planning something worse and he would have to kill you after all.

Arthur got on his horse, proud of his work despite the brief interruption in his pursuit. Leaving the bucking horse to tire itself out, he made way for Blackwater, thinking if he made good enough time, he’d get there by nightfall. That boy could get his own horse as far as he was concerned, especially since it was only down the road a ways. Arthur couldn’t risk letting you escape again besides.

It was only when he had gotten about an hour down the path and nearly into West Elizabeth that you spoke. “You leave my horse back at that ranch?”

Arthur had been rather enjoying the silence and serenity of the ride and let his annoyance be known. “Yes. And don’t start. I don’t wanna hear it.”

After a beat, in a tone more statement than question, you said, “You’re taking me to Blackwater?”

“No, I’m just in the habit of tying folk to the back of my horse for a joy ride. Of course I’m taking you to Blackwater. What the hell you think this is?”

You mumbled something Arthur couldn’t decipher, though your tone was bitter enough for him to take a good guess.

“Excuse me?” Arthur turned to look at you, wanting you to say it to his face.

You met his eye, and he saw the defiance in your gaze fade as soon as you saw the dried blood in his hairline. You barked a laugh instead. “That canyon rock get you good? That why you’re in such a pitiful temper?”

“Watch your mouth,” he snapped. “I can still bring you in dead you know, and dead’s a whole hell of a lot easier on me.”

“You won’t,” you shot back. “You want all that money for yourself. Greedy bastard.”

“You keep it up and I won’t give a damn either way.”

“Yeah you will,” you mumbled, nearly low enough for him not to hear. But he did hear, and he was growing tired of listening to you—tired of being in your presence. The money would feel much better in his possession than you would. With that thought and without another word, Arthur kicked his horse up into a lope, determined to get you off his hands as soon as possible. It only took two more insults of yours for him to knock you out cold in the meantime.

After long enough that his back was sore and his horse was sweating, Arthur watched the town of Blackwater come into view. It was already dark but hadn’t been for long. That was no matter—the sheriff would be right pleased with himself to have you in his jail cell no matter the hour. So, with a long breath born of fatigue, Arthur pointed his horse toward town.

He had barely crossed into Blackwater when he heard an almighty commotion from a nearby bush, the sound so sudden his horse jerked away from it. He looked behind him and found you gone. Arthur roared his anger and swung down with gun in hand, gaining on the bush when he saw you leap out the other side of it, hopping along with your feet still tied together. He would have laughed if he weren’t so angry, the sight downright ridiculous. He holstered his gun and retrieved his lasso once more, letting you make it a ways before he roped you just for the sake of crushing your hope further. As soon as the rope fell over you, you hit the ground like you had before, grunting in pain when your back met the dirt.

“What exactly was your plan?” Arthur said with amusement as he gathered the rope’s slack and stood over you.

You met his eyes with a hatred so deep he changed course.

“Don’t go looking at me like that. You made your bed, and now you’re gonna lie in it. Ain’t my fault it happened this way.”

“I thought you said you’d kill me. Or was that all talk?” you snapped. He understood then. You’d been escaping in the hopes that he’d shoot you dead then and there.

“What, are you scared of a little law? Of a noose around your neck? How is me killing you now any different?”

“It ain’t about-” You stopped and clamped your mouth shut tight in defiance. Not understanding this, Arthur ignored it and picked you up once more, throwing you over his shoulder.

“I’m walking you in this time. No funny business or your head’ll meet the back end of my gun.”

“I’m staring at the back end of something else right now and contemplating ending it all myself.”

“Very funny. Now shut it. That’s the last warning I’m giving you.”

You stayed mercifully quiet as Arthur carried you all the way to the Sheriff’s, his horse following dutifully behind. He somewhat expected the same deputy from before to be there, shocked that he had been successful. In fact, he was expecting something of a hero’s welcome but was met instead by a dark, quiet jailhouse. He looked around, dropping you on the ground but not leaving your side. He wasn’t foolish enough to let someone else steal the prize he had nearly lost his head to capture.

“Sheriff’s gone,” came a voice from Arthur’s right. He looked over to see a man leaning against the building, cigarette burning lowly in the darkness.

“Where’d he go?”

“He and his whole outfit’s been tasked with transporting them Portriss Brothers up north. Won’t be back for five days, he said. Would be longer, but he don’t trust this town to remain civil.” The man chuckled. “I don’t blame him. It only takes a minute for this whole place to turn to hell, no matter how civilized folk claim to be.”

Arthur ran a hand down his face. It was hard enough to keep you tied up for an evening. Five days was another story.

“Who you got there?” the man asked.

Arthur looked down at you, debating whether or not to tell him who you were. It was likely someone would try to steal you off him if he did.

“Girl I caught stealing horses,” he murmured, turning toward the direction of camp and wondering whether he should take you there.

He heard a laugh at his feet and looked to you, seeing the snide smile on your face and realizing what it was for. He reached for his gun to give you a quick blow to the head, but before he could, you beat him to the chase. “Name’s Y/N Y/L/N, fella.”

“The one whose posters have been up for months now?” the man responded, an excitement in his voice Arthur didn’t care for.

“That’s the one,” you answered. Arthur looked down and met your eye, deciding not to use his sidearm. He brought his boot down on your ribs instead. Hard. At contact, you let out a loud grunt of pain and rolled onto your side, your teeth gritted.

The man spoke again, his excitement making his voice louder and louder. “She’s worth what, a thousand or so?”

Arthur took a long breath. The goddamn things he got himself into. He pointed his gun at the stranger. “Keep your voice down and don’t tell nobody about this. Or I will find you, and I will kill you. Is that clear?”

The man threw his hands up. “I didn’t mean nothing by it. Honest.”

“Get going,” Arthur threatened, not flinching in his hold on the gun.

The man was smart enough to round the corner without another word. Arthur took in his surroundings, making sure no one else was around to hear just who he had tied at his feet. He didn’t see a soul and quickly holstered his gun before picking you up.

“Bastard,” you gritted out. He may have broken a rib or two with that kick if your pain was any indication.

“You deserved it,” he shot back. He threw you over his horse once more and mounted, deciding camp would have to do for the few days the law was gone. “I’m taking you with me until the sheriff gets back.”

“How kind,” you spat. Arthur thought he could hear a smile in your voice despite the venom in those words. It made him angry, and he decided then and there these five days would be hell for you. There would be no chances for escape, no getting a rise out of gang members. No, you would be spending five days tied to a tree with nothing but your guilty conscience as company. It wouldn’t be long until you were begging him for food and water besides, and he fully intended to use that to his advantage.

Arthur began forming a plan as he got closer to camp, wondering how long it would take to get you to crack. He was particularly skilled in doing so, and if he was lucky, he would be successful in fewer days than it took for those lawmen to make it back. If he was really lucky, he would have complete silence out of you in no time. Arthur grinned at the thought as he rode on, the night pushing in on all sides.

_________

Part two is here.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

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eywamygoddesswrites · 2 years ago

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— ｐｉｌｏｔ１ —

synopsis: dreamscapes are known by the na'vi since the beginning of everything, especially the tsahiks and tsakerams. they come to this plane of existence to learn more about what happens to someone who falls asleep and what happens when another wakes up. do they pause when the na'vi is awake? or do they resume their lives as if it was normal? what happens when that character in your head begins to have their own consciousness?

pairing: avatar by james cameron x fem!platonic!reader

word count: 3.2k

want to join the taglist? send an ask here or leave a comment!

ao’nung knocked on the side of the mauri pod that the sully’s currently reside in while holding a singular utumauti as he shouted ‘delivery’. tuteo moved the leaf-like curtain that serves as the door of their home when ao’nung, out of the blue, chucked the utumauti at the omatikaya. neteyam quickly caught it but was irritated that it was the wrong thing the metkayina had brought. “yo, i asked for teylu!”

“your order has been replaced due to the shortage in requested—” ao’nung mumbled the rest before turning around and walking away. tuteo ran after the tutan his age, shouting his attention. “wait, aren’t you the olo’eyktan’s son? like, the metkayina olo’eyktan’s son?”

ao’nung didn’t know if tuteo was joking or just getting a rise out of him, but he was just confused why he had to ask. “yes?” he replied hesitantly. tuteo smiled and greeted him. “what’s up, my bro?” now ao’nung felt lost. “hey…” he says as he raised his hand to wave.

“ao’nung, right?” the metkayina nodded. “you went to awa’atlu middle school, correct?” how the fuck did this omatikaya know this kind of information?? “were you great at training on how to ride and bond with an ilu?” not to toot his own horn, but, he was one of the best students when learning how to become one with his clan.

“i mean, i was okay—” “c’mon, everyone was still getting the hang of it, but my bro was ready to pass his passage of rites then and there!” ao’nung felt his ego swoll for a moment. “i mean, my sa’nuk did say i was one of the best students.” his shoulders raised slightly, remembering when his teacher mentioned to his parents that he and a few of his classmates were the best in the class.

“and you wanted to become the next olo’eyktan?” tuteo continued on with his questions. “i mean, yeah, but—” “but then you started acting like an asshole and earning the reputation of having no traits of becoming an olo’eyktan” okay, ouch. tuteo didn’t need to hit that deep. fucking asswipe. “yeah, i heard your mom is disappointed.”

“look, if you’re going to just insult me, can’t you just leave me alone?” ao’nung had enough of this stranger pushing him down, and also, how the hell does this na’vi know so much about him? “look ao’nung, i know you’re trying your best now to make amends to the people you tormented for a while and you’re doing great! just remember that actions matter and people will forgive you in no time.”

ao’nung didn’t know if he should feel thankful or just straight-up punch tuteo in the jaw. “how in eywa’s name do you know so much about me??” he finally asked the pain-staking question.

“oh, we all worship you.” tuteo nonchalantly says, ao’nung’s eyes wide and may just pop out of their sockets. “yeah, we heard from your classmate about it and now we just straight up worship you.”

can… can na’vi’s worship other na’vi’s? is this even allowed? “we also sacrifice animals in your name.” “is that even alright to eywa?!!?” how can this… this forest na’vi say things like this?!? life comes from eywa, not ao’nung! he’s a creation of eywa just like the rest. so what… why??

“it’s almost time for us to worship you. you wanna join?” tuteo asked as if it was something so normal. ao’nung doesn’t know if not accepting the offer would cause him to be harmed so he just accepted it. tuteo motions him to come into the mauri pod and inside, tuteo began introducing him to the na’vi’s present.

“everyone, i have a surprise! we have a prestigious guest and it’s the one and only, ao’nung!”

ao’nung does the ‘i see you’ gesture to the na’vi’s before tuteo started to introduce them. “ao’nung, this is rotxo, ao’nung (2), ao’nung (3), ao’nung (4), lo’ak, ao’nung (5), and i’m ao’nung supreme.” tuteo, or ao’nung supreme, points to everyone respectively before pointing at himself being ao’nung supreme, or maybe just supreme for short?

everyone returns the gesture to ao’nung and each saying ‘oel ngati kameie’ to him. supreme leans closer to ao’nung saying that rotxo and lo’ak were new members before turning to the rest of the cult members.

“it’s sad to say that our ao’nung didn’t have any teylu for us to use as a sacrifice. but that’s okay.” supreme took the chopping board with the utumauti on top of it. he began sharpening the cutting knives. he turns to ao’nung, saying that the offering he was going to prepare was for him, making ao’nung smile slightly.

as supreme stabbed the fruit in front of him, the cult simultaneously says ‘tiyawn, ve’ki, tì’ipu. olo’eyktan,’ as their final action was holding up their palms and looking at ao’nung. the metkayina didn’t even know what to say so he just said a meek ‘thank you’.

supreme nods in contentment before telling the members that everyone did good. music began to play in the background as soft songs flew in the air. ao’nung was going to explain why he doesn’t deliver teylu when ao’nung supreme instructs ao’nung to wash his hands for 30 seconds specifically before they eat when ao’nung (2) interrupts the two by shouting that he already washed his hands.

the ao’nungs laughed while supreme tells ao’nung (2) that he wasn’t referring to him. while the rest laughed, ao’nung mumbled to himself that everything is just getting repetitive and supreme reminded him to wash for 30 seconds.

ao’nung goes to wash his hands and after he did, he hears knives being scraped and sharpened. he peeks to where the rest of the cult were and realized, ‘oh fuck…’ he actually fucked up.

while he was in the bathroom, the rest of the ao’nungs, more specifically lo’ak, was complaining that he was taking too long. lo’ak was dangling on the make-shift hammock and says to rotxo, “all the ao’nungs have probably finished setting up.” rotxo told lo’ak to calm down when lo’ak suggested that they should check on ao’nung.

“no.” rotxo says immediately, only for lo’ak to look up in disappointment. “why not?” he asked. “he’s probably pooping. that’s why he’s taking a long time.” rotxo rolls his eyes before continuing to sharpen the knives in his hands.

lo’ak’s face scrunched in annoyance and he thought ‘no one takes 20 minutes to shit—’ when rotxo says, “ao’nung fact number 436, ao’nung is a shy pooper. even if he’s alone at home, he takes him at least 20 minutes to poop peacefully.” lo’ak looks at rotxo, “you actually memorized those??”

rotxo replies with a ‘naaah, i just found some interesting.’ before he continues stating out facts. “ao’nung fact number 2427, he puts out a facade to hide his hurt.” ao’nung scoffs and mumbles to himself, ‘no i don’t’ when realizing that, yeah, maybe he does.

