#oc: millie cook

[fatecanberewritten-writer]

Card Tricks | Chapter Three: Stuck

Stars Series | Card Tricks

Trigger Warning: Suicide

The eighteenth of December always seemed colder than any other day. As a day caught between autumn and winter, the actual temperature of it was relatively mild for the season. She’s seen it cloudy, raining, snowy, and even clear, but no matter how bright the sun shined or reflected off the frost, the eighteenth of December was always dark and colder than anything. To Laine Gladden, at least.

The sun was bright and filtered as she set out that morning. With the sun just over the horizon, the town was quiet, most of it still asleep. Since leaving school, Laine began to like mornings more and more, especially in this town - she could walk around and feel like she was the only soul in her neighborhood. She was finally able to understand why her mother would wake so early to watch the sunrise.

She wore a worn pair of black jeans, a long-sleeved shirt with holes in the sleeves, faux-leather boots she’s had since she was fifteen, and a maroon pullover with a school logo no one in this town recognized anymore. The sleeves of the pullover were pulled up over her hands, only her fingertips poking out. Her right hand was empty. In her left, a bouquet of reddish-orange chrysanthemums was held loosely at her side.

She heard the chiming of the bells long before she saw the church, but by the sixth and final chime, she stood at the gate of the churchyard. Here, she paused. The small graveyard hadn’t changed much with the exception of a few new plots. The same century-aged, hardly legible headstones loomed in the front; the same plant overgrowth, dead with the season but inevitable to be reborn in the spring, crept up the walls of the church; the same moss bloomed on the short stone walls the separated the yard from the street, despite how often children would pick at it as they walked home from school. If St. Catchpole’s Church hadn’t changed, then it only made sense that she did, because the headstones and steeples that once towered over her, casting her in their shadows, now seemed miniscule. She took a deep breath, visible in the cold, and pushed open the gate.

She wove through the headstones blindly, almost habitually, until she reached the north-eastern most corner of the yard. She knelt down to the flat marker that seemed to be set apart from the rest of the graves and started at clearing away the frosty, overgrown grass that obscured it. While the rest of the churchyard was well-maintained, this back corner and the few graves that resided here always seemed to be forgotten by the groundskeepers. Laine knew why, of course.

Slowly, the engraving became visible once again. When it was clear enough, Laine laid the chrysanthemums over top of it so that they framed the words Irene Murphy, beloved wife and mother, 4 May 1955 - 18 December 1990. She mustered a small smile and sat cross-legged at the base of her mother’s grave. The first tear of the day cascaded down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away.

“Hey Mum,” she said quietly, staring at the name ‘Irene.’ Aside from the wind, her voice was the only sound in the world. “Six years already, can you believe it?” She paused, as if waiting for a response. After a silent moment, she scoffed, shaking her head as another tear fell. “I don’t know why I thought this would get easier. It’s gotten better - I’ve gotten better, I mean. Most days are alright, normal even, if you could call it that, but today,” she sucked in a painful breath, and when she closed her eyes, she could still see the tall, slender figure standing too close to the edge, “it always feels like it did that day.”

Alone in the graveyard, Laine sat with the headstone of her mother for nearly an hour. She didn’t talk much after her initial greeting, but when she did, it was fairly impersonal. She told her about the spring and its blooming wildflowers; about the summer and its bright blue skies; about the autumn and its changing leaves - but she didn’t bother with winter. Winters were cursed long before Irene Murphy stepped off that bridge.

By the time the church bell chimed at seven, Laine had finally pulled herself away from the graveyard. The shadow of grief hung over her as she walked away, but as she turned the corner out of the church’s view, her head was held high, and she was the Laine Gladden that the town could recognize again. 

She was focused, making a list of what she had to do before the shop she worked at opened at nine. It wasn’t a very long list, but she knew today well enough to know that even the simplest of things wouldn’t be simple at all. With two hours to spare, she had to shower, get ready, walk the dog, and attempt to consume something more than coffee. Laine should be heading home, but again, she knew better.

She didn’t even bother looking into the windows as she approached the pub, and sighing, she knocked on the thick wooden door. Footsteps approached like she was expected - hell, at this point, she was - and the door swung open. 

After a stiff silence, the kind-faced woman offered her a small, almost guilty smile. “Good morning,” she greeted, stepping aside to let Laine in.

“You’ve got to stop doing this, Millie.”

Millie Cook was a woman who looked like she would fit in better at a school, surrounded by young, eager children, than in a bar, surrounded by men who didn’t want to go home to their wives, but here she was. Laine had never fully understood how The Ottery came to be in her possession or why in God’s name she even wanted it. Millie was too good for the drunks in this town - the one currently asleep in the corner booth especially.

“I know,” Millie started, wringing the towel in her hands. Laine strode over to the whiskey-smelling man and shook his shoulder. He did little more than groan. “It’s just, I - ” her hand still on the man’s shoulder, Laine looked back over her own, her eyes locking with Millie’s dull blue ones - “I know what today is.”

With almost a grimace, Laine turned sharply back to the sleeping man, her hair curtaining around her pale face. “Bobby,” she barked. The man grunted again, but didn’t show any other sign of consciousness. Exhaling sharply in annoyance, Laine turned back to Millie. “Could I get a glass of water and a towel?”

The woman had been sympathetically gazing at Bobby, but at Laine’s words, she stood straight, as if she had been doing something wrong. It took her a second to process her request, but as she did, she nodded in response and scampered behind the bar. She emerged a minute later with the requested items.

She had the slightest hesitation as she handed them to Laine, having an idea of what she was going to do, but still, she didn’t protest as the girl took them from her hands. Millie grimaced, looking away as Laine emptied the contents of the cup onto Bobby’s sleeping head.

“Fucking hell!” the man screamed as he sat bolt upright, his Irish accent coming out strong despite being parted from the Emerald Isle for nearly thirty years. His wide blue eyes immediately fixed on Laine, who hadn’t even flinched. “You tryin’ to waterboard me or something?”

“Not today, Bobby, not today,” Laine drawled, her eyes tired and unfocused. She threw the hand towel at his chest. “Clean up your mess,” she ordered, pushing herself up and away from him. “Millie already let you sleep here, you’re not going to make her clean up after you, too.”

Still high-strung from his rude awakening, Bobby looked incredulously after the girl as she walked away. “Don’t you go bossing me around, Lainey, I’m the parent here!”

Halfway down the bar, Laine scoffed. “Yeah?” she spun around to face him, her lips pursed. “Then fucking act like it.”

With Bobby dumbfounded and Millie pressed against the bar like she wanted to disappear into it, Laine walked straight to the door, not bothering to look back as she slammed the door behind her. Outside The Ottery, the girl paced back and forth in the soft light of a new day. Up ahead at the main street, she could tell that the town was waking up, and as she heard the tires against the pavement, or the soft chatter of children on their way to school, or the happy panting of a dog on its morning walk, she had the sudden desire to punch something. It’s not fair, she thought to herself, it’s not fair that to everyone else it’s a regular morning while I feel like I’m drowning. She felt a shudder work its way up from deep within her chest and she stopped her pacing to attempt to calm herself down. She was audibly hyperventilating when the door to the pub opened again.

Though he had woken with a start, Bobby couldn’t deny that he actually still felt a little drunk as he soaked up the water his step-daughter had poured on him. He apologized to Millie as best he could and stumbled to the door, but when he looked out and saw tears streaming down Laine’s face, he sobered up in an instant. He rushed down the stairs and pulled her into his arms. 

All resentments out of both their minds, Laine sunk into the arms of the man who raised her, falling into a place of vulnerability very, very few got to see. “I thought it would be easier by now,” she spoke through sobs.

Bobby held her tighter, trying his best not to fall apart as well. “I know, sweetheart, I know.”

Laine closed her eyes so tightly she saw stars and said nothing. Had it been anyone else, she would have protested, fought them, pushed them away - but Bobby Murphy was the only person in the world that did know.

When they had both calmed enough to stand on their own, Bobby and Laine started home. Bobby apologized for staying out all night again, Laine apologized for losing her temper, and then they fell into an easy conversation until they had made it home. With an hour and a quarter to spare, Laine started on her short list of things to do, and however painful, she did each and every one of them. She said goodbye to her sluggish, hungover step-father, pet the head of her ever-happy golden retriever, and set out for her day.

The bell on the door of The Written Word chimed in time with the first of nine church bells and Laine pushed her way in. “Morning,” she called out. She could hear the tea kettle whistling in the back room.

“Morning Laine,” her boss, Bea, called out. “Can you open up shop? I’ve got to call about that late shipment.”

“Sure,” she answered, pulling off her gloves and shoving them into her jacket pocket. She warmed her still-cold hands with her breath before flipping the small sign in the window from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ and making her way around the shop. Though she’s only been working here for a few months, Laine knew the paper shop like the back of her hand. She wasn’t much into stationery, but her best friend had always been obsessed, and they would spend many of their afternoons in this shop well before Laine started working here. It had actually been through Lizabett that Laine had gotten this job, taking over her position when she finally decided that she did want to go to Uni.