“ao’nung fact number 1426, he’s afraid of windows.” rotxo says as ao’nung was leaving out the window. ‘how the fuck would he know this?!’ he internally panicked before continuing to leave. lo’ak was getting impatient and wanted to get ao’nung out the bathroom while rotxo tells him to give ao’nung a minute to freshen up.

lo’ak insisted that they go in and fetch him while rotxo tells him no until lo’ak just swings the door open to reveal that ao’nung had already left.

ao’nung successfully left the pod, only to have met supreme on the way, who was going back to the mauri pod. it was awkward. like… really reeaallly awkward. it wasn’t until supreme hits ao’nung in the head hard that he blacked out.

ao’nung woke up in a cave with candles lit and surprisingly not tied up. he woke up abruptly to a projector lighting up and a movie playing until supreme turned it off. weird, supreme was dressed up as ao’nung.

“what’s happening?” supreme asked in fear. why was this… doppelganger dressed up as him? what will this double do to him? why was there a lot of him to begin with? “i’ll go straight to the point. i’m here to replace you.” ao’nung looked at supreme weirdly. “ao’nung supreme?” “yeah.” “oh my eywa.”

ao’nung rubbed his head in disappointment. “really, dude?” he looked at supreme with his lips thinned. “i know, i know, i’m sorry! but hey, i made you this as my apology.” supreme pulls out an armband he had made beforehand and gave it to ao’nung. “this is nice, thanks, but why are you doing this??” ao’nung took the armband and kept it instead of putting it on for now.

“i’m… actually trying to learn how to love myself. i mean, i already love you, so maybe if i become you, i can learn to love myself too.” supreme explains before adding, “i mean, there’s no one else i’d rather be than you.”

“you’re cool, for the most part, but you made the most of everything in your life. you may not be perfect, but you always do your best and i admire that. and no amount of perfection can top that.” supreme explains, causing ao’nung to think and realize, yeah, maybe it’s not a bad thing for someone to maybe at least give him a chance to love himself, even if it means taking his identity. “what happens now?” ao’nung asked.

“well,” supreme stands up and takes his accessories and tosses them to ao’nung. “dinner tonight is still in your honor.” ao’nung tilts his head in confusion. “and this is the part where things get complicated.”

‘supreme’ (ao’nung) and ‘ao’nung’ (supreme) went back to the pod where all the other ao’nungs waited for the pair. they both respectively went to their seats while everyone else settle in. ‘ao’nung’ lowkey motioned ‘supreme’ to give out a speech before dinner starts.

“rotxo, lo’ak, ao’nungs, and ‘ao’nung’, we worship you, albeit a little weird because you’re just a regular na’vi like us,” his wavering voice almost gave him away as the rest of the ao’nungs looked at him weirdly. “but everything about you is cool. the way you hunt, the way you ride the ilus, how you sign underwater, and how you learn to become the next olo’eyktan.”

“ao’nung fact number 194, despite ao’nung having to be the next olo’eyktan by default, he really wanted to be an olo’eyktan because his father was the olo’eyktan of the metkayina clan.” ao’nung (3), or AN for short, says while ‘supreme’ agrees with him. “yeah, and how you wanted to protect, not only your clan but also because you wanted to protect your mom and wanted her to be happy.” at this point, everyone became a little sentimental.

happy is not easy. happy may stay for a while but most of the time, it’s hard, impossible even because happiness was not normal. but still, ‘ao’nung’ was able to achieve it and he didn’t need any worshippers to show him that he helped someone.

“and that’s why, i’m so proud of you, ‘ao’nung’.” ‘supreme’ says as they both smiled at each other. just when ‘ao’nung’ was going to say something, rotxo stood up and mentioned that he has the knives ready.

lo’ak raised a knife at ‘supreme’ while saying that they knew that he was there to kidnap ‘ao’nung’ as rotxo says that they were all there to protect ‘ao’nung’.

‘ao’nung’ began to panic as he began to remove the accessories he had. “you have 3 seconds to leave this cult and never return.” lo’ak says, not dropping the knife any time soon. ao’nung (4) rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath, ‘a little dramatic of these two.’ a countdown started and supreme told ao’nung to run but it was too late.

rotxo and lo’ak realized the two had swapped so they went for plan b: have them faint and go to another dreamscape. lo’ak holds up a cloth and made ao’nung faint and the next thing everyone knows, they were in someone else’s dreamscape

it was calming. they were on a cliff that ao’nung was familiar with. he would go to this place to gather his thoughts and calm himself down especially when he feels like everything was too much. everything was going well, good memories passed by his eyes until everything started to distort. ao’nung looks down to see a yovo fruit in his hand until looks up and another scene was placed before him.

supreme stood beside him as their wrists were tied behind their backs. they seemed to be standing in the forest at the edge of a cliff but instead of water that was beneath, it was the hard ground instead. “it appears we’re at a disagreement.” lo’ak says as the rest of the ao’nungs stood by. “one of you is jasper,” he points the knife at what appears to be ‘ao’nung’, “the other is that duplicitous, intemperate, covetous, rebarbative, callous leader, ao’nung supreme.” then points the knife to who appears to be ‘supreme’.

“one of you will be spared, the other will not.” rotxo added, an accent to what appears to be back in the olden days. ao’nung turns around, does rotxo really speak like that? “i dunno, man. lo’ak says it’s gonna be cool if we spoke like that.” that earned rotxo to get jabbed on the side with lo’ak’s elbow.

supreme immediately confesses that he’s ao’nung supreme while the jasper that stood beside him was the real jasper. rotxo was immediately convinced by it but lo’ak held him back. “prove it.” he simply said.

supreme simply nodded his head at each of the ao’nungs as he started to mention their names. “you’re rotxo te mayue ovuoka'itan, you’re lo’ak te suli tsyeyk’itan, his name is ro’at te etopx hosloek'itan, and his name is–” he was cut off by lo’ak. “okay, okay, jeez. we get it, you’re ao’nung prime. rotxo,” he turns to the metkayina, “throw him off the cliff.” just as rotxo was closing in at supreme, ao’nung shouts at them to stop.

“no? ao’nung, do you even know this na’vi? do you know why he even made you into a cult?” lo’ak starts as he gets closer to ao’nung. “do you even know anything about him? ao’nung, bro, we’re just protecting you.”

this may or may not be the most confused ao’nung has ever been since gaining consciousness in this dreamscape. “what are you even talking about?!” he shouts at the two. “rotxo and i are your step-brothers, ao’nung!” lo’ak shouts at the metkayina in front of him. how…? how can this happen? step-brothers? when did he even get stepbrothers?

“your father, he left remember? he left to learn sky people technology and made the most successful and only tech company here in pandora.” rotxo explains to the confused na’vi in front of him. “you… you never knew? your dad is one of the wealthiest people here in pandora’s history.” lo’ak adds. “we even found out about the plan to kidnap and replace you to inherit your dad’s estate.” lo’ak motions at supreme, who could only stare at the ground in shame.

apparently, supreme, or whoever this may even be at this point, created the ao’nung cult just to reel ao’nung in, and when it was done, he ordered from the fruit store he knew that ao’nung had been working for to earn a bit of money so that he can act out his elaborate plan on replacing ao’nung. none of what ao’nung knew of was real. everything, supreme never cared and why would he? ao’nung was just normal. nothing out of the ordinary nor special or whatever. just. normal.

supreme looked at ao’nung, his eyes telling him that what these ‘stepbrothers’ of his weren’t real as his voice softly called out to him. “it’s to come home, ao’nu–” before lo’ak could even finish, he was hit in the head with a heavy, thick woven basket by an ao’nung, shocking the rest of the ao’nungs present.

“it was real to me.” ao’nung (5) says in a deeper voice than the rest. that’s when ao’nung had a plan. he immediately tells ao’nung (5) to protect supreme. everyone knew a fight was coming. they all shouted ‘tiyawn, ve’ki, tì’ipu. olo’eyktan,’ as if it was a war cry and everything went in slow motion. they all ran at each other to attack as supreme began to run away from the commotion.

ao’nung saw this and began to run after supreme, leaving the rest of the ao’nungs to fight. supreme was no where in sight which gave ao’nung the time to get back to where the mauri pod was and got his makeshift bag. he’s going to leave this hellhole and never return.

just as he opened the front of the mauri in revealed supreme, regret plastered on his face as he stood there motionless as if he doesn’t know what to do or say. he greets ao’nung and ao’nung returns the gesture.

it was silence for a moment before ao’nung finally spoke. “you created a cult… just to replace me… why? why go through all this effort?” anger was evident in his voice. supreme bobbed his mouth like a fish until he finds his voice. “i just… i just wanted to be someone else.” “yeah i get that.” ao’nung cuts him off.

“but! but, that’s because i never knew my parents.” supreme continued. “i never had a home and i’ve made a lot of mistakes.” ao’nung grew uncomfortable. did supreme need to go through all this trouble because of family issues? eywa… people needs help.

“i found out about you and your dad and… and it made me want what you had.” supreme finally finished. ao’nung asked, “you had the chance but you didn’t take it. why?” supreme’s hands grew restless as they kept twitching. “that’s because i met you! i found out that you’re someone worth believing in.”

ao’nung stared at supreme for a moment. maybe… maybe this time, he will give the benefit of the doubt. one last chance. “what’s your real name?” ao’nung asked.

supreme took a big breath in before telling his real name. “neteyam te suli tsyeyk’itan. no relations to lo’ak te suli tsyeyk’itan.” he gives a small smile at ao’nung, who returned it. “you’ve made my day terrible, neteyam.” they both laughed softly at themselves as ao’nung reintroduced himself to neteyam.

“can i have my armband back?” ao’nung asked, who then neteyam realized that they still had some of their accessories still on the other. neteyam apologized and they began exchanging the accessories back.

while they fixed their accessories back, ao’nung asked if neteyam wanted to meet his mom. “really?” ao’nung nodded. “yeah.” he assures the na’vi in front of him.

they both left the mauri pod to go to where ao’nung’s mom resided in. “we have so many stories to tell mom.” ao’nung says in excitement. neteyam agreed. “maybe we could use that projector you had? you know, what the sky people use to show those images?” ao’nung asked. “yeah! i have some movies that i really like. you might like ‘em too.” neteyam says as they walked further.

from another dreamscape, ro’at looked in the distance as he asks no one in particular, “you ready?” before taking a bite of the yovo fruit he has in his hand.

a/n: hey guys! sorry, this took so long to complete. i had to finish the fic specials and i got busy with class. i hope you all enjoy it!

taglist: @nyotamalfoy @hanhanartz @iwaslikeblah @tejas-kris @sophiexoxo-lol @neteyamforlife

want to join the taglist? send an ask here or leave a comment!

— 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 — , — 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 — , — 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 —

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callsign-owl · 3 months ago

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Like Father, like Sons

This is a continuation of Festive Betrayal

Trigger Warning: physical violence

London, United Kingdom - December 2002

Owl lay sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His cheek still throbbed painfully, a lingering reminder of the confrontation at dinner. There was knock on his door but he ignored it. The knocking became more insistent until eventually the door creaked open. Owl didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Percival hesitated in the doorway, his posture stiff. "*redacted*," he began, his voice low, "I came to talk."

Owl kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "There's nothing to talk about." he replied, his voice strained.

Percival sighed, closing the door behind him before taking a few steps into the room. “I’m sorry, *redacted*. I didn't have a choice. You know how things are with Father.”

“Stop it,” Owl cut him off, finally turning to face him. “Just stop it. I'm not an idiot. You’re not here to make things right. You’re here to clear your conscience and to make yourself feel better.”

“That’s not true. I care about you, I—”

“Care?” Owl scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. “ Your way of caring has a funny way of leaving marks, Percy."

Percival's face tightened, his jaw clenching slightly. "*redacted*, you have to understand—"

“No, you understand!” Owl sat up abruptly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and facing his brother directly. “You’re always going on about responsibility and consequences, but the only consequences you care about are the ones that affect you. You think turning me in to Father was for my own good? It was to keep you in his good graces.”

Percival took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure. “I did it because you need to learn. Father’s expectations—”

“Father’s expectations are impossible!” Owl shouted, standing up. “He doesn’t care about me, Percy. He never has. And you’re just like him, hiding behind your sense of duty and responsibility while throwing me under the bus every chance you get.”

Percival flinched slightly at the accusation but didn’t back down. “I’m trying to help you see what’s at stake. Our family’s reputation, our future—”

“Our future?” Owl glared at Percy. “What future do you see for me, Percy? Because all I see is a lifetime of trying to live up to standards I can never meet. A lifetime of being second to you, the golden child who can do no wrong.”

“That’s not fair,” Percival said quietly, a hint of desperation in his voice. “I never wanted it to be this way. I just—”

“You just what?” Owl interrupted, stepping closer. “You just wanted to protect me? By making me feel like I’m worthless? By siding with Father every time?”

Percival raised his hands defensively. “*redacted*, listen to me—”

“No!” Owl’s yelled. “I’m done listening! You don’t get to act like you care when all you do is make things worse!”

Percival took a step back, his calm demeanor cracking under the weight of Owl’s fury. “*redacted*, please, just calm down—”

“Calm down?” Owl’s rage boiled over. “You want me to calm down? After everything you’ve put me through?”

Before Percival could react, Owl’s fist shot out, driven by years of pent-up anger and resentment. The punch connected with Percival’s face, the sickening crunch of bone audible in the small room. Percival staggered back, his hands flying to his nose, blood already pouring down his face.

“You broke my nose!” Percival’s voice was muffled, filled with shock and pain. He stumbled, falling against the dresser, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Owl stood there, chest heaving, the adrenaline coursing through him making everything feel surreal. “That’s for every time you threw me to the wolves, Percy,” he said, his voice trembling.

Percival looked up at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and something else—perhaps a hint of understanding, even if only for a fleeting moment. “*redacted*…,” he began, but the words died in his throat as the pain overwhelmed him.

"How about that for a lesson about consequences?!" Owl spat as he took a step back. His expression became unsettlingly cold and detached. There was even a hint of satisfaction crossing Owl's face.

Percival, clutching his nose, stumbled towards the door, his face a mask of pain and shock. He didn't say another word, just opened the door and fled, leaving a trail of blood droplets in his wake.

As the door slammed shut behind Percival, the silence that followed was suffocating. Owl stood in the middle of his room, fists still clenched. The adrenaline that had fueled his outburst was ebbing away, leaving a hollow emptiness in its wake.

#call of duty #call of duty oc #my ocs #oc rp #original character

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morganaspendragonss · 1 year ago

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wip wednesday!

little bit more from my carlos and gabriel fic which should be finished soon :)

Winnie snaps at Carlos’s hand again, just barely missing his fingers, and Gabriel hangs his head and sighs. He’s been watching Carlos attempting to pacify the horse for…well, not that long really, but his patience is frayed like it has been. As, apparently, is Carlos’s.

“This is stupid,” he declares, stomping across the field and out of the paddock to where Gabriel has been waiting by the fence. “She hates me.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Gabriel says as calmly as he can. It’s been a full weekend of this, of sullen silences and glares from his usually mild-mannered son. This trip out to the ranch was supposed to cure all that, but Gabriel would stake his reputation on it only having made things worse. “And don’t let your mother hear you say ‘stupid’.”

“Mom’s not here,” Carlos shoots back, though the look on his face says he wishes she were. It sends a familiar pang through Gabriel’s heart; Carlos had been his shadow as a little boy, always Carlos’s first choice to play with or be read to by.

It’s been a few years since that was the case. Now, it’s Andrea he turns to for help with his homework, Andrea who cleans up his scrape and guides him as he grows. Gabriel doesn’t begrudge his wife the privilege, but he does miss those years when Carlos looked at him like he’d hung the moon and the stars.

“Why do Ana and Luisa get to stay at home?” Carlos continues, an angry pout forming on his lips. “It’s because they’re girls, right?”

“Carlos, your mother and I wouldn’t–”

“Yes, you do! They never–”

“Carlitos–”

“Don’t call me that!”

Gabriel takes a shocked step back, registering the tears threatening to spill from Carlos’s eyes. They’re angrily swiped away a second later, but Carlos flushes deeply in shame, all too aware that Gabriel had seen.

Gabriel wishes he knew the right words here but, the truth is, he’s never been more lost. It’s ironic, he thinks; he spent so long worrying about being the father his daughters would need as they blossomed into young women, yet it’s his son’s adolescence that’s throwing him for the biggest loop.

“Mijo, I…” He trails off and sighs. More than ever, he wishes Andrea were here.

“Forget it, Dad,” Carlos says. “Just leave me alone.”

Carlos turns on his heel and heads across the field back to the house, shoulders slumped and head hung. Gabriel watches him go, heart heavy, then he turns back to the paddock, leaning on the fence.

“You know anything about this, huh?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at Winnie.

She snorts at him, unimpressed, and buries her head in her oats bag.

#911 lone star #writing stuff #wip wednesday

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thecorpseswallower · 3 months ago

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IV. Excerpt III

A letter from Scribe Isibéal Hickey in Jambudvīpa, addressed to Chancellor Ívarr of Scholomance:

Scholomance Archive floor 40. Found in the late Chancellor's desk and contributed by acting Chancellor Cathal Ivars. Dated 4458.

Ardmháistir,

When last I wrote, I believe I spoke of the pregnant woman Varsha Anand. She has since brought forth a son and named him Prashant. As the babe’s tongue has not yet learned to speak his Words, it is not clear if he shares his mother’s natural talents— but regardless, he shall want for not at the academy. A fact which I have assured his frightful mother of time and again. I am sure that you will confirm such a promise upon our return, as well. Should young Prashant have the same proclivities towards Ka-magics as she, he shall make a fine Acolyte; and if not, well, any man may learn the Words through practice.

Now we must speak of sadder news. Esteemed Scholar Cynwrig Kee was taken by fever in the early hours of this morning. He had exhibited no signs of illness in the days prior. Our guide-woman claims that it was likely venom from a ‘mountain-killer’ spider. She described the creature as a bright yellow insect with a body no larger than a bead. Acolyte Marcella Donnelly discovered one such spider in Cynwrig’s bedshift as we were preparing the body for its last rites, and has moved it into a flask for further study. She has taken to naming it ‘damhán alla de maidhm nimh’— but such matters of formal nomenclature must wait until we can consult with the texts of Pangur Bán.

I write to you now from the village of Śākadvīpa, whereupon the banks, Cynwrig's remains were set aflame. The individuals here are most suspicious of us. Where Varsha’s people were all too eager to bring forth any who had even the smallest recollection of their Words— regardless of if they had any affect or not— the townspeople here eye us with the suspicions of prey among wolves. They keep their children hushed and hidden, and when one man spied Varsha and Prashant within the palanquin, he shouted something that our guide refused to translate.

I fear that we may not stay long in this village. These are proud and wealthy people, with little cause to trust us. They want not for food or beds, and believe that their mages are best taught through their own traditions. More of the usual fare, as I had expected. Marcella has informed me of one young girl in the village with the glint of fire in her eyes, and I should like to be gone before her inevitable immolation, lest we be blamed for it somehow.

There is one potential Acolyte here, however— an old man came to us seeking a remedy for his son, who floated himself to the ceiling of their home and could not find a way down. The man had tied his ankles to stakes in the earth, and I fear that we may have to do the same— or else lead him by a rope, and return to the Isle with him lashed to the mast of our ship. Whatever the case, such a sight will only help to harm our reputation if we travel further inland with the boy. I shall speak to him on the morrow, and should he find himself able to stand after my counselling, we will continue onwards. If not, I shall return to you with four new Acolytes, one babe, and a journal of runes that Varsha’s fellows so kindly donated through their performances. I suspect many of these Words to be joint- and lending-terms. Perhaps the linguists can puzzle them out better than I.

If only all were so generous with their Words, perhaps we would learn enough to speak the Gods-tongue as fluently as my guide speaks Common. Had she any Words of her own, I would have loved to bring her back with us. Alas, it is not to be.

Yours loyally,

Isibéal

-- Next ->

#ch 4

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tartrazeen · 1 year ago

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I added this to my other post about Angus probably having his own magic, but since there's so little content on here about Mystic Knights of Tir Na Nog, I might as well make it its own post. :) Don't wanna bury it in a reblog.

So to pick up from what I was saying about Angus probably having magic and Cathbad knowing about it, part of my evidence comes from Cathbad putting so much emphasis on him being a thief. And - yes, he is one, but Cathbad takes it like it's a personal slight. Like "You aren't living up to your full potential," building off that time when Angus even admits that Cathbad doesn't think much of him.

There are so many episodes where he refers to Angus as 'a common thief' or 'a petty thief'. It's the emphasis on the adjective - like, "Being a thief is one thing, but being a common or petty one is supposed to be beneath you." Torc says it once too, but it's in that fully disparaging way 'cause Enemy™ - so it's totally different from when Cathbad goes on to get pissed at one point that Angus is "running around like the village thief." There's a sense of disappointment from Cathbad that's even highlighed by that little note for when Angus tries to steal the bravery powder.

So I am in love with the idea of it all being because Angus is magic, knows some magic, or is trying to learn more magic from Cathbad (and probably did!)... just to use it to steal shit. Completely squandering the 'true' talent Cathbad thinks Angus should have.

Like - when that bratty little prince showed up and showed Angus how to put his hand through stone, that might as well have been screaming "JACKPOT." Cathbad mocking who he thinks is Angus (but is really Midar) for getting shrunk and being stuck that way? It's definitely 'cause he assumed Angus only did it to sneak in somewhere. The extra-tickled amusement from Cathbad in the scene could've come from how he was at least impressed Angus had learned enough to even be stuck that way.

It's also probably why Cathbad looked willing to say Angus was innocent during that trial, since despite the evidence and an obvious reputation, it was too much like common theft for him to fully believe Angus could stoop so low.

I feel like the stakes were higher than 'just' jail that time. It seemed to putting their relationship directly on the line, and as happy as everyone was to find the real thief, Cathbad must've been the most relieved person in the room. A guilty verdict would've shattered something between them that I don't tooootally think they even realized existed to shatter ('cause while I'm all here for "I Have Two Sons Actually 😌" Cathbad, I'm delighted by the idea that Cathbad has no goddamn idea what to really do with kids and has never wanted to admit why he puts up with this one, eVeN iF Angus happens to be very damn smart. And Angus sure as shit doesn't think Cathbad likes him, beyond occasionally being able to talk the druid into doing Angus a favour now and then.) For Cathbad to casually go like, "Oh wow I guess we'll never know if I thought you were guilty" after that is the biggest fuckin' tell for "I was praying you weren't, you would've broken my heart :'(" there is.

So yeah, Angus wastes his life picking pockets, probably a little more for fun than any honest need at this point, but Cathbad seems to think (mostly despite himself) that there's something in there destined for more. They've just gotta... kinda... get to it somehow. :/ And every time they don't, Cathbad just sees Angus slipping further away.

🤣 No wonder he shuts Angus down so hard near the end when he asks about creating illusionary walls. Think of how much Angus could take if he could also conjure walls as cover.

I'm happy enough with where the show ended, but I'd like to think that in a future episode, there would've been one with Cathbad and Angus where it was all about that. Like Cathbad would finally snap over Angus throwing his potential away to just steal again, get caught again, go to jail again. He could actually try to cut Angus off or force Angus (somehow) to give the thievery up. Maybe it starts by trying to reason with him, then with (poorly) attempting to have a heart-to-heart, and then in a fit of anger and frustration, almost definitely because Angus steals some important potion to play around with it, actually casting some sort of spell that's supposed to 'fix' the problem of stealing. And it works! Angus suddenly becomes very well-behaved and polite.

But it also saps Angus' motivation and creativity. He has to be told what to do every step of the way, because he can't even conceive of doing something out of order anymore. He loses his ability to fight effectively, maybe even loses the ability to summon his armour (because the part of him that earned it is gone), and he stops going anywhere at all because he doesn't 'technically' belong anywhere. He doesn't have his own hut, he's not royal, he's presumably an orphan, and Cathbad doesn't ever permit him to be around. And he just gets quieter and more miserable until Cathbad agrees to reverse the spell, but the damage is done: the message was sent when it came to using magic to 'cure' him.

(Yes, this could fit into 22 minutes. The pacing of that show's quick, and going from 'Angus is in jail again' to 'We have to do something about Angus' to 'Well, that's just how Angus is, Cathbad' to 'Fine, I'll do something about Angus myself' to 'bad attempt to talk' to 'Angus steal more shit anyway' to 'Magic anti-steal' to 'Angus is sad' is like... six scenes.)

Anyway, I'd want it to end with Cathbad actually doing the heart-to-heart properly. He apologizes for going so far to control Angus like that, and then moves right into "But I can't have you running around as a thief!" And it'd be over to Angus to basically say, "It's all I'm good for around here," which - hopefully - would snap a bit of shit into focus for Cathbad. With all of the insults and teasing and unsolicited lessons, Angus really has been left with the idea that being a thief all he is. Is it a good thing to be a thief? Maybe not, but Cathbad's always declared him as one, so Angus is pretty confident in that identity. And it's challenging and fun, and when it wasn't fun, it was necessary - for him and Rohan both (hint hint starving orphans).

Because I'd like that to set the stage for Cathbad to finally list some positives about him: Angus is smart, and he has a talent for seeing opportunities no one else can. He wishes it was more respectable, but the fact that Angus earned his mystic armour should've been proof enough that he was worthy. It wasn't like he stole that armour, after all. And part of his ability to see things makes him uniquely talented at combining magic powders. Something happens when he does. It's rarely ever less than chaotic, but it's always something, and that's a sign that there's magic in him that simply needs to be focused properly. (And Angus sees there's that 'focused'/'controlled' thing again 🙄 - so Cathbad's going to have assure them both this has nothing to do with casting another spell on Angus. I want him to have to earn back a little of Angus' trust for once).

It wouldn't go on and on for hours, but eventually Cathbad would say that if it's a challenge Angus is looking for, then perhaps it's time to have a proper lesson in magic. It might be even be overdue. And as a show of goodwill, Cathbad agrees to show Angus what that potion he stole even does. He goes to get it. Just to find...

... nothing. 🫠

And Angus looking like 😬

And Cathbad going like, "... okay. That's... We'll have to make another one then, won't we?" Really, really trying here. Then saying he needs certain ingredients and has to find them in the slow mess that his inventory's become without Rohan to (badly lmao) tend to them.

And Angus is like, "oh I know where everything is :) here here here here and here :)"

And Cathbad's actually really impressed by this, because he's realizing Angus has always been an oddly precise thief when he goes through Cathbad's stuff - because he's stolen so much of it that he has an even better inventory in his head than Cathbad does.

But then Cathbad says, "Now we just need one last ingredient. I know I had some yesterday."