With everything in place, Laine settled herself behind the counter, removing her coat and helping herself to a cup of tea. It wasn’t long before Bea came out from the backroom, a frustrated look on her face.

“Everything alright?” Laine asked with raised eyebrows.

“A bunch of pansies, the lot of them!” Bea exclaimed, throwing the phone angrily back onto its receiver. “They’re worried about some supposed snow storm, so they’re delaying our shipment until January!”

Laine quickly matched her frustration. “We’re not supposed to be getting heavy snow for another week, at least!”

“I know!” the short woman exclaimed, pacing. “They’re acting like they’re shipping from bloody Scotland - it’s from London. That’s a day trip at most! I could drive there myself, and - ” she stopped very suddenly, an idea dawning on her - “I could drive there myself.” 

Her wide brown eyes shot up to meet Laine’s, and Laine knew what she was going to say in an instant. “You’re going to drive up there, aren’t you.”

“I sure as hell am!” Bea exclaimed, grabbing her coat and her keys. “The holidays are when we’re at our busiest - I am not going to run out of inventory. I know you’ve only been here a few months, but would you be comfortable - ?”

“Of course,” Laine answered immediately. “Go show those suits in London who’s boss.”

“I knew there was a reason I hired you,” Bea chuckled, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. As she pulled away, she handed Laine a set of keys. “Lock up when you leave for lunch, but I should be back before closing. Call if you need anything - I can always have Murray swing by.”

Bea was in the car to London not five minutes later, leaving Laine to her own devices. 

All alone, Laine let her preformative smile fade and let her chin rest in the palm of her hand. She did her daily tasks - stocking, cleaning, inventory - but without the interaction between herself and Bea, she finished in no more than an hour and a half. She retreated back behind the counter, sitting blank-faced with her hand supporting her head again, unconsciously staring at the sympathy cards. She longed for a break in the monotony, but not a single customer came in that morning.

By lunch, she traded blank stares at pale blue cards with pink flowers and sorry for your losses for blank stares at graveyards, sitting at a cold bench across the street from the church. She thought of nothing but going in to see her mother again for her entire lunch hour, but she sat frozen as a statue on the bench, her lunch forgotten. Her face was flushed from the cold by the time the church bells chimed and she made her way back to the store.

She walked along Main street with a quickness to her stride, unsure if she was rushing to get back to the store or put distance between herself and the church. Her mind was racing, her heart beating so loudly she could feel it pumping. Unlocking the door and flipping the sign to open once again, Laine hurried back behind the counter and sat at the register, breathing deeply. She had finally realized something.

Laine Gladden was stuck. She couldn’t get off that bench, she couldn’t look away from that card, she can’t get out of this damned town. As a kid, all she could talk about was going out and seeing the world. She knew there was so much more out there, and her plan, ever since she was seven years old, was to leave as soon as she finished school. She’d been out of school for a year and a half now. Most of her classmates had left as soon as they had gotten their diplomas, escaping to university or to London or anywhere other than Ottery St Catchpole, but Laine was still here, and she was beginning to think she always would be.

Her eyes closed, all she could see was the bridge and the lone figure that stood at its edge. There had been a fog so dense that she couldn’t even see the river below, but she could see her mother so clearly. She had turned to face her, her face almost unrecognizable, and Laine had slowly realized what was happening. She said something, like a whisper lost in the fog, but Laine hadn’t heard her as she ran, trying to reach her. She stepped off into the fog just before she got to her.

Her eyes shot open as she heard the bell on the door chime, tearing her out of the memory. She didn’t know if she was grateful or not, but she was thanking God that the card displays hid her from the customer’s view. She got the briefest glimpse of red hair over top of it.

[millytheclown]

Hey guys sorry if it might take a bit!!

I’m currently planning and setting up somethings for the ask blogs and I’m writing the first chapter of the Nerdy Au fic-

I’m also working on the refs for NH, Shock and Liz!

I’ll still be uploading regular stuff but it will take a bit to set everything up and finally upload the chapter on AO3 and Wattpad ^^

[spirit-doll]

HELLO EVERYONE!!! q(≧▽≦q)

`~~~!MEET MILLIE BACKER! MY SPOOKY MONTH FAN OC!'~~~~

She lives with her older brother Roger Becker (os2 fan), but since Roger works a lot, she is very independent. She knows how to cook, clean, and other household chores. Millie likes to walk, draw and is generally very sociable. Millie's mom died of a serious illness when she was 8 years old, and dad left them after she was born.

She gets along well with adults and respects them very much.

Most of the adult characters, she communicates with Patty, Lily, Kevin and Bob. With Patty because her brother also works at the hospital and Millie often visits him. She also communicates well with hatsgang and skid and pump.

and about Bob. She met him the day he escaped from prison (I think he ran through the woods, well, idk) and Millie was walking at that moment. Millie didn't know at the time that Bob was a criminal and thought he was just lonely, so she talked. (in fact, there are a lot of things controversial about their friendship, idk what is true and what is not)

And some sketches about Millie's relationship with the characters of spooky month

I hope you like it (～￣▽￣)～

[necrokunn]

Mr. Qi headcanons + SDV headcanons in general (1/2)

Okay, I've seen people being interested with the lore and headcanons I cooked up for Mr Qi, and by people, I mean two. (You know who you are) I'll be making two parts, first is what I cooked up for Qi's backstory and the 2nd part is my whole psychoanalysis on the guy's personality (its long) But before I actually dive into Mr. Qi's backstory, I need to tell my headcanons I have of SDV in general. So for what I have for SDV is that- well its a game, but not just any ordinary game. This universe is set in a universe where I just put all my ocs in it so I dont have to organize everything in specific universes, and well- MAGIC EXISTS IN THIS UNIVERSE!!

My idea for SDV is that it works like Greed island from HxH. If you don't know what Greed island is, its a game that takes place in the real world, a console teleports you to an isolated/uncharted land and thats where the game takes place. SDV is a highly sought after game, but theres barely any copies of it, and instead of one developer, theres actually two. The first one is obv CA and he works outside of the game (but I'll make a different character so I dont disrespect the guy) and the other one is Qi, who works within. Qi isnt really known as the co-developer of the game since he prefers to be anonymous(?) so that it comes to as a surprise when players (especially exploiters) realize that he isnt an NPC. I havent really written Qi's backstory in full detail but I already have like- main key points, he's a guy who seeks something out of the ordinary, a challenge, anything that is unpredictable to him, he led a mundane life back then, but then just decided to test his limits. With what? Idk yet, like I said I havent really written it in detail.

Qi kinda looks after the valley kinda like how Razor does on Greed Island, keeps out the trespassers who got into the game via traveling and not by console, or people who find a way to exploit. So anyways, digressing from Qi's backstory rq. Every story is already written and fabricated within the game. This is when my farmer oc comes into the picture, her name is Millicent, Millie for short. Shes like every other player, except for some reason- her choices, her actions- somehow changes the game Like it slowly get it's own storyline, no longer limited to the code, kinda like becoming sentient in a way. So of course, this intrigued Qi and decided to give her challenges far different from what he usually gives to other players.

And that concludes the first part for what I have cooked up for Qi

If you have questions, ask away, I don bite and I really like to interact with yall

Also have the first ever doodles I made of him

[randomestfandoms-ocs]

Time For Tea: Introduction

Lavender Haze ( Violet Kingsleigh & Cian Hearts ) has now been merged with Long Live The Queen ( Queenie Hearts & Ace Hearts & Maria Frollo & Helena ) to create a clusterfuck political intrigue series, and several more Wonderland characters have been added to the mix

PS: huge thanks to @cecexwrites @ginevrastilinski-ocs @the-witching-ash for listening to me completely lose my mind and jump all over the place as I figured this out!