And Angus is like 😬

And Cathbad just picks up his herb basket and says, "At least you're aren't simply a common thief" (or something like that, whatever the kiddies would understand :P)

From there, I'd want episodes to reference Angus getting some lessons from Cathbad. He's like a weirdly unofficial apprentice - actually more like an unofficial student - and we start having him be the one to explain magic stuff that the knights run into rather than Rohan as much. It'd be a great set up for another Rohan versus Angus fight, where Rohan starts to feel like he's being replaced (and maybe ungratefully throws a lot of shit into Angus' face that cuts deep). I hope that'd end with blah-blah-blah the three of them are a family pretty much, everyone makes up, Rohan feels secure in his place again and Angus gets some actual approval from Rohan about anything for once lmao

Importantly, it'd set the stage for Angus to be practicing magic, and then very suddenly fucking revealing he's got his own. Or if it's not a reveal to him, it's a reveal to the others, because he's never been able to use it for things that aren't related to theft and he's never been consistent enough or experienced enough to want to test it in an actual battle. But the fact that he's learning from Cathbad at all would be the foundation of him being his own full-fledged magic user on the show.

As a bard. :3

A bard who knows a lot of Druid spells. :3

'cause that's my damn head canon and I'll be as self-indulgent as I pleeeeaaaaassseeeeeeeee

(also keeping a Magic-Using Angus away from Maeve is important, but imagining Nimaine finding out about it?! Maeve would force a wedge between Angus and Rohan, but Nimaine would drive it between Angus and Cathbad. Both of them, though, I can see trying to trick Angus into being afraid of himself or what others think, not really being lured in by being promised more power. That's more of a Rohan plot 😅)

But I'd also love to see some sort of treasure-hunting episode. Imagine an ancient temple or ghostly cave that Cathbad needs something from or gets trapped in. The only one with the right mix of skill, magic and experience - more than even Cathbad's as a druid - is Angus, who explicitly knows how to sneak around and disable the various traps that these kinds of places have. As in, he's been to other places just like this all over Ireland to swipe shit. Very Tomb Raider, basically. 💖 And being able to get into those places to find the hidden secrets of magic thought to have been lost generations ago is something that could instantly bring the two of them closer together.

:( and since I heard that Vincent Walsh supposedly wasn't gonna come back for a second season (THAT'S WHY I'M HAPPY IT ENDED WHERE DID, SORRY, I'M SELFISH, HE NEEDED TO BE THERE), it would've been a great handwave te explain his abscence.

'Cause they were not gonna recast him 😤 My eight-year-old self would've fuckin' refused.

#mystic knights of tir na nog #my stuff #good job tartra

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ragethegemini · 7 years ago

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“Your bed head is really cute.” Rai + Pinaa

MORE FLOOF FOR THE EDGELORRRD

*tosses confetti*

(context for this one is post-story/married etc. The rest is under the readmore, see the prompt for requests!)

“Your bed head is really cute.”

Raicouda looked up from where he was levied over his mate, interrupting her lazy ministrations on his ears. Pinna laughed at the look on his face, the expression somewhere between confusion and a pout. The morning bleariness in his eyes and the russet mane that feathered out at all angles really completed the look.

“… Cute?” he demanded in a groggy voice, which only made her smile wider.

“Have I not told you, amoré?” she teased.

He shifted further up, careful to keep his weight supported on his elbows. “Don’t sound like an accurate description...” he grumbled.

“Nonsense,” she said, “You are very cute. The cutest, perhaps.”

He huffed, looking affronted. Pinna tapped a reprimanding finger on his nose.

“Do not start with me, you big prickly baby... I am allowed to find you cute.”

Raicouda blanched at her choice of words, but nonetheless leaned into her palm as she sifted a hand through his hair. Just like clockwork, her attentions brought out a deep-throated purr.

“Hm. Just you, then, meu sirena...” he finally conceded. He couldn’t help a placated smile as he pawed his arms into the mattress in a fluid stretch.

He sighed as Pinna gave a happy hum and continued to run her fingers through his proposed bedhead. The late morning sun streaming through the window was almost enough to lull him back to sleep, but his mind was occupied with other musings. Leaning on one arm, Raicouda returned to his activity – tracing senseless patterns over the bump that was just beginning to show on his mate’s midsection.

“I hope they have your hair,” Pinna spoke up, following the direction of his thoughts. She ruffled it to accentuate the point.

He shook his head minutely. “I’m hoping they take after you...” He flicked a glance up at her.

Pinna could sense the anxiety brewing in his words, and for his sake she resisted rolling her eyes.

“No worries about that, now. I am just fine,” she assured him. She couldn’t help that her gaze drifted to the barbed end of his tail - its stinger thoroughly bound up in fabric. It was a nightly ritual that her mate was adamant about.

Raicouda only frowned at her stomach, idly thumbing the callouses on the pads of his own fingers.

Pinna sighed. “You are worrying…” she chastised in a lilting voice. His mouth turned down at the corners as she angled his chin up to meet her gaze.

“Just… concerned,” he said. Laying his palms on either side of the swell. “… You haven’t felt any-?”

“No kicking yet,” she interrupted the question he had already asked her a dozen times. She tugged him up, planting a kiss on his cheek as he settled next to her. “And no stinging either,” she added cheerily.

“Not funny,” he muttered, peppered with more of her indulgent kisses.

“Do not be so sour, amoré,” Pinna hummed. “You know the children of your father’s side are born soft-shelled, anyway.”

“…Still.”

Pinna really did roll her eyes this time. She pulled him in for another kiss, only letting go when she felt him relax. She smiled as he nosed her for more attention, trailing his lips along the faded lines of her scars and down her neck.

“… Love you…” he mumbled against the skin of her shoulder. He turned to nuzzle the hand that had gone back to carding through his hair, letting loose another purr when she returned the sentiment.

Pinna peered down at him as he dozed back off, his breathing shallowing, and his brow uncharacteristically relaxed. She skimmed a feather-light touch along the shell of his ear, smothering a giggle as she watched it flick in his sleep.

She fully intended to inform him that visage was, in fact, adorable.

�

#hybrid #oc #fluff prompt #writing prompt #bedhead #*slams fist on the table* floof for edgelord #raicouda is going to be a huge sap by the time yall are done with him jfc #my son your reputation is at stake here #raicouda #pinnavoche #gross fluffy ships #prompts #ragewrites #the gemini has spoken #zakurujayimagine

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theforgottenmcrmy · 2 years ago

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From This Day, Part 2/2 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is a Part 2/2, and an overall Part 5 of an ongoing series. Part 1-4 can be found on the "Growing Strong” Masterlist, which is pinned on my blog. For some reason, my public tags aren’t working today when I try to link those two posts here. ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: PLEASE READ. In addition to the GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, violence, and references to the death of parent(s), there is also a scene that gets a bit 🔥 . No explicit language or descriptions are used, but it’s also pretty clear on what’s about to go down, so... fair warning. Honestly, I think it’s kinda tasteful 🔥 that fits the language and themes of the story so far, but I didn’t want to not say anything about it either, just in case.

Word Count: N/A because I get in my head about it and it makes me self conscious.

A/N: Part 2! Why do I find the damn GOT Faith of the Seven Vows so romantic? Like😅... I HIGHLY recommend listening to the I Am Hers, She Is Mine score while reading this, especially after the first scene. I’d link it, but then my public tags wouldn’t work, so😢

Anyways, thank you all for the support🖤 I hope you enjoy, and that you have a great rest of the week!

“What in the gods’ name is the meaning of this?!”

In the blink of an eye, the young lord was quickly yanked away from you and shoved up against the wall beside you instead. Lord Loreon groaned in protest to the swift action.

“Tyrell!”

“You dare try to stake a claim on my sister?!”

“Lady Y/N!”

Before you could begin to make sense of what was happening, Harwin was before you. Though seeing him usually brought you great comfort, he looked deeply troubled, and there was anger in his eyes that you had yet to witness personally.

“Did he lay a hand on you?” he asked you directly.

Lord Loreon scoffed, “I most certainly did not!”

“Silence!” your brother barked at him.

You were stunned into a momentary silence, but when you realized that Ser Harwin would not make a further move until you responded, you did so. “No, no. He didn’t.”

Ser Harwin looked as though he wanted to say more, but he relented, either accepting your statement as truth, or simply not wishing to argue. The anger in his eyes began to fade, leaving only concern.

“Y/N!” Princess Rhaenyra exclaimed, pulling you to her side and away from the wall. She looked you over, rapidly searching for any physical signs of distress. “Are you alright?”

It was then that you realized the presence of Lord Jason.

“Tyrell, you get your hands off my son, now!” he snarled.

You turned your attention to his line of sight, and were shocked by the scene before you.

Your brother had Loreon pinned up against the wall, with his forearm pressing tightly against his throat. Ser Harwin purposefully placed himself between Lord Jason and Derron, preventing the former from intervening in any sort of way. His position also put a sizable barrier between you and the squirming Lannister boy… perhaps that was also an intention of his, you supposed.

Regardless, even off the tourney field, it seemed as though the alliance between your brother and your betrothed was one that would be long-lasting.

Derron ignored Lord Jason’s order, and instead, gave one of his own to his captive. “Now you may speak, My Lord. Explain yourself, so that I may decide how best to deal with you.”

“She approached me!” Lord Loreon squealed. To your brother’s credit, the young lord did not appear to be struggling for air… but he wasn’t able to move, either. “I only met her here upon her request!”

Insulted most deeply, you snapped, “That is a gross lie!”

The Princess shushed you, but you were too impassioned to stop now. You would not let your name and reputation be soiled by the likes of Loreon Lannister- especially not in front of Ser Harwin.

“I was informed that the Princess wanted to speak with me privately, and that I was to meet her at once,” you explained. “I waited for her here for quite some time, until he approached me!”

“She’s lying!” Lord Loreon fumed, his rage rampant. “You little-”

“Mind your tongue!” Ser Harwin ordered him threateningly in a low voice. “Or else you’ll lose it.”

Loreon gasped.

“Harwin!” Lord Lyonel scolded, coming to stand beside Lord Jason. You just realized his presence too, but he looked about as desperate for answers as the other men and Princess Rhaenyra. He looked at you next. “Lady Y/N- please, continue. What happened then?”

“He tried to convince me to run away with him, and said we could leave King’s Landing tonight.”

Lord Loreon fumed, “That is what you asked for!”

“It most certainly is not!”

Though he was unable to move his neck or head, Lord Loreon, with great struggle, managed to retrieve a piece of parchment from his coat. Ser Harwin stepped aside just enough for his father to reach and grab it from the young Lannister.

The entire group watched as Lord Lyonel read the letter with a blank face. After a moment, he announced, “It appears to be a rather… blunt, passionate letter, from Lady Y/N, requesting just as Lord Loreon says…”

The blood drained from your face.

“It is a farce,” Ser Harwin denounced vehemently. “I am certain of it!”

You were heartened by his quick and staunch defense of you. Most other men might have assumed the worst, but- as you were constantly forced to remind yourself- Harwin was not like most men.

“Let me see that,” Princess Rhaenyra commanded, accepting the letter from the Lord Hand and reading it herself. When she was done, she laughed shortly. “This is not even Lady Y/N’s hand!”

“What?” Lord Loreon gasped.

“Lady Y/N has been writing letters for me for the better part of a year,” Princess Rhaenyra reminded the group. She was confident, and her tone left absolutely no room for question. “I can choose it amongst others from sight alone. I assure you, this letter is not written in her hand. Nor would I ever believe her to be capable of such a thing.”

You were humbled by Princess Rhaenyra rising to your defense as well.

“May I, Your Grace?” Lord Jason asked, eyeing the parchment suspiciously. Princess Rhaenyra handed it over to him wordlessly, and his eyes rapidly scanned over the contents. When he was finished, they rolled as he groaned tiredly. “Seven Hells, Son!” he exclaimed to Loreon. “I cannot believe you fell for this, you fool! The language alone…”

Derron took the letter from Lord Jason with a flourish, though he otherwise remained still, keeping Loreon pinned to the wall. Your brother read the letter, and scoffed. To the young lord, he questioned mockingly, “You actually believed my sister would write you such a thing?!”

Derron held the letter out to Ser Harwin to take, but your betrothed made no move to do so. Instead, he looked over at you. Though he had defended you thus far, part of you expected to find disappointment lingering in his eyes. However, there simply was none to be found.

“There is no need for me to read it,” he decided out loud, his eyes never wavering from your own. “For even if it was written by Lady Y/N’s hand, I know it could not possibly be true.”

Your heart felt as though it might burst from your chest.

“Y/N?” your brother offered then.

“I have no desire to read it, either,” you said, eyes still locked with Harwin’s. “It is a complete fabrication that I wish to give no further merit to by entertaining it further.”

Ser Harwin was the one to finally break away. He turned back to your brother, and put a hand on his shoulder. Your brother huffed once more, probably out of disbelief than anything else, before begrudgingly removing his arm from Lord Loreon’s neck.

The young man scrambled away from Derron and over to his father, but the other man looked no more pleased with him.

“It would seem,” Lord Lyonel began, garnering everyone’s attention, “That someone has decided to play a cruel trick upon us this evening.”

“A trick?” Derron repeated dumbfoundedly. “It was a trick that My Lord sought to lay a hand on my sister? And on the night before her wedding, no less?”

“My son was foolish,” Lord Jason admitted, though he sounded pained in doing so. “But you are not innocent, either. You have accosted my son, without knowing the full extent of what led him here!”

Your brother ignored Lord Jason entirely. Instead, he looked at you expectantly. “It is you who was wronged, and so it shall be your decision, Sister. What would you have us do with him?”

Lord Loreon looked between your brother and Ser Harwin with a mixture of pure shock and fear. He attempted to make a small step closer towards his father subtly, as if seeking safety, but failed.

You looked at the sorry excuse for the future patriarch of House Lannister pitifully.

And that’s when it hit you.

“Let him go.”

Your brother’s eyebrows shot up. “What?!”

Harwin looked at you carefully, but it was more out of interest than protest.