The OGs

Ace Hearts [ Curran Walters ] – Long Live The Queen; son of the Queen Of Hearts, Queenie's left hand man & chief enforcer

Cian Hearts [ Gavin Leatherwood ] – Lavender Haze; son of the Queen Of Hearts, invited to the isle because reports say that the child of the Queen of Hearts is running the Isle and they assume it must be her son

Helena [ Tegan Croft ] – Long Live The Queen; daughter of Hades & Persephone, Queenie's right hand man, and other chief enforcer

Maria Frollo [ Elle Fanning ] – Long Live The Queen; daughter of Judge Frollo, grew up locked in his tower and has only recently been freed and brought to Crims, manages Crims

Queenie Hearts [ Madison Davenport ] – Long Live The Queen; daughter of the Queen Of Hearts, unofficial Queen of the Isle, runs her crew with an iron fist and military precision

Violet Kingsleigh [ Meg Donnelly ] – Lavender Haze; daughter of Alice & The Hatter, heir to Wonderland, goes to Auradon because Wonderland suspects Auradon of poisoning the White Queen

The Wonderland Crew

Caoilinn Whittemore [ Florence Pugh ] – daughter of the White Knight & Violet’s personal guard; goes to Auradon with Violet

Arley Whitaker [ Tom Holland ] – son of the White Rabbit & Violet’s personal secretary / manager / wrangler; goes to Auradon with Violet

Chelsey Chester [ Rowan Blanchard ] – daughter of the Cheshire Cat

Tenney Earwick [ Jack Wolfe ] – son of the March Hare

Mallaidh Merrick [ Mary Mouser ] – daughter of the Dormouse

Deirdra Taggart [ Ella Hunt ] – daughter of Tweedle Dee

Deryn Taggart [ Joe Keery ] – son of Tweedle Dee

Duncan Taggart [ Joe Keery ] – son of Tweedle Dum

The Isle Crew

Neasa Kearney [ Kaia Gerber ] – daughter of the Red Queen, runs recruitment & orientation for the crew

Caitria Devlin [ Billie Lourd ] – daughter of the Duchess, crew manager

Keira Knave [ Alba Baptista ] – daughter of the Knave of Hearts, combat trainer

Killian Knave [ Freddy Carter ] – son of the Knave Of Hearts, combat trainer for the crew

Shiloh Reece [ Emilia Jones ] – daughter of the Cook, medic

Bonus – existing ocs who have been added to Time For Tea as part of Queenie's crew

Nettie Tremaine [ Peyton Elizabeth Lee ] – daughter of Anastasia Tremaine, medic

Raisa Rasputin [ Sophia Ann Caruso ] – daughter of Rasputin, barge day coordinator, collector

Rini Bing [ Jenna Ortega ] – daughter of Herman Bing / The Ringmaster, crew manager

Savina Stromboli [ Diana Silvers ] – daughter of Stromboli, collector

Winona Sykes [ Milly Alcock ] – daughter of Bill Sykes, head of inventory

( now need to decide if the existing ocs added to Time For Tea should keep their current titles or become part of Long Live The Queen )

[ratherembarrassing]

“They’re Haunting Each Other”: Emma D’Arcy And Olivia Cooke On Going Head To Head In House Of The Dragon Season 2

Emma D’Arcy and Olivia Cooke have been through a lot together. The 31-year-old Gloucestershire-raised actor, whose turn as the older iteration of House of the Dragon’s fiery heir apparent Rhaenyra Targaryen earned them a Golden Globe nod, and the 30-year-old from Oldham who came to prominence simultaneously as the HBO hit’s strategic Alicent Hightower formed a close bond over the course of filming – one which became even closer after an eight-word exchange in their “get to know me” promotional video (“Negroni. Sbagliato. With prosecco in it/Oh Stunnin’!”) promptly went viral.

Countless OpEds have been penned dissecting the internet’s obsession with this moment, but key to its deliciousness was the easy, electric chemistry between the two actors. It’s apparent from the moment they first share the screen in the second half of the fantasy epic’s first season, inheriting their parts from Milly Alcock and Emily Carey, and immediately going toe to toe in their battle for power over the realm.

As the former friends’ relationship continues to sour and an all-out civil war inches closer – precipitated by the passing of Rhaenyra’s father and Alicent’s husband, King Viserys (Paddy Considine); a swift plot which sees his son Aegon (Tom Glynn-Carney) crowned over Rhaenyra, and shocks her into having a premature stillbirth; and the sudden death of Rhaenyra’s son Lucerys (Elliot Grihault) at the hands of the new king’s brother Aemond (Ewan Mitchell) – the pair are separated. But, even then, each remains at the forefront of the other’s mind, with two decades’ worth of regrets, resentment, love, betrayals and misunderstandings binding them together forever.

That indelible, indefinable connection is evident when I meet D’Arcy and Cooke on the eve of their show’s season two premiere in London. Subtly coordinated – D’Arcy in a dark double-breasted suit and Cooke in a black strapless jumpsuit – they’re prone to fits of laughter, constantly finishing each other’s sentences and clearly delighted by their reunion.

It’s a dynamic that you wish you got to see more of in Ryan Condal’s sophomore season – one which finds Rhaenyra consumed by grief and licking her wounds in Dragonstone, searching for a resolution that won’t see Westeros reduced to ash, while in King’s Landing, Alicent, having put her son on the throne, also tries to find a way to avoid more bloodshed. Meanwhile, their children, councillors and allies all seem hungry for war – and ensure there’s no turning back.

Ahead of the first episode’s release on 17 June, D’Arcy and Cooke talk to us about missing each other on set, letting loose at the pub and the clues woven into their costumes.

Season one was such a hit. Did that mean more pressure going into season two – also because you’re in the whole thing as opposed to half of it?

Emma D’Arcy: I think stamina was a big worry going in.

Olivia Cooke: And remained a worry.

ED: The great lesson was… four episodes out of 10? [Chef’s kiss] Fantastic.

OC: Stunnin’!

ED: We’d rock up, colour in our cheeks and love in our heart, shoot for a few days, go away for a couple of weeks, go back to our lives. I was on top of my laundry. It was an amazing time. But it was very different this time [laughs]. That’s galvanising in other ways, but certainly you have no choice but to have…

OC: Burnout. [Both laugh].

Well, Rhaenyra and Alicent are both dealing with a lot this season, as all these chess pieces begin to move. What were you most interested in exploring this time around?

OC: In terms of motivations and broad themes, for Alicent, it’s sort of about diminishing power. And what does she do when she doesn’t have agency or any semblance of autonomy within the castle? And who is she if she can’t shape the realm in the background? That was really interesting.

ED: And for Rhaenyra, I think grief is a major engine in the narrative this season. That was a key area of investigation for me, because grief manifests so differently in different people. I think there’s something beautiful in the way that [writers] Ryan [Condal], Sara [Hess] and the team constructed this series, in that so many of the key characters are in quite pronounced stages of grief when we meet them at the start of the first series, and not only does grief dislocate a person from their community, but it can also make people strangers to one another – like multiple grieving people can be quite profoundly changed. So, you end up with this family of strangers who are trying to navigate one another, and navigate the extreme emotional states that are happening within them, too. So, that as the image of the fallout of losing the patriarchal head of the family and the head of state is really astute and quite thrilling.

I read that Sara was also really interested in the fact that, in George R R Martin’s Fire & Blood, on which the show is based, the focus is less on Rhaenyra and Alicent in this portion of the story – she considered how women are written out of history, and wanted to write these two women back in. Was it fun to consider what they were doing in those gaps in the narrative?

OC: It’s quite a treat for them really, to do whatever they want with the characters. And also the book is, in its own way, sort of Targaryen propaganda – it’s taken from the accounts of men who want to blame it all on the women, to say that it’s their fault that there’s this huge chasm. So, trying to find the humanity within these characters and thinking about what they were actually doing and how they actually felt towards one another was really beautiful.

ED: You’re so right as well in that maybe that’s what creates such a rich relationship between the text and the screen adaptation – the idea that there is space for historical inaccuracy, and the question it raises about what doesn’t get recorded and who’s doing the recording. It’s very exciting stuff.

I also love that, despite being separated this season, there’s still this powerful, electric connection between Rhaenyra and Alicent. Did you get to talk to each other about that relationship at this stage in the story?

OC: I feel like Rhaenyra sneezes and Alicent catches a cold, you know? [Laughs] There’s this ripple effect constantly back and forth. Rhaenyra is this phantom to Alicent at this point. She gets bigger and bigger and bigger in Alicent’s mind and she’s desperate to reconnect and have some sort of face time with Rhaenyra to commune and say sorry but also try and put a plaster over this huge chasm.

ED: They’re sort of haunting one another. There’s a lot of death in the show, but these characters are also being haunted by the living, by the missing people in their lives.

How did you two deal with that separation as actors?

OC: We barely saw each other.

ED: Just in the car park, like, “How’re you doing?” [Laughs.]

OC: It is hard – the hours are so long on set, but I think, with the subject matter that we were embroiled in for all eight episodes, you have to try and keep it light and try to find the fun within the day. I’m lucky to be surrounded by incredibly funny people and so it’s a joy to come to work, even though, from action to cut, you’re trying not to cry.

ED: I… I missed ya.

OC: [Laughs] I missed you too!

ED: Like with Game of Thrones, one of the joys of a show like this, which has such an amazing, complicated constellation of characters, is seeing what happens when different people collide. I felt very lucky to get to investigate some different relationships this season, not least because it brings out different aspects of a character. Particularly with Rhaenyra, I think she has very complicated friendships with other women – they’re never straightforward, and it was interesting to think more about that and what that brings up in her.

After season one, I remember reading that you were looking for a pub near the set in Watford where you could go after filming to debrief. Did you find one? Did you find moments to decompress?

OC: We did our best. We’d meet at the pub – we’d allocate days, because we were on such different schedules. Also, we have drivers so you don’t want them to wait around while we’re at a pub in Watford and they want to get home. So, we’d either meet in town or decide, okay, this Saturday, we’re all going out. We had a mid-season cast mixer.