“You shall do nothing to him,” you insisted firmly. “Each family has made a grievance upon the other tonight… but it shall go no further than this. Whoever devised this trick-” - plot - “-shall receive no satisfaction from their efforts whatsoever.”

It was quiet for a moment as everyone present mused over your suggestion.

“Lady Y/N is wise beyond her years,” Lord Lyonel finally declared, stepping up on your behalf. “Perhaps, given the extenuating circumstances, and the fact that both Lady Y/N and Lord Loreon appear to have suffered no serious harm… Perhaps it is best that we all return to the feast at once, and forget this entire farce ever occurred.”

You could tell your brother was not so inclined to agree, but he had little choice in the matter when the Princess offered her own opinion.

“I agree with the Lord Hand,” Princess Rhaenyra announced decisively. “None of us shall speak of this matter ever again… And, should word about any of this begin to travel, we will know whom to look to for answers. Do we have everyone’s word?”

The reasoning, from everyone who had offered it, was sound. After a few moments, everyone nodded their heads in silent agreement.

“Let us return to the feast, then,” Derron encouraged, albeit half-bitterly. “Perhaps we shall all test the limits of what memories the finest wine from the Reach can blur.”

Your brother angrily tossed the piece of parchment into a nearby hanging torch.

Later that evening, you returned to your chambers, thoroughly exhausted, emotionally and physically.

You sat upon your bed, and begrudgingly removed your shoes from your sore feet. As the shoes fell to the ground with a soft thud, light knocks rasped against the door.

You quickly strode across the room, and cracked it open.

It was Ser Harwin.

Wordlessly, you opened the door a touch wider to allow him entry. He slipped inside, and you shut the door as silently as you could manage behind him.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you told him, not yet turning to face him.

“Do you not wish to see me?”

“It is not that,” you disagreed, slowly placing your tired hands upon the wooden door. “I am only worried that someone else will have taken notice of you coming here.”

“They have yet to notice thus far,” Ser Harwin reminded you patiently, and you could practically hear the small mischievous smile playing upon his lips.

It was true. Since your betrothal was made official, Harwin had begun to visit you late at night in your chambers. At first, it only started when he was due to go off on patrol out in the city, as was one of his duties as a member of the City Watch. He would stop by, you could converse freely and openly, and then he would be on his way. The visits slowly but surely grew in frequency, and now, it was not unusual for your betrothed to pay you late night visits several days of the week.

If anyone else were to discover what was occuring, there would be serious repercussions, and both of your reputations would be tainted. Perhaps yours more so than his. Harwin had voiced this concern to you, and you heard him out when he did. But ultimately, neither of you wanted to sacrifice the time the two of you were able to share. And so, you had mutually agreed to be even more especially discreet about it.

Nothing had ever… happened, between the two of you during the late night visits, though the environment around you had gotten a bit heated on the occasion. The focus had always been the ability to be open and speak plainly with the other without an escort, and it was that intent that kept the two of you wanting to continue, despite the risks.

Besides the fact that it was the night before your wedding, you had not expected him to visit you tonight… not after everything that had happened.

When you finally turned around to face him, Ser Harwin immediately did a double take. “Were you crying, My Lady?”

Hot tears you hadn’t even realized you allowed to form fell down your cheeks. Your face heated with mild embarrassment as you swiped them away briskly. “It is nothing.”

It was a bold, blatant lie.

But Ser Harwin knew that.

There was still a bit of distance between you, closer than there normally would have been. But despite the additional leniency, Harwin still had to look down at you to see your face. When he did, you saw that his own expression was riddled with nothing but the utmost sympathy and worry.

“If you do not wish to see me, you need only say the word,” he said, politely offering to excuse himself once more. “I only wished to ensure that all was well… or rather, as well as it can be.”

You knew with complete certainty that you did not want him to leave. But after everything that had transpired that evening, when the man who claimed to love you so greatly confirmed the notion as fact by openly showing nothing but complete trust in and concern for you… It was overwhelming.

“You are… inconceivable, Ser Harwin.”

His concern was muddied by confusion. “... I beg your pardon, My Lady?”

“We have just escaped ruin by the skin of our teeth, and you are more concerned with how I am feeling than trying to discover who orchestrated the vile ‘trick’ we nearly fell prey to.”

“It is not that I do not care about that,” Ser Harwin corrected. “I simply care about your well being more.”

You sighed. Whether it was out of tiredness or frustration, you were not sure. You said nothing, and your eyes fell to the floor. The stone felt pleasantly cool beneath your feet, but it was not nearly enough to cure what ailed you.

The only thing- or someone rather- that could cure you was standing just several feet away. Close, and yet so far.

“... Y/N?”

Upon hearing your betrothed call out your name so tenderly, you had no choice but to look him in the eyes once more. Once you did, you caved.

Wordlessly, he opened his arms, holding them outwards to you. The facade of pleasant exchanges shattered, leaving nothing but raw emotion in its wake.

You rushed forward in long strides, casting aside any sense of propriety or fear of further embarrassing yourself. When you reached Ser Harwin, you threw your arms in a vice-like grip around him, and buried your face in his chest.

In response, he let out a soft grunt- but you reasoned that had more likely to do with his aches and bruises from the tourney than anything else. Your eyes widened guilty as you pulled away, apologies for causing him further discomfort already on the tip of your tongue. But before you could say a word, Harwin pressed a hand to your back, and promptly pulled you towards him and into the embrace once more.

You hid your smile by pressing your face further into his chest. With one hand remaining on the small of your back, his other hand reached up to lightly cup the back of your head. You dug your fingers into the back of his doublet as firmly as you dared.

The nearly crippling sense of overwhelmingness you felt faded into the night. Ser Harwin had the uncanny ability to bring a calmness out of you that you never would have guessed was possible… though you would always feel indebted to him for it.

After several minutes of extremely comfortable silence, Harwin was the first to pull away. He allowed himself enough room to look down at you lovingly, but his arms made no move to let you go any further out of reach than what was necessary. Not that you would have wished to leave them, anyway.

“Better?” he prodded gently.

You looked up at him, resting your chin upon his chest. “Very much so.”

The hand that rested upon the back of your head traveled, several of its fingers coming to cup your chin instead. Ser Harwin leant down slowly, and placed a ghostly trace of a kiss upon your lips.

You blinked as the gesture left you feeling a bit dazed. Before you could playfully lash at him for teasing you so, he continued.

“I hope you can forgive me for delaying your rest,” Ser Harwin apologized. “I knew that sleep would not claim me tonight, not unless I was able to speak with you first.”

“There is nothing to forgive, My Lord.”

His hand shifted to cradle the side of your face. Though Ser Harwin held you within both of his arms, everything about his facial expression and body language suggested that you were the one who had true control of the situation you two were entangled in.

“Shall I be on my way, then?” he asked of you then, uncertainly.

You reached up and tapped his chin lightly with your forefinger. “There is no need for that… unless you wish to leave.”

“I do not.”

“Very well. Stay.”

In the aftermath of your particularly serious moment, the return of your light hearted exchanges left the both of you feeling a bit out of place. Slowly, so as not to give him any cause to perceive offense, you removed yourself from Ser Harwin’s arms. He let you go without protest.

You gestured to the table and chairs at the very edge of the room, just before the balcony. The two of you seated yourselves wordlessly, and you offered him some wine.

“Lord Derron will be having an unpleasant enough time in the morning,” Ser Harwin politely declined. “I would not burden you with another charge to look after.”

Despite yourself, you laughed.

Your brother, just as he had suggested, had taken to drowning in his cups after everyone returned to the feast. You let him be at first, seeing that it was harmless enough. But when Derron attempted to make a speech- the same speech he had already made hours before, but this time with the addition of colorful inebriated musings- you were forced to ask a cousin to escort him safely to his chambers to retire for the evening.

You planned to chastise your brother in the morning for threatening to make a fool of himself at the feast. But still, you knew just how likely you were to hold your tongue. Derron had also been struggling with the passing of your father, and in addition, he had been weighed down by his new responsibilities as well. Regardless of whether you would be the one to dole it upon him, Derron would learn his lesson from this night, of that you were sure.

“Well,” you began, suppressing a smile, “I thank you for that.”

Just outside the open archways leading to the balcony in front of you, a night’s view of King’s Landing waited. Despite the lateness of the hour, plenty of lanterns and torches were lit, and the noise of the city, though fainter than it would have been underneath sunlight, was still audible. The city was very much alive. Above the city was a black sky, only interrupted by stars, cold and distant, and the morose, solitary illumination of the moon.

You peeked over at Ser Harwin through your lashes. Thankfully, his attention was still focused on the view before you. You dared to wonder if you would ever find yourself in a scene like this again… Though you could have easily lived without the troubles that had resulted later on in the feast, you wouldn’t have traded the moment you were in for anything else in the world. Is this what the future held for you? Countless evenings, spent quietly, or not, with the one man who seemed to know you better than you knew yourself at times?

You desperately hoped so.

“Are you frightened?”

Ser Harwin tore his focus away from the view of the city, and returned it to you. When you said nothing, opting to wait patiently for him to elaborate further, he did so.

“It appears that someone among these halls does not wish us to be wed.”

Not someone, but several people came to mind.

You could ascertain many reasons as to why certain people among the Red Keep, and beyond, would not wish the two of you to be wed. The potential motives were infinite, and were made even more daunting by the fact that you were likely to remain in the dark about them forever. In the morning, you and Ser Harwin would pledge yourself to the other in the Great Sept of Baelor in front of your family, friends, esteemed guests, and other less than genuine attendees. And by then, it would be made clear that whoever had orchestrated the foul plot with Lord Loreon Lannister with the intention of causing a scandal and ruining the wedding would have gone through all that work for nought.

“Does the thought of that frighten you?” Harwin pried again curiously.

Whatever your answer was to be, you knew he would accept it without question. So there was no reason why you could not speak the truth. “It did, at first… But not anymore.”

“No? What changed?”

“Being here with you,” you confessed proudly, and without any shame. Then, you wondered out loud, “Are you aware of how much you affect me? Do you know just how grounded and calmed I am whenever you’re near?”

The revelation that fell over your betrothed’s face indicated that he had an inkling of an idea, but did not know of the full extent that you had just described.

You concluded, “I find myself having very little to fear with you by my side, My Lord.”

Harwin beamed. “That is most fortunate, My Lady, as I do not intend to stray from it.”

Though someone, whose identity and motive were still very much unknown, had conspired against you earlier that evening, the feeling was simply grand when the tables finally turned. There was a new-found sense of camaraderie with Ser Harwin, as the two of you conspired with one another, together, instead.

“Do you love me?”

Visible confusion flooded his face. Still, he answered. “With everything I am, and hope to be, My Lady.”

You didn’t doubt that, but wondered, if it were even possible, if your love for him ran even deeper than that. You told him as much. Then, feeling emboldened, you declared slyly, “So, I dare say, if someone wishes to divide us: let them try.”

Ser Harwin chuckled, and shook his head.

Your confidence wavered at his peculiar reaction. “What is it?”

He settled down, and sat up straighter in his seat. There was something intense about Harwin’s eyes when they locked with yours, then… something enticing, if not downright seductive, lingered in his usually calming irises.

“Since our betrothal, several people have made jokes at my expense,” he disclosed to you. “It’s been harmless- mostly jests thrown out about the training yard. But they ask me, ‘What business does Ser Breakbones have with a Tyrell?’ They thought my father might arrange for me to marry someone from the Riverlands, or even the North… Not a ‘flower’, from the South, as they so impolitely put it.” Harwin’s eyes looked glossy, as if he was recalling the scenes vividly. Then, the veil lifted, and he looked at you with sudden resolve. “But they underestimate you. And they fail to see something I have known about you all along.”

“And what is that?” you wondered, genuinely curious.

“Despite your outward appearance, in your heart, you are a fighter. Just as I am.”

Your eyes threatened to shine with tears once more.

“Roses have thorns,” he proclaimed. “I pity the men who would dare to forget that… and I pray that I am never one of them.”

“If that happens, you’ll have plenty of years to make it up to me, good fortune permitting.”

“Trust me, My Love- I look forward to it.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence once again. In your mind’s eye, you pictured what you had just alluded to. Growing old together. Traveling from King’s Landing to Harrenhal, and even to the Reach, year after year. Would you have a family? That had yet to be seen. But, at the very least, you would have one another. A few years, decades, every single day for the rest of your life… With a strange sense of sadness, you realized that no amount of time with Harwin on this mortal earth would ever be enough.

“... I could still pummel the Lannister boy, if you wish. Merely say the word, and it shall be done.”

You were shocked by just how plainly your betrothed proposed such a thing. His tone was conversational, as though he had offered to pass you a dish whilst dining together. Not as though he had just threatened to bludgeon the oldest son and heir of the Lord of Casterly Rock.

“Harwin!”

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “You’re my lady wife- how could I ever forget such an atrocity that was committed against you?”

“Nothing happened, Dearest,” you reminded him patiently. It was true; the ordeal had scared you, perhaps terribly so. But physically, you were unharmed. And yet, as much as you dreaded the thought of him causing further strife between your families and the Lannisters, the thought of Harwin willing to go such lengths for you made your heart flutter. But you would not feed into it. “And, I am not yet your lady wife, as we are not yet wed.”

“That is of little import, My Love,” Harwin dismissed briskly. “For how long you have held my heart, a ceremony feels like a simple formality at most.”

You fought the urge to smile, not wanting to encourage him further. “We cannot just go breaking the bones of the Lannister boy, especially not whilst the reason behind your assault could not be truthfully explained to the Court.”

Ser Harwin's face fell, and he pursed his lips thoughtfully. He knew you made a fair point.

After a moment, you added, “And we cannot go about breaking the bones of anyone else who wrongs us, either.”

Ser Harwin eyed you cautiously. “There will be others.”

“I know.”

Your betrothed was no fool. He was more than aware of the dangerous environment in which he lived.

Harwin was the oldest son of the Hand of the King… a position that the Queen’s father had been stripped of unceremoniously. Lord Lyonel Strong was loyal to three things: his family, the realm, and King Viserys. In that order. He could not be bought with money or promises of power, but he could be swayed by the well-being of his children. You were a lady in waiting to Princess Rhaenyra… and, dare you say it, a close friend. The Tyrells and Hightowers had struggled for power and influence in the Reach since Harlen Tyrell bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. When King Viserys passed, there would be little doubt as to where the support of House Tyrell would fall in the matter of succession, unless you were to sway it.

You were likely to have enemies rising against you individually. Once the two of you were wed, it would be a certainty. They’d come in troves.

“As you said earlier- ‘let them try’,” Harwin challenged. “I shall consider our wedding tomorrow the first of many victories against the shadows that work against us.”

The reaffirmation of the event that was set to begin in just a few hours brought to mind your reservations that you had discussed with Princess Rhaenyra the day before. You wondered if your love shared in your nerves. “Are you ready for it? … For the wedding, I mean.”

“In my heart, I have been ready since the day I realized you’d stolen it from me.”

You blushed.

“... In my mind, I may be a bit worried about blundering the vows in front of the High Septon.”

You laughed once, both amused and touched by his honesty.

“What about you, My Lady? Are you prepared?”

“For the vows? I believe so.”

Ser Harwin was an observant man- you’d never fault him that. He noticed the careful way you answered his question immediately, and the way at which you suddenly refused to meet his gaze.

“Something troubles you.” It was more of a statement than a question.

You bit your bottom lip gently, the nerves rushing back to you all at once. Still, you were an honest woman, and you knew Harwin deserved nothing less. “Yes.”

Your heart wrenched when a look of sadness flushed over his face. “Are you having doubts about this marriage, Lady Y/N?”

“No.” Your hand shot across the table, intertwining with one of his own to emphasize the gravity of your words. “Not at all.”

“Then what ails you, My Love?”

You struggled for a moment how to voice your concern diplomatically. But when you felt Hawin’s fingers tracing over the palm of your hand, you were hastily reminded of whom you were speaking to. His eyes held no judgment, only care.

“I do not have any doubts about marrying you,” you repeated firmly. “But I am a bit nervous as to what comes… after.”

Harwin’s face was blank. “The feast?”

“After the feast.”

“Oh.” Realization washed over his face like the incoming waves along the shoreline of Blackwater Bay. “Oh.”

You lowered your gaze bashfully. “Yes.”

Harwin’s grip on your hand tightened, encouraging you to look at him once more. “Do I make you nervous, My Love?”

Of course he did. But not in the way he was inferring about.

“I assure you, you need not worry about what will transpire tomorrow night. Nothing will happen between us that you do not wish to.”

Frustration brewed within you at his response, but you couldn’t quite figure out why. “But we have duties.”

It was expected that you would have children, so that the Strong line would be continued.

“We are young, and there is plenty of time for that yet,” Harwin reassured you. “Whether we decide to cross that path tomorrow night, or even five years from now, is no matter of concern to me.”

“And you would be happy?” you challenged playfully, though part of you feared his answer. “You would be happy with a wife of several years with whom you would not share a bed?”

“I would be happy, truly, as long as I am with you.”

…

You were taken aback. How did this man hold so much sway over you still? You had known him well for the better part of a year, and had grown even closer than you would have thought possible over the past several months. And yet, Ser Harwin still had the ability to leave you completely shocked by his openness with you. It was refreshing to see someone, especially a man, especially a man in King’s Landing, who was entirely unafraid to be vulnerable.

Perhaps there was a strength to be found in owning one’s truths, rather than hiding or denying them. Perhaps your betrothed was one of the most intelligent of them all.

“It is getting rather late,” Harwin said purposefully, having noted your prolonged silence. “I suppose I should retire, and allow you to get some rest for tomorrow.”

“If that is your wish.”

You could tell by the look on his face that it still was not.

You rose from your seat and walked over to him slowly. Harwin remained seated, though he watched you with great interest as you approached. He allowed you to place gentle hands on the sides of his head, letting out a soft sigh as you did so. You carefully tilted it slightly towards his left.

Your eyes raked over the nasty bruises that adorned the side of his neck. It was even more shocking in appearance now than it had been a few hours prior at the feast.

You felt like a spectator, lacking control of the situation as you watched your hand lower hesitantly. Careful fingers ran over the purpled skin, and the body it belonged to shivered beneath you.

“Does it hurt?” you asked worriedly, withdrawing immediately.

Ser Harwin reached out and captured your retreating hand with his own. “No,” he assured you readily. “... Not as much as it did.”

You nodded understandingly, and when he released your hand, your fingers returned to his neck. Though this time, you were more calculated with your movements. Your eyes fell to where the bruise disappeared beneath his collar. “There are others, aren’t there?”

He eyed you guardedly, unsure about your intentions. Still, he answered, “Yes.”

You weren’t sure what came over you. You had no idea what could have possibly compelled you to ask your next question. But you did. And later, you would thank yourself ten times over for your boldness.

“Can I see?”

Harwin looked at you in slight bewilderment, as if he was not sure he had heard you correctly. “You… want to see the rest of the bruises?”

“Yes.”

Harwin said nothing, his face emotionless. But his eyes were searching, seeking to discover what your motive was with your request.

“I’m sorry,” you said abruptly, having a moment of clarity. “Please, forget I said anything. I didn't mean to overstep-”

You were silenced by Harwin silently undoing the buttons of his doublet.

Taking a step back to allow him room, you watched in an entranced daze as his fingers undid each one, working with a familiar ease. Harwin’s attention was less on his work, and more on you, as he watched for your reaction. Once the garment was undone, he slipped the overcoat off his shoulders, and placed it down on the table before him. He was left in his under tunic shirt. Your eyes couldn’t help but hungrily drift towards the neck of it, where loose strings allowed even more of his skin to be exposed. Deft hands reached for the hem of that next, and a moment later, the fabric was pulled up and over his head. He slowly placed the shirt down atop of the other, while your eyes feasted.

A broad chest, and even broader shoulders, caught your attention first. From his shoulders, your eyes moved over to his arms, where muscle after muscle twitched slightly of their own accord. There was no doubt in your mind that Harwin had earned his nickname Breakbones, and the reputation of being the strongest man in all of the Seven Kingdoms, honestly and fairly. It was only just. Your eyes brazenly continued to trail downwards, where more defined muscles guarded what otherwise would be a vulnerable spot of one’s stomach for most anyone else.

Dark purple and red splotches littering his arms, chest, and even neck could do nothing to take away from his overall appearance.

You silently thanked the Gods for having been blessed with this man.

You were gawking this time- and you wouldn’t deny it even if Harwin asked.

But he didn’t. While you had been preoccupied with the view in front of your eyes, other than that of the city, you had failed to notice Harwin shifting in his seat. At first, you feared it might have been out of pain once again. But then you realized that his eyes were restless, fluttering just about everywhere else in the room but upon you. And another moment of clarity fell upon you.

He was nervous. A man blessed by the Gods in so many ways was unnerved under your perusing eyes. You had, abashedly, sent him into a similar state before. But none of those moments compared to the state he was in now. It both honored and scared you just how much power you held over the matter, but your thoughts on that could wait for a later time.

You didn’t have the heart to leave him in such a pained state any longer. Taking a step forward towards him, you closed the distance between you again. This forced him to look upwards at you. You only hoped that what he saw in your eyes was the same love and kindness which he’d always looked at you with.

Once you stood before him, you placed your hands on his neck once more. You could feel his pulse, rapid and unyielding, beneath your fingertips. In response, Harwin’s hands rose to rest gently upon either side of your waist. Feeling courageous, and perhaps a bit delirious with the lateness of the hour, you leaned downwards.

When your lips gently fell upon the bruise upon his neck, Harwin shuddered.

You proceeded to treat each bruise in this manner, trailing light fingers and leaving soft, faint wisps of kisses in their stead. As the bruises continued down his chest and arms, you calmly maneuvered to sit on Harwin’s lap, so as to make your ministrations that much easier for you. The kisses would do nothing for healing the wounds any faster physically, but perhaps they would be of benefit in spirit.

You were entirely truthful during conversation with Princess Rhaenyra at the tourney the previous morning, regarding your nervousness about the events that were to take place after your wedding. But those butterflies were long forgotten now. And the bruises littering the skin of the man you loved filled your head with images of him throughout the tourney… How was it that you had described your feelings about him then?

Desirous.

Once you had treated every bruise with the care it deserved, you sat up straight, looking deeply into Harwin’s eyes. His hands, one on the small of your back, and the other upon your knee so as to hold you securely in place, felt white hot. You were uncertain of what to do next, but he did not leave you wondering for long. He leant forward, burying his face into the side of your neck instead.

His lips attacked your neck with fervor, and you smiled upwards towards the gods. While the attention felt absolutely lovely, a tickled laugh threatened to escape from your lips. As it were, a giggle slipped out instead. “Harwin.”

Upon hearing his name, he froze, snapped out of the moment he had gotten caught up in. He pulled away from you, looking uncertain once more. “My sincerest apologies, My Lady.”

“No apologies needed, My Lord.”

The two of you sat there for several moments, but this time, the silence was not a comfortable one. Nor was it uncomfortable. It simply felt alive. The need for more hung heavily in the air, but the question of whether the need would be appeased remained unanswered.

“Perhaps we should end the night here,” Harwin said, though he sounded down-trodden.

“Perhaps,” you agreed, your mind already daring to wonder about what would happen if anyone learned of this night, even without it proceeding any further than it already had.

“... Do you wish to continue?”

“Yes,” you answered truthfully, not skipping a beat. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

You cradled the sides of his face and allowed yourself to momentarily be lost in the feeling of your fingers running through the strands of his soft curls. “You know, we are to be wed tomorrow…”

“That is right,” he considered, picking up on your hint immediately. “We are…”

There was a beat of silence.

But then you leaned in, and Harwin met you halfway. The kiss that followed was full of longing. Passion and lust needlessly fought for dominance of a battle they both could win. Harwin shot up from his seat, pulling you up and into his arms. The legs of the chair he’d been sitting in groaned in protest at the sudden movement, and you let out a surprised yelp.

He carried you across the room with ease and without a word. Another laugh escaped you as Harwin unceremoniously dropped you onto the bed. A fraction of a moment later, he joined you on the mattress, crawling on top of you in a manner that, had it been anyone else, would have left you feeling afraid. But, as it was him, you found it to be terribly seductive.

When he came face to face with you, he paused. His weight rested on his hands, which were on each side of your head. A brief flash of the scene earlier that evening crossed your mind at the familiarity of it, but you were pulled from the disturbing thoughts by Harwin’s gentle voice.

“If, at any point, you do not wish to continue-”

You placed a soft finger on his lips, silencing him. “If that is true, I will speak it at once… but only if you agree to the same.”

Harwin looked incredibly moved. In lieu of a verbal confirmation, he took your hand and pressed several soothing kisses on the palm of it.

When Harwin pressed his lips to yours once more, the nerves you felt about the evening of the following day were proven to be unnecessary. There would be a give and take- where one felt uncertain, the other would summon the courage to take the lead. But the trust you had in one another made for the best spent evening you could ever recall thus far.

Come the morrow, you would look forward to a lifetime of evenings spent the same.

Several firm knocks echoed throughout the room.

You awoke with a start, clutching the duvet to your chest.

It was daylight. A few hours into the morning, at least, from what you could tell of the sunlight streaming into the room and the birds chirping outside. The city of King’s Landing was cloaked in darkness no more.

You pulled the duvet closer to you in an effort to gather your bearings more quickly, but something about the material on your skin felt a bit off. You looked downwards with a confused frown, seeing that you were not wearing your usual shift, but something else entirely.

A chill woke you from your slumber.

“Here.”

You opened your eyes, and were immediately met with the sight of fabric. With a small, tired grumble, you mustered the strength to sit up, at least partially.

Harwin took the opportunity to swiftly slide his under tunic shirt over you. As your arms slipped into the sleeves, the scent of the fabric filled your nostrils. Unsurprisingly, it smelled overwhelmingly like him. You wanted nothing more than to burrow yourself inside of it.

Another few knocks sounded out.

“Y/N?” someone called.

“Are you awake?” called another.

The Strong sisters. They’d come to help prepare you for the wedding ceremony, as they had previously promised they would. At first, you felt touched by their offer, and were glad to be getting along well with the girls who would soon be your Good Sisters. But now, you felt horrified. They couldn’t see you in this, clothed in their brother’s shirt!

At least Harwin had had the sense to sneak out at some point… Gods know what a scene it all would have been then.

Panicked, you threw the duvet off of you, and scurried onto the floor. You scrambled around the room, this way and that, looking for your shift frantically. When you did not immediately find it, you realized why Harwin had opted to put his own shirt over you instead.

In a far corner of the room- only the gods know how it may have feasibly gotten there- you finally found it. More knocks sounded on the door as you hurriedly swapped the shirt for the light gown.

“Just a moment!” you called back, dropping the shirt to the floor beside the bed and pushing it under the frame and out of view with your foot.

You smoothed your hair over with your fingers rapidly in an attempt to tidy any out of place hairs. But you knew, at least to a certain extent, that you did not look well-rested in the slightest.

Once you were as settled as you could be, you called out, “Come in!”