ED: And those things are important because you tend to be working six day weeks and 14-, 15-hour days, and it’s really lovely to put it all back into perspective a little bit and see everyone, including the people you don’t see while working. It’s great to witness people’s joy and excitement, especially people who’ve come into the show for the first time. Getting to have some evenings – that’s important.

You both have some incredible scenes. What were your favourite moments to film this season?

ED: Well, a way of dodging that question and any spoilers [laughs], would be to say that we were very lucky to have shot in north Wales for about five weeks this season. I love it there. I want to live there.

OC: You should!

ED: I think about it a lot. In fact, recently, I had a dream that there was like an underground train to north Wales. [Laughs] It was just amazing – the weather, the people, the locations. I would have happily shot the rest of the job in north Wales.

OC: And for me, I got to leave the castle and go to Spain.

ED: Which you did ask for, in fairness.

OC: If you don’t ask, you don’t get. They wrote it in and I hope it works for the plot [laughs]. I was in Spain for two weeks and that was nice.

ED: Alicent’s holiday journal.

OC: My vlog! [Mimics speaking into a phone camera] Here we are in Cáceres… That medieval town is stunning. For that to be your set every day – I felt incredibly grateful.

I’d love to ask you about your costumes, too, because I feel like there are subtle differences in them this season – especially as Rhaenyra grieves and gears up for war, and as Alicent experiences a different kind of freedom following her husband’s death.

OC: We might move away from green [laughs]. Maybe she goes to different shades of it? There’s an evolution in the way Alicent looks. We find out in episode nine of season one that one of her handmaidens has been spying on her, so that sort of devolves into her shunning her household staff and wanting to be alone more, because she’s paranoid. So, the hair is really pared back this season, as if she does it herself. I mean, I don’t do it myself – it’s too hard. The cut of her dresses too – it feels younger, in a way, like she’s shedding this role of an authority figure.

ED: Because she was aged up, in a way, by marrying Viserys. [The costume designer] Caroline [McCall] has done an extraordinary job. For Rhaenyra, there’s something quite beautiful about the way her costuming this season feels more traditional, in some ways. It’s as though it’s looking to historic shapes, almost like she’s wearing the clothes of the previous generation. In the context of having just lost her father, I find that very moving. It’s like she’s aligning herself with him, but also it’s a sort of coupling with the past. She spends a lot of time looking at the history of her family this season, as though she’s looking for a clue to her own future. She’s aligned with the old Targaryen gods. There’s almost a desire for small “c” conservatism in this conjuring of the dead.

And she’s discovering what kind of leader she is. I was really struck by the scenes where both of your characters are undermined at council tables by the men around them. While these two women are urging caution, everyone else seems ready for war.

OC: Yeah, it was being surrounded by these men who are so eager to have their names in the annals of history, regardless of the cost to the kingdom. It’s actually really hard on the day shooting those scenes where you feel so undermined and you’re being spoken over and you feel like… I also feel meek and bound and small. You feel this rush of emotion despite yourself, trying in vain to speak to this group of very hormonal, jacked up men.

ED: And for Rhaenyra this season, not only is her leadership, battle strategy and political campaign being judged harshly from without, it’s also being ripped to shreds by her supposed allies and councilmen. I agree with you that those scenes are hard to shoot – I find them so tiring. The text is great and, often, we are not given the words to meet that criticism in the way that one would like to. So, you are literally de-voiced in a room of men. And it’s interesting, right? Those male characters are comfortable with power in a way that certainly Rhaenyra and also possibly Alicent are not. There’s a rub in terms of being a character who has to actively put on the cloak of power and try to wear it and try to wield it in some way. Those men wear it without noticing.

I wanted to end by asking you about Bluets, Emma, which you’re currently performing on stage at The Royal Court. What’s that been like? And Olivia, have you been to see it yet?

ED: It’s been great. It’s a very technical show – we were basically in tech for five, six weeks. But, it’s been lovely. We’ve been open for about a month now. [Bluets’s director] Katie Mitchell, who is a big hero of mine, came back to see the show recently and it feels like… you know when leather wears in nicely? It feels nicely worn in. It’s a really extraordinary collision of artists, so I could never have said no to it. Plus, it’s my favourite colour.

OC: And I haven’t seen it yet, but I need to go soon!

[animasolaoriginal]

(4) I n n o c e n c e L o s t

He finds her in a brothel of all places. A chance encounter, but one that will change his life – and hers – forever. – or: A story about a cowboy who falls in love with a prostitute, who happens to be so much more than that.

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

Chapter 1▫️2▫️3▫️4▫️5▫️6▫️7▫️8▫️9▫️10▫️11▫️12▫️13 ...

Chapter 4: The Truth

m!OC x f!OC -- WORDS: 5.4k -- READ ON AO3

when a girl learns more than she can handle

Chapter 3 -- Chapter 5

Additional warning: there's sexual assault ⚠️ in this chapter, just a small scene, but I'll tag it nonetheless. Nothing too graphic, but the implication is there! Read at your own risk!

4

There are eleven people in this camp, Nebbia included, but there are more than a dozen horses, and she's only managed to take care of half of them before Ben beckons her into the shade near the tree line, close to where Thunder grazes, and presents her with food.

And only then does she notice that she's starving. She takes the steaming bowl with shaking fingers, not caring how dirty they are. Horses can be surprisingly dusty, and she can only imagine them running through sand storms or muddy terrain.

The mountain of a man sits on the ground, leaning against a log, his long legs stretched in front of him, one knee angled, his own bowl in one large hand while he pushes the soup's contents around with a spoon in the other. She settles next to him, bringing the stew to her nose and inhaling deeply. Vegetables, some sort of meat, a hearty broth, all so savory and delicious smelling, she feels her mouth watering just staring at it.

“So Ginny is the cook?” she asks with a side-glance. “And Milly the washer, the Stacys work in the supply tent, you are the horse guy,” she keeps listing. “Mitch runs the place and Steve... helps him? What do the three other men do?”

He watches her with an amused glint in his dark eyes. “They mostly sit around and drink,” he says with a deep chuckle. “They're more useful on... well, for other things, outside the camp.”

Nebbia stares at him, so many questions burning under her nails. But for now she focuses on the food, bringing the bowl to her lips and taking a cautious sip. Humming softly, she closes her eyes as the warm liquid runs down her throat.

“Also we do switch our chores, you know?” he adds while she enjoys her food. “I cook sometimes, or provide the meat. And I can stack boxes, too.”

She looks at him as she lowers the bowl and smirks at him. “Have you ever washed clothes over a washing board?” she teases lightly. “Or in the creek?”

“Milly never let me,” he replies with a wink. “And I do not want to mess with that woman!”

A laugh spills from her lips before she rolls her eyes. “Sure, Ben,” she says, holding his amused gaze. “You're afraid of a tiny little lady?”

“Those are the worst,” he chuckles, gently poking her with his elbow. “Right, short stuff?”

She shoots him a dark glare, but can't keep the smile down. It feels so easy to joke with him. “Oh, right you are, mister mountain! We're ankle-biters, after all!”

He nudges her again, giving her another wink before he goes back to eating his soup. She keeps looking at him as she does the same. They eat in comfortable silence, surrounded by the buzzing of insects, the neighing and snorting of the horses, and the bird song in the trees behind them. It's so peaceful, and she still wonders what the catch is.

How did she go from worrying about doing her job right and not dying doing it, to casually sitting on a meadow with this large man who is still technically a stranger to her – and despite it all, it feels right. Feels good. And she realizes she has missed being so... carefree. She hasn't been carefree since the day the Madam has told her she had to start serving men now.

Without training, without proper warning. That first night, with her first cock in her throat, she has wanted to die, to never do this again, because it had hurt so bad and was awful and dirty, and she has been so ashamed of it, disgusted by it. So much so she has scrubbed her tongue afterwards until it has bled.

And even though she has endured it, it never got easier, she always cared about it, about trying to make it better for herself, about doing a good job, about holding it together until the customer was gone. Then she would worry about the next one, and the next... An endless cycle of worries, and she only learned to hide her true feelings better, to pretend she didn't care.

But now she is here, worry-free, for now at least, sitting in the shade, eating a hearty meal, next to a nice man for once. And it all feels too good to be true...

“Penny for your thoughts?” Ben whispers beside her, leaning towards her. She flinches and almost drops the bowl.

“Uh, nothing,” she replies, giving him a weak smile, trying to focus on the stew in her hands.

“Really?” His voice is a low hum in the air.

She takes a deep breath. “What's the catch?” she then blurts out, putting the bowl to the ground next to her as she turns to him, eyes wide, eyebrows raised in worry.

“The catch?” he asks, deep lines on his forehead.

“This is all... well, it feels so different, so nice, so easy. And life isn't supposed to be that easy, is it?” She fidgets with the hitched-up part of her skirt, pulling her knees to her body and hiding them under the wide material.

“You sound awfully bitter for an eighteen-year-old,” he muses, scooting a little closer to her until she feels the warmth of his hip against hers. “But you're right, life isn't as easy as we sometimes wish it would be. But it's easier here, I promise. You're not alone, you're not forced to do things you don't want to do,” he adds, tilting his head to her as she cautiously turns hers towards him, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes are gentle, warm, inviting, she can't look away. “You can ask for help here. You can say no...”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, contemplating his words, still fixated on him, and the elephant in the room. “What do you do, Ben? Outside the camp?” she then whispers, watching him frown slightly, before he looks away with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Trying to make a living,” he then says quietly, his eyes wandering over the camp and the house in the distance, while hers wander over his body, the gun on his belt, the cowboy boots, the muscles in his exposed forearms. “With any means necessary,” he adds, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

She stares at him, torn between wanting to feel scared of the image that pops up in her head (Ben holding a gun to another man's head, his face hidden behind a bandana, his other hand closed around a sack of money or other loot) and wanting to justify his actions, wanting to see reason, to understand it. Making a living... by taking it from another? She remembers the supply tent, how well stocked it was, his room full of little boxes and trinkets, how much money he's spent on her last night.

“So, I was right?” she then whispers, licking her lips as she looks him over. “You are the type I would encounter on a Wanted poster?”

He looks at her, his face unreadable, eyes hard and slightly darker, his jaw clenched. Without saying anything, he tilts his body to the side and puts his hand into his back pocket, fishing out a folded piece of paper – that he hands to her.

She frowns, takes the paper and slowly unfolds it. The page is weathered, yellowish, crinkled. Its edges are sharp and rough as if it's been looked at a lot. And there it is, Ben's face, pencil drawn. He looks a little younger there, his hair a bit thicker, the beard less full, the shape of his jaw more defined. The eyes are the same, hard and deep, only with less lines around them.

There are words over and under it, but she can't read them, yet she assumes this is a Wanted poster, maybe it says Dead or Alive, listing his crimes in dark font she can't make out. She traces a finger over the picture of his face, trying to process what this means. He's an outlaw. A criminal. Wanted by the law. What did he do?

“I have another one,” he says quietly, watching her closely. “It's even older than that, about twenty years old.” She looks up at him, raising her eyebrows. Wordlessly he fingers another folded piece of paper out of the chest pocket of his shirt and holds it between his index and middle finger, asking her to take it. “It might surprise you...”

She doesn't know what to expect, but she takes it, unfolds it, looking between him and the even more yellowish paper, even more used than the other one that lies on her knees, Ben's drawn face looking up at her while the real one has his eyes fixed on her hands.

Inhaling deeply, she flattens the paper, more words on the top and the bottom, but this time there are two pictures on it. One of Ben, looking even younger, with just the shadow of a beard, nothing more than stubble, hollow cheeks and a straight nose, his face hard and his eyes even harder. And next to him, in the other picture, she sees...

Herself.

Her eyebrows furrow. It's a girl, with long wavy hair in a side braid (just like she has now), draped over one shoulder, a round face with a pointy chin and high cheekbones and a small nose, beautifully arched eyebrows and full lips, and eyes that pierce her soul. Even in the sepia tone of the aged paper and the fading black print, they are lighter, almost shimmering in the way they're drawn. Her eyes.

She looks up at Ben in slight surprise. “Is that...”

“Your mother,” he says softly, gently taking the paper from her shaking hands, now tracing his rough fingertip over the edges of the girl's face on it.

Nebbia doesn't know what to think. Seeing her mother on a Wanted poster does nothing to her. Somehow it fits the image she has of her, an outlaw would also abandon her child in a brothel, right? Something hot twists inside her stomach, something bitter at the edge of her throat.

“We were... a good team,” Ben continues with a smile, oblivious to her lack of reaction, as he stares at the drawn face in front of him. “They never got us, not for long anyways.”

“What did you do?” she whispers barely audible, leaning slightly closer to him as if the horses could listen in to their conversation. As if the camp surrounding them didn't already know what they were discussing. The camp of outlaws.

Ben looks up at her, quiet for a moment as his eyes wander over her face, the same face as on the paper in his large hands that he slowly, carefully, lovingly, folds up again without looking at it. “Taking from the rich. Sharing with the poor.”

He makes it sound so... poetic. “You've been robbers. Thieves,” she says, not even putting it as a question. “You're outlaws, wanted by the law...”

There's a twinkle in his brown eyes, before his lips tilt into a smirk. “Yes,” he replies quietly, holding her gaze. “Does that scare you?”

It should.

But then she thinks back to her initial thoughts about the man sitting next to her. Good guys, bad guys, does it even matter? In a world where a sheriff can treat her like the whore she's been, leaving her bloody and bruised, while an outlaw like Ben has treated her with so much respect she almost wishes he'd be a little rougher with her. Does it make sense? Probably not. Does it matter? Not really.

“No,” she says, as steady as she can manage. “You've not given me any reason to be scared.” Yet.

His smile is dazzling, his lips curl up over straight teeth, one very visible dimple on his bearded cheek, the lines around his eyes deepening. “And you don't have to worry about anything, sweetheart. No one's gonna harm you, me included.”

The corners of her mouth twitch, and she can't help it, she smiles back, her cheeks warming up, before she slowly lowers her eyes back to the poster on her knees, Ben's stoic face looking up at her. “What... what does it say?” she asks after a moment of silence, her finger tracing the letters she cannot understand.

He watches her, his smile fading. His hot breath hits her cheek as he exhales loudly while leaning over her, his arm draping around her shoulder before he takes her hand into his gently, guiding her finger to the top text. “This says WANTED,” he whispers, and she shivers as she feels the roughness of his beard against her cheek, while he moves her finger along the edges of the large letters. “That's my name,” he continues, showing her the line of letters beneath the title.

She holds her breath, the warmth of his touch making her feel dizzy. Her eyes wander from how his big hand holds her smaller one to his drawn picture. He moves their joined hands lower, to the lines below his face. “That's the reward.”

“How much is it?” she breathes, not daring to move much.

He huffs a laugh, his jaw moving against her cheek. He's so close, his touch gentle, his body leaned over her as he holds her hand, embracing her comfortably. “$1000.”

“Is that a lot?”

“Yes, quite the sum,” he replies, almost sounding proud. There's smaller lines of text below that, and he slowly drags her finger over each word as he lists them. “These are my... felonies,” he says quietly. “Stage coach robbery, train robbery, bank robbery, horse theft, trespassing, property destruction.” He pauses, her finger pressed to the last word. She can make out six letters.

She waits, breathing shallowly against him. “What's the last word?”

He inhales deeply, slowly letting go of her hand and leaning back, retrieving his arm. She watches him as he takes the paper from her, folds it back together, then slips it into his back pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. It still chills her to the bone when he stands up, looks down at her with dark eyes and replies: “Murder.”

A little gasp escapes her. Her eyes wander over his hands, those large hands, long fingers, with veins and tendons moving under tanned skin, the calloused feel of them, full of scars and scratches. And she hears the crack of a nose as he's slammed the same hand, a brutal fist, into the other man's face. Because he's called her a whore.

She doesn't know how she feels about it. He's a strong man, she's seen his muscles, felt his strength, witnessed his brutality, violence, but when she looks into his warm eyes, she cannot picture him murdering someone. Her mind still gives her possible images.

Bullets flying through the air in quiet hisses, wood splintering, meaty thuds when they hit their target, shouts, yells, cries of pain. Blood seeping into the dirt.

Her eyes move to the pistol peeking out of the holster on his hips.

The barrel of a gun pressed to someone's temple, a strong hand holding them in place. Whispered threats, wide eyes of the victim, and then a finger on the trigger, bending, pressing down. Muffled cries, the echo of a gunshot, then sudden silence. Blood everywhere.

She swallows hard and looks down, hugging her arms around her knees. A shadow looms over her, and she lets out a little shriek when Ben crouches down in front of her, his large hands on her knees, his eyes boring into hers.

“Don't be afraid of me,” he whispers, eyebrows furrowed. “And don't trust these words. There's always more to a story than a simple word...”

Tell me then, she thinks, her lips trembling, unable to get the thought out.

“I'll tell you another time,” he says softly, as if reading her mind, one hand moving up to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping over the corner of her mouth. She holds her breath, her heart thundering inside her chest. “Okay?” His question hangs in the air.

Are you okay with not asking any more questions for now?

She nods into his hand, and he smiles slightly, then leans up and presses his dry lips to her forehead before he straightens and holds out his hand to her. She looks up, confused, flustered, not sure how to act, but she grabs his hand and lets him pull her to her feet. He holds it for a moment longer, watching her closely.

“Alright,” he then says, letting go of her, rolling his shoulders. “Let's get back to work, hm?”

The sun is setting behind the house, tinting the whole camp in an orange hue. The horses have been fed and brushed, some of them have braids in their manes and tails now, and she looks back at the fifteen horses and recites their names in her head. She's always been good with names somehow.

On the other side of the meadow she sees Ben carrying a sack of feed towards the troughs. She gives the little chestnut girl named Foxie, who snorts and bows her head as she smiles at her, a last pet, a last praise (“Good girl, Foxie.”), and then makes her way to the tall man who dumps the sack with a low groan to the ground.