Lady Lilyan and Lady Eyla opened the door to your chambers and filed in, one after the other, promptly. They both were already dressed for the ceremony, wearing lovely gowns that had been tailored specifically for the occasion. Their hair was styled carefully as well, done up in a style similar to what they usually wore, with the exception of a few intricate braids here and there. You suspected those additions had been the results of inspiration from the Princess the three of you served.

Once the door was closed, they turned to you, and their jaws dropped.

“Lady Y/N, are you feeling well?” Eyla inquired with wide eyes. “You look like you just climbed out of bed!”

Lilyan shot her a disapproving look for her unnecessary critique. “Eyla!”

Sensing a quarrel brewing between them, you quickly insisted, “She is right- I only just rose.”

Eyla frowned. “I am sorry to hear that. Was it nerves that kept you from resting?”

You cleared your throat, having never been a particularly good liar. “Something like that.”

The three of you proceeded to work in tandem to prepare you for the ceremony. Lilyan, who had been tasked with keeping your dress for safekeeping, set the garment upon your bed, while Eyla assisted you with finding the proper various underskirts.

“You were not jesting, were you?” Lilyan asked you, eyeing the significantly disheveled sheets on your bed with disbelief. “It looks like you must have tossed and turned the whole night!”

Your eyes flicked over to the bed worriedly, but Lilyan’s reaction seemed genuine, and not suspicious in the slightest.

Another comfortable silence had fallen over the pair of you, now sated mentally, emotionally, and, most recently, physically.

Your fingers tapped idly across Harwin’s bare chest. He watched the small movements of your dancing fingers with adoration.

Once you were dressed, Eyla set about finding your brush. Lilyan worked on tightening the back laces of your dress.

A few more knocks sounded on the door.

You weren’t expecting anyone else, but still, you called out, “Come in!”

The door opened, revealing none other than Princess Rhaenyra.

“My Lady!” Eyla exclaimed, displaying shock on behalf of all three of you. She moved to curtsy, but the Princess waved her off politely as she shut the door behind herself.

“Forgive me, I didn't mean to intrude.”

“You are most welcome, as always, Your Grace,” you answered.

Princess Rhaenyra still looked a little uneasy, which was out of character for her. But she pushed through it, and crossed the room to approach you. Eyla was having a bit of difficulty locating the hairbrush, and to be honest, you couldn’t entirely recall where you’d last left it. Lilyan decided to assist her sister in finding the reclusive instrument, which left you and the Princess alone for a moment.

“I remembered how nervous you were two mornings past,” Princess Rhaenyra explained, speaking in a hushed tone so as to keep the conversation as private as possible. “And, given the events of last night, I just wanted to make sure that you were-”

She paused, and her eyes dropped to the floor. You followed suit. Your gut sank as you saw Princess Rhaenyra’s shoe had made contact with the sleeve of your betrothed’s shirt. Evidently, you hadn’t kicked it underneath the bed nearly far enough. The Princess was not daft; you knew any excuse you could craft in order to explain why Ser Harwin’s shirt was in your quarters the morning before your wedding would not be believed.

You looked back up at her with fear.

But Princess Rhaenyra was not appalled. In fact, she looked very amused.

“Are you feeling better today, Lady Y/N?” she asked pointlessly, not bothering to tame her knowing smirk.

“Dearest?”

Harwin, whose eyes had closed in content, was suddenly alert. “Hm?”

“Will you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Stay with me.”

His head tilted towards the side with confusion. “We are to be wed-”

“No,” you interrupted, wanting- no, needing- to get your point across. “I know we will be husband and wife. But even the bond of marriage does not guarantee those involved will love, or even care, for one another.”

Most others in either of your positions were not so fortunate as to have been arranged to marry someone they loved. You hoped the day where one of you no longer loved the other would never come… but if it did, there would be no separating you. And any enemies the two of you had would only revel in that fact.

“Promise me that you’ll stay with me.”

Harwin looked thoughtful. “Nothing, save your command, would ever part me from you.”

You smiled sadly. You wanted to believe him, and you did. But people changed. The thought of him finding comfort in the arms of another woman was almost too much to bear.

“You do not believe me.” It wasn’t a question.

“I believe that that is your truth at this moment.”

Harwin sighed, though it was not out of anger. “Very well… How about we make a vow? And if I break my promise, you shall have every right to dispose of me as you see fit,” he proposed. Then, as an afterthought, he joked, “I would not haunt you… even though the other spirits of Harrenhal might.”

You wanted to laugh at his joke, but you were far too interested in the point he was attempting to make. “And what is this ‘vow’ you suggest?”

“From this day-“

“It’s night, Dearest.”

“I believe that is the sun rising, My Love.”

You glanced over at the balcony. On the horizon, a faint ray of light lingered. He was right.

“From this day,” Harwin continued amusedly but with purpose, “until the end of my days, I am yours, and you are mine.”

“... Are those not the words we will exchange in a few hours time?”

“Yes, but those will be more for our families’ sake than our own.”

You teased, “I’m not sure the gods see it that way-”

“-These words, here at this moment, are for us.”

One look at his face told you all you needed to know. There were no witnesses, and yet, you had little doubt that Harwin meant the words as he said them now, to you and you alone.

“Yes,” you agreed, fighting to control your voice as emotions threatened to disrupt it. “I am yours, and you are mine. From this day-”

“-Until the end of our days.”

Harwin punctuated the end of your vows to one another with a kiss. Though you still felt the faintest trace of desire behind it, what was more striking to you was the sense of pure, uninhibited love it left you with.

“I am feeling much, much better, Your Grace.”

Lady Lilyan and Lady Eyla were none the wiser to the entire exchange.

Still smiling, the Princess cleared her throat. To the other ladies in the room, she said, “Now… How is it that you plan to style her hair?”

For how long your courtship and betrothal seemed to drag on, you wished the few hours leading up the ceremony had felt the same.

Unfortunately, in what seemed like little time at all, the carriage arrived before the Great Sept of Baelor. The Strong sisters exited first, before assisting you to do the same. Once you were out in the open air, you took a deep breath. The low chimes of the bells of the Sept filled the air.

You glanced behind you, aware of the commotion the carriage and escorting guards traveling through the narrow alleyways of King’s Landing must have caused.

Curious eyes of many of the city folk were upon you. It wasn’t every day a wedding took place in the Great Sept- much less one attended by King Viserys and the rest of the royal family.

Once you entered through the large doors, someone flocked to you immediately.

“You look beautiful, Sister.”

Derron looked dashing himself, but you could tell his overindulgence of wine the prior evening may have been dampening his mood. Still, he pushed through. He smiled at you warmly, taking you in for a moment.

“Just like mother,” he decided, lost in some distant memory. Then, suddenly upbeat, he added, “She would be so proud. Father would be too.”

The mention of your father made your heart wrench. In an effort to stave off tears, you grabbed his hand, and kissed his cheek.

The Strong sisters excused themselves, and wished you good fortune before heading further into the Sept. You watched them leave.

The rest of the guests were already waiting inside. You could see them quite well from where you stood. In one of the front rows, you could see the backs of the silvery blonde hair of the royal family, save the Queen, on one side. On the other, you could see the Lord Hand, standing right beside his other son. Lilyan and Eyla joined the two of them quickly. Besides the Strongs, you could see your aunt, cousin, and few other distant family members among the crowd…

As if he had read your mind, Derron said, “They are here with us.”

You knew exactly what he meant. “I know.”

…

The green and gold cloak over your shoulders felt incredibly heavy. Though you knew it to be no heavier than your gown, as you walked down the aisle, you gripped your brother’s arm tightly, fearful that the weight of it might bring you down to the floor.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at any of the guests as you passed. There would be time to speak with them later.

At that moment, there was only one person who mattered to you. And it was him that you looked to.

Harwin stood atop the first flight of stairs at the end of the aisle. Seeing him, standing there patiently, watching your every move so diligently made you want to do little else but to run straight to him.

Alas, you could not.

When you reached the stairs, you withdrew your arm from Derron’s, and he withdrew the cloak from around your shoulders. You gave him a small smile as he retreated, backing down from the altar to stand beside Lord Lyonel.

You grabbed the arm you knew would be waiting for you, though you did not look at it. You allowed it to guide your feet forward, up a few more stairs. Then, you stopped.

With a brief flourish of fabric, a new cloak was placed over your shoulders. The fabric was of blue, red, and green; the colors of House Strong. Fingers lingered on your shoulders for just a few moments longer than they should have- but you were certain you were the only one to have noticed. Only then did you look at Harwin once more.

The look in your betrothed’s eyes made you want to melt into the floor. And you would have right then and there, had his hand not grasped yours immediately after.

Your eyes remained locked as you raised your intertwined hands, presenting them before the High Septon and the rest of the audience.

“Who has come before the eyes of the Seven?”

“Y/N of House Tyrell.”

“Harwin of House Strong.”

“Have you come before the Seven of your own fruition, without the will or force of another upon you, with the intent of pledging yourself to the other?”

“Yes.”

“Let it be known that Y/N of House Tyrell and Harwin of House Strong are of one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder!”

Yes, you agreed happily. Cursed be they!

The mischievous look across Harwin’s face suggested that he must have had a similar thought. You bit your lip to stifle a laugh.

The High Septon either did not notice, or chose to pay it no mind. He proceeded to wrap your hands together with jeweled fabric used only for this purpose.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them together as one for eternity… Now, look upon the other, and say the words.”

When it came to the vows, Harwin needn’t have been so worried about forgetting them. He recalled them perfectly, as did you. It was an amazing feat, considering when you looked into his eyes, your mind was suddenly devoid of all other thoughts. In hindsight, and considering how little of the actual ceremony you were able to recall, it felt like a dream.

But, as you were in the moment, you were absolutely certain of the existence of three things: Harwin, you, and your shared future.

“Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger.”

“-I am hers-”

“-and he is mine-”

“-from this day-”

“-until the end of my days.”

…

Until the end of our days.

...

Whatever transpired next, whether you were to be struck by misfortune decided upon by the gods, or if you were to fall prey to wicked schemes that had not yet been devised, you and Harwin would have each other. You would face whatever came your way together, as one.

And you would both be that much stronger for it.

A/N: Thank you for reading!🖤 I only had one more part after this planned for the story originally, but now I’m thinking of at least 1-2 more chapters on top of that, just to carry out through the rest of HOTD season 1... so feel free to let me know what you think about that!

Also, I had some major problems with tagging, etc today... so I apologize about that. I’ll address it in a separate post.

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rise-my-angel · 2 months ago

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Out of curiosity, I was scrolling through the comments on a clip of when Alicent went at Rhaenyra with the knife and was shocked. To this day, people still were commenting how this showed Alicents true colours, how shes way over the line, how shes lucky Viserys didn't have her executed for going at the heir with a knife. When it's like, did we all not watch the same scene?

How Viserys only cared about Aemond's eye until Rhaenyra loudly stated that the fight happened because her sons were called bastards, and how then Viserys interrogated and yelled at both his sons to tell him where they heard the rumour, even though Aemonds eye was only just finished being sewn closed.

How he says nothing about Aemond's eye anymore and threatens everyone else to remove their tongues if they question the birth of Rhaenyras sons again. How even though Alicent already demanded the eye of Lucerys, she clearly was calming down a bit, until Rhaenyra said "Thank you, father." Then snapped?

How it was hearing the woman who gets everything, thank her father for protecting the honour everyone knows she doesn't have anymore, instead of him protecting his own son who was just mutilated and disabled for life. How that pushed her over the edge.

How she and the rest of her children in that moment realized they are not safe. How Alicent realized Otto's warning all those years ago that her sons will have to be put to the sword for Rhaenyra to take her throne was correct, and that being the Queen and being the Kings sons will not protect them. So she will. Regardless of the consequnces she takes the blade. She doesn't even run, she grabs it quickly but walks over with determination, be it Lucerys's eye or Rhaenyra for getting in her way, she refuses to be stepped on by this family anymore.

It's a reminder why she wore the green dress, these people were never on her side, not even now when her children are at stake.

Yes, demanding his eye and going at someone with a knife is violent and unreasonable, but it doesn't make her a villian and it doesn't mean she deserved to be punished for it.

When Rhaenyra says "Exhausting wasn't it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness? But now they see you as you are." Remember that RIGHT before this, Alicent is nearly in tears as she says to her, "And now you take my sons eye? And to even that you feel entitled?"

She is begging Rhaenyra not to take a victory out of her son losing an eye, but Rhaenyra confirms her fears. She will be entitled to take the eye, because she clearly is saying that Alicent deserves all of this. And everyone around her sees she deserves whats happened, when Alicent is a mother in tears because her son was mutilated.

It's plain and simple, Alicent went too far with the knife, and Rhaenyra went too far lying about her sons birth by demanding her ten year old brother be tortured for spreading that rumour. They are both in the wrong, but we should understand Alicent's motivations more.

Alicent was also in the wrong just as Rhaenyra was here, but ultimately, she was protecting her childrens lives. Rhaenyra was protecting her reputation.

We had sympathy when Cersei did bad things to protect her children, and she was a far worse person then Alicent ever was. So why does she get sympathy and Alicent does not?

I will never get over the way people wilfully misunderstand Alicent just so that they can have a villain. They're really outing the fact that they can't understand morally grey character's and need everything to always be in a childish good guys vs bad guys light. They don't even have enough empathy to try and see something from the view of a character they dislike when that's one of the most interesting parts of media analysis.

Smh.

#alicent is not perfect but making her the villian is BORING #she is complicated #shes as sympathetic as she is paranoid #and thats why shes interesting she has so many layers and motiavtions #and its all done out of love for her children its interesting

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soulmate-game · 3 years ago

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Harley’s Plea for Help: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

“How long do you think it’s gonna take before she decides to sneak out?” Nightwing asked over his comms, lazily leaning against the balcony railing in front of him with his head resting on one hand.

“Dude, I started sneaking out almost twenty minutes ago,” a girl’s voice made Nightwing squeak and turn around, to reveal a teenage girl leaning against the door that led to the balcony he was on. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by doing unnecessarily showy gymnastics down from my hotel room’s balcony, no matter how much fun that would be, so I just snuck out one of the hotel’s back exits. Then I looked up to admire the moon and saw you here, staking out what is clearly my suite, and decided to come pay you a visit.”

“How long have you been there? And how did you even get behind me? I hope you didn’t break and enter, that’s an actual lived-in apartment behind us right now,” Nightwing asked, turning around to analyze the daughter of Harley Quinn for the first time in person.

She looked just like in her pictures, of course. Jet black hair like her father’s, except it seemed to have a bluish shine in the light. And her eyes were definitely Harley’s— thank goodness for that —vibrant blue and clearly analyzing him with the same amount of intensity as his did her. He had to bite back a chuckle. In a turn of complete irony, she really did look like a Wayne kid. Fit all of Bruce’s usual criteria to be adopted. But she was tiny, even smaller than Harley’s lithe form. He, Bruce, and Tim were of the hypothesis that the exposure both her parents had to Ace Chemical’s vats of acid likely had an effect on her DNA that stunted her growth. Perhaps there were other effects that they wouldn’t be able to figure out until they got to know her better, too, though it was clear that her skin was a likely one. It wasn’t unnaturally pale like her parent’s after their acid dips but it was paler than normal for sure, just a shade or two shy of being paper white.

And he could see, now, what Harley meant when she referred to Marinette as a powerhouse. It wasn’t very noticeable in pictures, but up close Dick could see the carefully honed muscle of an acrobat curling over her otherwise slim build. Combined with the knowledge that Marinette had been taught at least some serious self defense from a young age, he could see how such a tiny package could be a remarkable threat when necessary.

Marinette grimaced as the other Batfam, who were all nearby staking out her room from different angles, dropped onto the large balcony with them.

“Uh, well. I didn’t break and enter, I rather not get off to a criminal-ly start on my first night in Gotham, you know? But I realized that even though I was able to figure out the exact room you were staking me out from, I realized as soon as I got into the first floor of the building that I had no idea how to actually get to you. So I just climbed the stairs all the way to the roof and scaled my way down to this balcony, and pretended I’ve been here for a while when really I was barely able to hear you ask when I was gonna sneak out. I’m still out of breath, actually,” she put a hand on her chest and sure enough her breathing was still slightly fast. But not enough to be worrying or even all that noticeable. Yet another piece of evidence to show that she was a very active individual and had resistance built up to physical activity.

“Yup,” Robin groused grumpily, crossing his arms. “With all that rambling, you couldn’t be anyone else’s child but Quinzel’s.”

Marinette’s face immediately flushed pink all the way to her ears. “I’m sorry! I’ve been trying so hard to quit that habit, too!” She grumbled a bit to herself, putting her face in her hands. They all chuckled at the display. Red Hood ambled over, draping his arm over her shoulders (he nearly had to bend in half to do it, the height difference was that bad).

“As adorable as your freak out is, why’d you even come up here anyway? There’s no way you’d scale down a ten-story building just to say hello.”

She let out a heavy sigh at that, slowly peeling her face out of her hands. “Yeah, I recognized you guys right away. And honestly, as much as Momma Harley would be super proud of me for managing to give an entire group of vigilantes the slip, she’d also ground me for life if she found out that I saw you guys and still snuck away even though she probably swallowed her pride and asked you guys to babysit me, right? Self preservation. Contrary to popular belief, I do actually have some.”

“Wait,” Red Robin held up a hand, brows clearly furrowed under his cowl. “You expected her to ask for our help?”

“Well,” she made a so-so motion with her hand. “I didn’t think of it beforehand, but it all clicked once I saw Nightwing. I know how much my mom is worried about me, especially since you-know-who broke out a few days ago. She is more than worried enough to ask you guys for help. Even if she does complain about you guys, a lot actually, she also has made it clear that she trusts you guys with the stuff that actually matters.

“‘You know who’?” Batman repeated, arms crossed. If Marinette squinted, she thought there might have been a grin on his lips. “Is that how you always refer to him?”

“What else am I gonna call him?” she asked, face going deadpan. “Sperm donor? Source of a large amount of my self doubt and depreciation? The prime reason I haven’t been able to see my mom in person more often over the years? Oh, I know! How about I just always refer to him as ‘that bastard I wanna punch,’? That sounds good!” she rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Only one person in this world has the right to be considered my father in any capacity, and it sure as hell isn’t him. Genetics notwithstanding.”

Red Hood straight up guffawed at that, landing several rough pats on her back that made the girl stumble a bit. “Yep, I like this one! But as fun as it would be to see you give that jackass a mean left hook, it’s better if he never finds out who you are or knows that you’re here,” the vigilante’s voice got dark and serious very quickly. “He doesn’t forget people he finds interesting easily, and if he ever finds out about the connection you have to him, he’ll be a constant threat in your life.”

“I know,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “And if this conversation was happening two years ago, I’d say that my mom’s concerns aren’t unfounded. That I am too easily emotionally compromised and despite my deep seated issues and hatred for that man, I couldn’t guarantee he would be unable to get to me.”

Batman straightened up, as did all of his sons around him. None of them had missed the ‘if’ there. Batman’s voice went from charmingly deep to it’s usual gruff grumble. “What changed in two years?”

They all watched as Marinette gulped, taking a deep breath as she stalled for time, looking out at the view on the balcony before seeming to steel herself and return her gaze to Batman’s. When she did, it was suddenly full of iron will.

“I didn’t lie when I told Mom that I came to visit her— but that isn’t the whole truth, either. If I just wanted to visit her in Gotham, I would have waited until I was eighteen like we agreed. But I can’t wait, Paris can’t keep going on like this. I entered that contest because it was the fastest way to see you. I didn’t know if I would win, but… I had to take the chance. There was no way I’d be able to get to Gotham behind my mom’s back otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?” Robin hissed, stepping up to his father’s side. “Paris has been silent. If anything were happening, we would have heard about it by now.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Marinette corrected, never losing that ironclad look in her eyes. “Because a combination of magic and politics is keeping it quiet. No news about Paris’ situation is able to leave the city limits. Magic makes any non-native who leaves Paris think that everything they experienced was just a crazy dream. Natives won’t forget, but politics has all of us under very strict NDAs if we leave city boundaries, and all of our local news and social media is blocked from being accessed by anyone outside the city. But, I figured a little breaking of the rules wouldn’t exactly put a stain on my family’s reputation or anything, so,” she dug in her pocket and pulled out a thumb drive, holding it up for all of them to see. She swallowed again, but never stopped her eye contact with Batman. She held out the thumb drive.

“I came to Gotham to ask for your help. This sped things up, I didn’t expect to see you on my first night here, but two years in Hawkmoth’s Paris has really taught me how to roll with the punches. This,” she shook the thumb drive. “Holds videos of every fight since HawkMoth first showed up. It has all the information I’ve gathered over two years, tracks his movements and lists all his targets and— everything. But I’m not a detective, I’m a designer. I make clothes, I spar on the weekends, I am not good at getting evidence to prove that someone is a magic-abusing villain holding an entire city hostage.”

“We’re gonna need some details, Little Q,” Red Hood finally removes his arm from around her shoulders, instead crossing his arms and looking down at her sternly. “If your city has a villain holding it hostage, is anyone fighting him? And if you do have someone fighting him, why don’t you need our help, or why didn’t they call the Justice League? The JLE should be in Paris, right?”

Marinette snorted, face scrunching up in obvious distaste. “I’ll have to answer those a little out of order. First; the JLE was kicked out of Paris. They moved their headquarters to Italy about five years ago, I’m just surprised they apparently kept that secret from you,” she gestured to all of them, who indeed seemed very caught off guard by that tidbit. But Marinette just sighed and continued. “Though that’s a good thing, actually. We do have heroes, it started out as just a pair but it’s grown into a small team out of necessity. They didn’t call the Justice League because the last thing we need is any powered heroes coming in and making it worse— your league doesn’t have the best reputation for letting newer heroes take the lead even on their home turf, you know,” she pointed out, which made Batman shift a bit guiltily. He knew the JL was often a bit… heavy handed in their methods.

“What makes the situation so bad that you don’t want to bring experienced heroes into it?” Red Robin cut in, sounding as if the whole situation was a puzzle he was determined to sort out. Which, really, was exactly what Marinette had been counting on. She shot him a finger gun, grinning.

“That’s exactly the point! Hawkmoth uses a magical artifact, like I said— but this artifact can brainwash anybody who experiences even the slightest negative emotion. Sadness, anger, fear— anything negative. And it gives them powers, but puts them largely under his influence,” her expression twisted again, this time into a wry little grimace. “I guess you can say that my momma’s psychiatry background has secretly come in handy a lot over these past two years. And Hawkmoth is exactly why I try to tell Momma Harley to stop visiting me— I have worked my butt off to keep her from finding out about his attacks or getting Akumatized. Every time she shows up it gives me a heart attack!”

“Akumatized?”

Marinette waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the term used for when someone is turned into a super powered villain because of HawkMoth. The brainwashing— really it’s more similar to a straight up corruption. The person usually lacks their usual moral compass, and just seeks to soothe whatever set off their negative emotion in the first place. Usually, that means they seek a bloody revenge. And if someone who already has extensive training or extremely strong powers gets Akumatized, guess what?” She made jazz hands even though her face was deadpan. “Extra powers, or amplified ones, for the metas or superheroes who are Akumatized. And imagine what someone with, say, Batman’s level of experience could do if he had powers and no moral compass,” the silence that followed her words was deafening. She just nodded, knowing she had gotten her point across. “I’ve been working my butt off to stay positive, because if I’m Akumatized…” her shoulders fell, and she had to swallow a lump in her throat. “... I have no idea what I’d turn into, but if you take into consideration both my training and my family history… it’s really best if we never find out what kind of magic-powered supervillain I’d make.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Nightwing said after another long moment of silence for that to all sink in. He gestured at her with an open palm. “You’ve been dealing with a terrorist for two years who targets emotional vulnerability, you apparently have never been corrupted by this magic at least to present day, but your mother still worries about you being very emotionally fragile. And your heroes are not detectives, which is clearly what you need or you wouldn’t have asked us for our help.”

Marinette nodded. “I used to be very impressionable. At the start of all this, I was a huge people-pleaser. I got attached to new people in a matter of minutes. My mom always said I reminded her too much of herself— but two years of fighting off a guy trying to get into my head—“

“Wait,” Batman nearly barked, taking a step forward. “He’s been targeting you? You specifically?”

Marinette nodded grimly, mouth a straight line. “Not from the beginning, but this past year it’s been painfully obvious. He might be able to sense the strength of people’s emotions, and unfortunately I don’t exactly experience my emotions very… gently. All of my emotions tend to the much more intense side of the spectrum. If that’s true, then he might know that any negative emotion I feel will make an extremely strong Akuma. Either that, or he’s going by process of elimination. All of my friends, except for one, have been Akumatized already. So has my Papan and my grandmother. But it’s obvious when he’s targeting someone, I’ve felt him try to override my will on several occasions. But I can’t just repress all of my negative emotions forever, so consider us working against the clock right now. That thumb drive has all the details you need about our heroes, how exactly Hawkmoth’s powers work, and so on.”

“Do your heroes know you’re asking for our help?” Red Robin asked, gaze burning a figurative hole through Marinette’s face. “Better yet, if this drive has as much information as you say it does, how did you get it?”

Marinette handed the drive over to Batman, who finally took it and tucked it in his belt as she answered.

“Momma Harley might have a lot to say about your detective skills, but you are all still strangers to me. So consider this a test of your abilities— I expect that you will all go to extreme lengths to verify all of the information I gave you anyway. After all, I’m still the daughter of your most hated enemy. Right?” She met each of their gazes, one by one, with a challenging one of her own. “You’ll just have to figure out my connection to the heroes on your own. And how I got the information, too. It shouldn’t be too hard for the so-called world’s greatest detectives. And maybe this can double as a trust exercise. I fully expect you guys to scour through every inch of my past, and dig up everything you can on me. I encourage you to try to find everything you can, so that hopefully you can decide to trust me on your own once you have all the details laid out in front of you. By the way, for your own sanity? I’d start with reading about all of our heroes’ powers and abilities before you watch any footage of past attacks.”

Red hood rocked back on his heels, trading glances with the other vigilantes before they all shared a nod. Apparently having decided their course of action, Red Hood leaned down and hoisted Marinette up into a princess carry. All traces of her previous iron will melted away in favor of the high pitched squeal of surprise she gave, and once more she became an overly flustered teenager.

“Alright, little cutie. Let’s get you to your mom’s place before she and her crazy plant lady fiancé come hunting us down.”

“I can walk! I can freerun on my own! Mon dieu please let me down! Eeeeek!” She squealed again as Robin slapped a domino mask over her eyes and Red Hood wasted no time jumping over the balcony railing with her still in his arms. The fact that they were lowered down by a wire wrapped around Hood’s waist didn’t seem to take away any of the fright that came with a sudden drop over an eighth-story balcony.

Part 1

@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman (didn’t work sorry)

#dc x mlb #dc x miraculous #maribat #bio!dad au #Bio!mom Harley Quinn #Bio!Dad joker #mlb x dc #ml x dc #Harley’s Plea for Help #platonic brucinette #platonic jasonette #platonic Harley Quinn x Marinette

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