“Looking good,” he growls in his deep voice, rolling his shoulder as he takes a look around the meadow and the happy horses. “Not sure Bill will appreciate what you did to his Libby, though,” he adds with a smirk, and she looks back to the tall mouse gray mare whose black mane is decorated with little wild flowers and braids.

She huffs a little snicker, blushing slightly. “Might make his ride to the brothel more pleasant,” she says under her breath, and Ben looks at her and barks a loud laugh, his large hand coming up to pat her back playfully, causing her to stumble slightly.

“Good one,” he croaks out, shaking his head, his hand still resting on her back. “You're a feisty one, eh, Miss Nebbia?” he jokes with a wink.

Her cheeks burn up even more as she looks away, feeling the warmth of his touch through the thin fabric of her blouse.

“You'll fit right in here with us,” he says softly and leans slightly over her, his hand sliding down to her lower back.

She turns her head to him, giving him a timid smile. His brown eyes glow in the light of the setting sun, causing her to stare at them longer than is necessary. Appropriate. He nudges her side with his fingers and smirks at her, then lets go and walks past her.

“Come on now, I think you deserve a wash,” he tells her.

Her heart skips a beat as she thinks back to last night, sharing a bath with him. Even if it has been rather innocent, with both of them on either side of the tub and only the occasional touches (You had your foot on his cock, she remembers with a little gasp, is that considered innocent?), it hasn't left her mind, and the want is still there. The want for more.

Nebbia follows him back to the house, but instead of entering it, he takes a turn to the left and rounds the corner. She can see the sheets and clothes billowing in the soft evening breeze near the creek, a little behind the house, and Milly walking between them checking if they're dry already. What she hasn't noticed before is another area further to the left, fenced off with tarps, nestled between two large pines.

Ben stops in front of it, watching her closely. Once she approaches him, standing small before him, looking up with a curious furrow in her brows, he gives her a smirk and raises one corner of the tarp, showing her what's behind them. She frowns further. It's not what she has expected.

It is like somebody took a wooden barrel, sawed it in half and presented the new pieces as tiny bath tubs. She might fit into it if she squatted, but she couldn't see Ben fitting anywhere near those tubs, unless he'd use it as a foot bath. Her disappointment must have been visible on her face.

He laughs softly and leans closer. “Sorry, darling, looks like you gotta do that on your own this time.” Her head snaps to him, her lips parted. It's almost creepy how easily he can read her.

His large hand closes around her smaller one as he pulls her past the tarps, letting them fall behind them. The area is small, only the barrel tubs and a small fire-pit between them with a large pot full of water on it. It smells like soap and flowers.

“Looks like Milly has it all ready for you,” he says softly, testing the water with his pinky, raising his eyebrows in confirmation, nodding to himself. “Just get in the tub and use the ladle here,” he points to a large wooden ladle hanging from the pot, “to pour water over yourself to wash. Leave it in the tub when you're done. You think you can do that?” he asks with a teasing smirk.

She stares at him, then at the set-up around her, ignoring the tease in his voice. Her eyes wander to the second bath tub. “Will you... join me?” she whispers quietly, stupidly hopeful.

He scoffs a laugh, his hand on her shoulder. “No, this is for the ladies only. Us filthy men will wash in the creek. Milly's made that very clear.” She looks at him, smiling tightly, trying to hide the pout threatening to take over. He seems to notice the struggle and squeezes his fingers into her collarbone gently. “Have fun, sweetheart.”

With that he leaves her standing there, beside the steaming pot of water and the strange little bath tubs. The tarp flaps down again after he's gone. An unsteady breath escapes her. She feels strangely empty without him, alone, cold despite the fire burning beneath the pot. Somehow she's gotten used and accustomed to his large presence, and without it, she can barely breathe.

And it hasn't even been twenty-four hours.

She's spent the entire day with him, or in his close proximity, and last night has been... so intimate, even though nothing has happened (sexually), but he has been there, treating her right, being nice, giving her hope. And he took her with him, allowing her a chance, letting her sleep in his bed, inviting her to meet his people, fighting for her honor, giving her something to do, making her feel like part of something.

But she isn't part of anything if he's not here. It's a strange revelation, and she wonders how she's become so dependent on him, on anyone, when all her life she's been alone, despite being surrounded by so many people. The girls at the brothel haven't been friends, nor family, Madam Claire was not like a mother, more like a... mistress, not giving praise, but demands. Mary has been the only one who's looked out for her, at least a little over the last two years, checking in occasionally, and Nebbia realizes with a heavy heart that she may never see her again.

She wonders what she's doing right now, but then she knows what she's doing, or going to do this night. The same as every night.

It feels unreal to be away from there. Inhaling deeply, the warmth of soapy, flowery steam filling her lungs, she starts undressing, layer after layer, thinking about what she would be doing if she were back at the house.

Preparing for the night, making herself look presentable (knowing it wouldn't matter after the first client who will leave her covered in cum and saliva, her hair messed up from being gripped so hard, her rouge and lipstick smeared from being handled so roughly), and she'd wait, kneeling in front of the armchair by the fire, listening for those footsteps, waiting, waiting for the door to open, for the next customer to walk in.

And she can't even imagine how she would wait lying on the bed, waiting to be claimed, trying to fulfill her new role as a real lady of the night now that she's of age and ready, or expected to be ready. Luckily she may never find out what it will be like to have a random stranger take her however he wants, doing absolutely anything with her just because he's left some dollars in the greedy hands of Madam Claire.

She's been so lucky that the first man to barge through her door on the night of her initiation has been Ben.

Exhaling deeply, she feels a shiver rushing down her spine as she thinks of him, the mountain of a man, so much bigger, taller than her, the gentle giant, his large hands holding her safely, everything about him gives her peace, calms her down, except for the little throb between her legs and the rapid beat of her heart whenever he's close to her.

With her mind occupied with his brown eyes, his handsome face, the sound of his beard scraping over her skin, the strong twitch of the muscles in his arms, she steps into one of the wooden tubs, kneeling down in it, and starts pouring warm water over her stiff neck and shoulders, calming under the warmth and smell of it.

She doesn't notice the flap of the tarp being pushed back until it is too late.

⚠️ A large hand presses to her mouth, and she gasps against it, eyes wide as she stares up at the intruder. It is not Ben. Her heart beats so hard it hurts in her chest, panic gripping at every single nerve and muscle. She flails, struggles, writhes in the strong hold, tries to kick and get away, but the tall man (what's his name, one of those three?, she can't remember) grips her, lifting her up effortlessly, dragging her out of the tub.

Her feet scrape over the ground as she sinks her nails into his wrist, blinking rapidly, trying to see who the attacker is, she's usually so good with names, but she can't remember, can't think. Screaming into the hand on her mouth, she keeps kicking, until she gets kicked in the stomach. All air leaves her, all fight gone as she convulses in pain, stars dancing behind her eyelids.

She's thrown into the dirt, chin hitting the hard earth, causing her to groan, not immediately noticing that the hand is gone. A heavy boot presses between her shoulder blades, pushing her flat on her stomach, before a big hand grabs her wrists to hold them behind her back, the grip brutal, unyielding. She can't move, only kick her legs helplessly before she feels a knee pushing them apart.

Panicked wails escape her, and another hand grips her hair, twists it, almost rips it while the braid comes undone, presses her cheek into the ground, keeping her still, but only for a bit, as her attacker realizes he might need a hand to do what he wants to do. She's not stupid, she knows, she feels her hips being lifted, ass up, her knees pressed into the soil beneath her, hands held behind her back, a body pushing between her thighs, something hot and heavy slapping against her sex.

Whimpers, silent cries, hot tears streaming down her face. Not like this, she thinks. Please... not like this... “B-Ben...” she gasps, trying to think of him, imagining how he would take her for the first time. Definitely not like this, pushed into the dirt, held in an iron grip, exposed and helpless. A body to use, and nothing more. He'd treat her right... “Ben...”

“Shut up,” a low hiss comes to her ear, a rough voice, she has no idea who it belongs to, and then suddenly, a sharp pain on her butt cheek as a hand like a branding iron snaps against her soft flesh. She screams into the dirt, squirming helplessly. A grunt fills the steamy air, it's gotten darker around her, not just because she can barely breathe in her position, with the pain of the slap throbbing through her body, but the sun is gone. It's dark and hopeless. Something hard pokes at her entrance.

“Ben!” she cries out through a curtain of tears, with the last bit of strength, courage, she can muster. The person behind her pauses, curses, and suddenly she's being pushed further into the ground, dirt scraping over her bare breasts, then hurried, receding footsteps, the tarp flaps, cold air brushes over her raised ass.

She falls to her side, still in that awkward position, massaging her hurting wrists behind her back, breathless, unable to do anything else. /⚠️

And suddenly he's there, his large hands picking her up carefully, lifting her onto strong arms, pressing her to his warm chest. “What happened?” she hears his deep voice. “Who did this?”

She blinks, feels him scraping dirt off her cheek, wiping at her tears. Her arms wrap around his neck as she holds onto him. “I-I don't kn-know...” she stammers, shivers. He inhales deeply, a rumble through his chest.

He sets her down for a moment, on trembling legs, it's cold, but her skin burns. Wrapping a blanket around her, covering her up, he picks her up again, cradling her in his arms as he carries her out of the bathing area, towards the house. “Are you hurt?” he whispers, his voice strained, as if he's holding back his anger.

A fist in another man's face. She flinches at the memory.

“N-no,” she breathes, leaning against him, cocooned in the blanket, unable to touch him. “They left before –” they could soil my innocence, she thinks in both terror and relief.

Her eyes wander up to him. Even in the dark she can see the muscle moving beneath his skin as he clenches his jaw tightly. He brings her to his room, not saying anything, sets her down on his bed, covers her in even more blankets. She tries to free her hands, and when she manages to slip one out of her cocoon, she grabs his wrist, holding him back, looking up in desperation. “Don't leave,” she murmurs under her breath.

He stares at her, his face hard, like the one on his Wanted posters. Murder. The word echoes in her head, and she can see this man looming over her doing just that. But she isn't afraid of him, she's... glad. In a twisted sort of way. Knowing what he is capable of. The strength in his arms, his body.

But when he closes his long fingers around her hand and sits down on the edge of the bed, she's relieved he doesn't follow the urge to repeat the crime she has yet to learn more about.

Struggling out of her blankets, she breaks free and throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, presses into him, desperate to feel his warmth, his strong hands on her, comfort, ease, reprieve. He slowly curls his arms around her, one hand holding onto her waist, the other cups around her shoulder, as he embraces her tightly, leaving no room for sorrows.

A tiny voice in her mind complains already. Nothing happened. Stop whining about this. You're fine.

But she doesn't feel fine, because something did happen. She was attacked, inside the camp that was supposed to be her new home. In the rare moments where she was alone, without Ben. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since she left the safety of the house to live in the real world...

A new wave of hot tears spills from her lashes, soaking into the collar of his shirt, her tiny sobs swallowed by how she presses her face into his neck. She feels him inhaling deeply, his grip on her tightening, trying to squeeze every bad thing out of her.

“Shh, it's okay,” he hums against her, his rough chin pressed to the top of her head. His voice and words sink into her cold skin, heating her up from within. “I've got you, baby girl.”

Chapter 3 -- Chapter 5

END NOTES: Oh the trauma (and all of it just so I could make Ben call her baby girl)!

I gotta say, I love me some dependency and hurt/comfort, even though I'm sorry for what I make happen to poor Nebbia. But it's needed to have these lovely bear hugs...

By the way, I was debating back and forth about the reward sum (again something that comes up once and doesn't matter but I still fixate on it every fucking time): When I played RDR2, all those bounties only ever gave $100 tops, and when looking at the Wanted posters of Dutch and Co. they had much larger sums, but they've been at it a long time, and ooh the stuff they did. But Ben? I didn't want him to be as cold-blooded as the people in the game, but still a criminal worth something, so in the end I settled on $1000. Might make sense, might not, does it matter? Not really. Just sharing my thought process here again, forgive me.

Anyway, back to the growing relationship between Ben and Nebbia. The plot is finally thickening and more things will happen! Stay tuned!

Picture credits to their respective owners. I don't own anything. I gathered these from all around the Internet. If you see your picture and would like to have it removed, please tell me!

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Friday!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

[grayintogreen]

9 FANDOM PEEPS TO GET TO KNOW BETTER

Tagged by @rubixpsyche

3 Ships You Like: Creecien (Critical Role), UraYoru (Bleach), uh… Rocketshipping (Pokémon) listen I have a lot of ships that I feel some way about. I was trying to capture a range here of dynamics across various fandoms and somehow came up with the almost the same ship three times. I just WOKE UP.

3 (Hazbin/Helluva) Ships You Like: oh lord. Idk. Obviously Huskerdust. Moxxie/Millie. Whatever Alastor and Lucifer have going on but constantly on the edge of fucking without actually fucking. I will ship nearly anything in this fandom if the artist/writer can sell it to me.

First Ship Ever: I think it was Ash/Misty, honestly. As opposed to Character I Liked/OC I made up to ship with them, which was definitely happening more often.

Last Song You Heard: Ready For This from Hazbin Hotel. It was on my general hits playlist when my dog woke me up for walkies so I guess he got pumped.

Favourite Childhood Book: GOD. I think it was Lassie Come Home. I went through an autistic period where I only read books with animals in them because I guess I didn’t relate to humans enough.

Currently Reading: Into the Drowning Deep by Mira Grant, which is a reread. It has the vibes I need for OWDLIF. And also I just love it.

Currently watching: I’m rewatching Helluva Boss right now but mostly I’m between shows that aren’t presently airing (Critical Role and Dimension 20) because of the brainrot.

Currently Consuming: Doritos-flavored popcorn but I’m microwaving Salisbury steak for lunch (doesn’t cook).

Currently Craving: You know the breading chips that slough off in the deep fryer at Captain D’s that are always at the bottom of your meal? Those things. Bad. Don’t fucking ask. I blame the moonshine I drank last night. I need the bits.

Oh hell I don’t know that many people in this fandom yet nor do I know who has been tagged already so if y’all get this twice, celebrate because um?? You’re loved and noticed!!!

@spoondrifts , @birdsaretoddlers , @prince-liest, @arleney , @milyavild , @genderhawk , @masterqwertster , uhhh… and @captainsparklefingers and @winekita , even though we talk every day.

[aurorialwolf]

more redacted ocs!! Aria's roommates edition

I have a redacted oc named Aria Aisling, a dreamwalker! She has 5 roommates, one of whom has been featured in the audios I've voiced of her, and this is her rankings of them! All have been made with picrew, BUT I did have to edit a couple of them slightly to get the appearances right.

Cassie, bear shifter She's the sweetest out of all Aria's roommates, and bakes cookies for all the roommates at least once a month! She's maybeee not the quickest on the uptake as the others, but she makes up for it with her kindness and (literal) strength! She's probably Aria's favourite, not that she'd admit it.

Salvia, vampire of the House of Baz. She's about 52, and was turned when she was 25. She is almost tied with Cassie for Aria's favourite, but is ranked at 2nd just because. She's the best cook in the house, and makes most of the dinners. Kayli is also one of the people who cooks dinner, but she seems to have differing tastes as she does not eat like the others do (Salvia still eats human food but Kayli rarely ever does). Salvia is from Ireland, and emigrated to the US in 2002, at the behest of her (vampire clan's) queen. Note: Aria's listener, "Dreamer", is a volunteer blood source for the Dahlian members of the House of Baz, so Salvia knows them well.

Amelia, sonal energetic She's the loudest out of all of them, but mostly just by accident, since her powers sometimes come through when she's especially excited. She's probably exactly in the middle of Aria's rankings of her roommates.

Millie, stealth She's the quietest of all of them, and keeps to herself. Sometimes, everyone assumes she isn't even home, until they bump into her cloaking in the kitchen. She's about on par with Aria in terms of how reclusive she is. Aria doesn't have particularly strong feelings towards her, but likes Amelia a little more, so she's ranked 4th. One time she helped Aria redye her hair, though, so she could easily rank 3rd as well.

Kayli, serenity daemon She has been coalesced now for 56 years, and is currently doing some extra daemon studies at DAMN. She is the most overbearing in terms of protectiveness when it comes to Aria and the other roommates, but she means well. She is probably Aria's least favourite roommate, simply because she interrupts her dreamscapes too often.

So yeah!! That's all of them :D I'll gladly provide the picrew links if anyone wants them, but keep in mind I had to edit Kayli and Millie, so Kayli's serenity horns and Millie's blue streaks aren't in the picrews! I'm working on Aria's 4th audio right now, so it should be out next weekend at the latest!

[kewpidity]

i dont super love the m & m ship from hb, and i like moxxie a lot, so idk if i wanna selfship with him necessarily but i might make an oc to ship with him

the characterization is suuuuper wishy washy with him, but the first episode def implies that he has moral hangups about killing in certain circumstances, and unlike millie assassin work is most definitely not his passion so im thinking something where he cuts ties all in one fell swoop, leaving the business and serving the divorce papers right along the 2 weeks notice

looking for work again, he ends up working at the hazbin hotel cause i live and breathe for crossovers, even ones that technically already exist in the same universe

maybe he can be brought on as the hotels chef since he loves to cook and seems to be really good at it- i feel like he would get along super well with charlie too, maybe she can rope him into helping her with some sort of show for the hotel to boost moral and make a bonding experience or something like that idk

and depending on if i go the self insert or oc route, the insert can p much just be the one i have for my ship with alastor, just slightly to the left where they arent romantically involved with the radio demon, and if i go the oc route maybe they can be someone staying at the hotel, or a maid or something idk

thats all i got for now tho, its extremely barebones and i'll work out other details after a while

[shinx-hijinx]

Hello, decided to make a rotomblr account thanks to all of those videos on mewtube compilations

will keep it short 'n simple for you all

This account is run by my sister and I, we will post in different color texts and tagging ourselves in the tags so it will be easier to differentiate who's who.

'm Zie (pronouced Zee), my pronouns are he/him, and will be typically posting in yellow and shall tag myself as #-Zie

Hiiiii I'm Maisy, my pronouns are she/her and I came up with the username (^-^) oh! And I will be typing in blue!! Blue's my favorite color ^_^, #-Maisy

We are both 13, don't be vile freaks.

will have to warn you that we are technically a part of team Magma. I say technically because we don't actually do anything in team magma. It's basically at its weakest point right now, thanks to the Hoenn incident a few years back. The only thing team magma is good at nowadays their membership discounts..

We mostly joined because our older cousin had us join. They are.... something else... but they do put a roof over our heads and care for us, so yeah.

To clarify, WE DO NOT SUPPORT TEAM MAGMA NOR TEAM AQUA WHATSOEVER. THEY SUCK BIG TIME.

Our teams

Zie's

Luxio - Jinx

Manectric - Tric

Pikachu - Jolt

Plusle - Plus

Poochyena - Doug

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Maisy's team!

『Marill』 - 「Millie」

『Kirlia』 - 「Lottie」

『Budew』 - 「Sunnie」

『Minun』 - 「Minnie」

『Poochyena』 - 「Ozzie」

//ooc under the cut!

Hi! @skittykitty300 here!

I've made another rotomblr!! Why? Perhaps to foreshadow another rotomblr account that I'm cooking up that will reveal more lore? Muhahahaha!!! Only time will tell.....

DNI - TERFS, Zionists, Pedos, people into Pokephillia, people into Zoophillia, and other horrible people are not welcome

Rules!

Please don't be gross, I'm fine with foul jokes but like, nothing creepy really please

!!!REMEMBER THESE CHARACTERS ARE MINORS!!! Be normal.

In character malice is a-okay!

Asks about my oc's life and pokemon is a-okay and encouraged.

I, unfortunately, will not be responding to asks by sentient pokemon

[canofpeaches]

Putting this out in honor of fall. This takes place earlier in the relationship and features @luckyricochet's OC.

Rosie found himself in the mess hall in the midafternoon. As he walked through the empty room, he drummed his fingers across the tables. He paused when he heard a series of loud slaps coming from the kitchen. Rosie was taken aback; it was too early for any of the cooks to be working on dinner. While the Brits may consider it tea time scones, this was an American base after all. Walking closer to the kitchen and seeing a flash of red hair, he was no longer surprised.

“Good afternoon Eilidh,” Rosie called out.

She did not need to look up from the dough to identify the owner of the greeting. Eilidh had spent enough time on base to recognize the different accents of soldiers, even if she could not place their origins on a map.  She smirked as she started to roll out the dough. “What can I do you for Lieutenant?”

“I am actually not quite sure. I was strolling across the base and found myself here. What are you making?”

“A batch of doughnuts for the Red Cross women. I’m about to fry some. If you can wait for a spell, I can give you two fresh ones.”

“One is plenty for me, especially since I’m not flying on the next mission.”

Eilidh was forming the doughnuts, punching out the centers with her thumb while she moved finished circles off to the side. “Perhaps you can give it to other members of your crew—Pappy and Milton? I am I correct in remembering they are part of the Riveters? Or perhaps you can give it to someone else.” After tending to a batch in the frier, she turned to stare Rosie down. Certainly, Eilidh was not his commanding officer, but the intensity of her gaze made it seem as if he was court-martialed.

“I think the boys would appreciate a midday treat. I’ll take three if you are able to spare ‘em.”

“I will give you four.” Turning her attention back to the oil, she carefully fished out the first batch. She proceeded to turn them out on to a baking sheet filled with cinnamon and sugar. Shaking them around to ensure an even coating, she set them on a clean baking sheet. Before long, she gave the requisite four to Rosie.

“Thank you Eilidh, but I cannot possibly let you part with all of these. You’re being too generous for just a second lieutenant, I’m not like Major Egan or Major Cleven.”

“Well, you certainly are not. If you do not want all four,” she swiftly grabbed two from his hands, “you will get two.”

Stunned by the abrupt change, Rosie was left feeling embarred he had said the wrong thing. “I apologize for refusing your hospitality. Thanks again for your generosity. I’ll be on my way.” He started toward the kitchen doors.

“Cinnamon sugar is Millie’s favorite flavor.” He hears Eilidh say forcefully under her breath. He figured he should heed her intent, lest he may never receive baked goods again.

He left the mess hall and made his way towards battalion headquarters. His pace quickened as he felt the fried dough starting to cool in his hand, but he could not understand why he was rushing to meet Millie. Was it because he was instructed to see her? Because he did not want to let her down with cooled doughnuts? Because he genuinely wanted to see her? Thankfully reached her office adjacent to Major Kidd’s, more of a glorified closet with how snug her desk was shoved in, before he had too much more time to dwell on his motivation. Softly knocking on the open door with his free hand, he stood in the doorway. Seconds pass. Millie, engrossed in typing, did not look up. Rosie awkwardly shifted his weight between his feet. He was hyper aware of how oily his hand was. He cleared his throat, knocked again, and his voice cracked as he said, “Captain.”

Finally catching her attention, Millie looked up. A simile appearing on her face when she saw Rosie.  “What can I do you for Lieutenant? Major Kidd will be back shortly. He is in a meeting with Colonel Harding.”

Clearing his throat again, Rosie said, “I’m actually here for you. I, uh, brought this for you. Courtesy of Eilidh.” He offered her a doughnut.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Taking a bite into the doughnut, she felt the granular sugar remain on her face. Instinctively, Rosie reached across the desk to wipe away the residue. His thumb lightly brushed briefly on her top lip. As he leaned across her desk, looking down at her, his frame took up the rest of the tiny room. It made Rosie the only the thing Millie could see.

“Ahem, excuse me.” As quickly as he had swooped in, he straightened up. His eyes finding anywhere in the room besides hers. “I’ll leave this here for Major Kidd. Courtesy of Eilidh.” Rosie promptly walked out, and through the window Millie could see him pause outside the office. It looked as if he was debating with himself; he brough his right hand to his chin before ultimately shaking his head and continuing on.

A/N:

Thank you so much Megan for letting me play around with Eilidh ❤️ I'm sure that this won't be the last time we see her in LTF 😉

[typingdyslexiaisathing]

Random ideas for a Modern Trigun AU.

Vash and Wolfwood end up as room mates after a very difficult high school experience. Despite the fact that Vash and Knives own a huge pharmacy company as well as several businesses.

Knives/Nai is a vicious CEO and businessman. But he is a kind individual to those who prove themselves to be bold and strong. He has a habit of sitting with groups of retired veterans or motorcycle gangs to talk and just play cards.

Vash is an active streamer with a weekly schedule to visit children's hospitals or retirement homes. All the elderly folks adore him while the kids are little rascals who tend to prank him a lot.

Wolfwood works security gigs or volunteering at local gyms / firehouses. He also will do underground cage fights when he needs to.

Meryl works as a secretary in a huge law firm to then switch to online journalism when a bad case goes belly up. Meryl also has a passion for growing indoor vegetables and herbs for cooking.

Milly owns a daycare that is located in the building Knives works from. She tends to bump into Vash and Wolfwood for various reasons. Meryl has a niece that attends the daycare and adores Milly.

At some point, all four try dating each other. Lots of firsts and several sleep overs happen for things to be all good between the four. (if someone stays with someone else it's up to your personal shipping have fun)

Adding my OC into the Modern Trigun AU

Vash meets Retha through their Free Company in Final Fantasy 14. Wolfwood, Meryl, Milly, Knives, Legato, and Lina are in the Free Company as well. Roberto is the Free Company leader though.

Retha hits it off with the group immediately for her to then meet Wolfwood in real life at the local grocery store. She immediately recognizes his voice to introduce herself to him and help him with shopping for the dinner date he's planning.

Retha is emergency called for that dinner date due to Wolfwood not being very confident in the kitchen. So Retha comes over to meet Vash and just... Instantly falls in love with the smiling blonde. Like cue the floating up heart bubbles and trumpeting little cherubs.

Several months are spent building up friendships and the occasional group get together at the daycare to help with the munchkins. Retha is not very good with the kids, so she helps with other things.

A tragedy occurs which leaves Retha completely homeless. Since a lightning storm catches her tiny duplex on fire. Wolfwood is volunteering at the fire station that night and just books it to the address out of sheer terror. He ends up rescuing Retha while another firefighter gets her cat out.

Wolfwood gets a huge gash on his arm when a support beam snaps and falls on him and Retha. With Retha getting a broken shoulder as well as burns on both legs and feet. But they make it out alive. End up in the exact same hospital room as Vash and the girls just camp out in the room with them.

Vash is an emotional wreck and circling between hug squishing Retha to hovering around Wolfwood as a nurse stitches his arm up.

Retha ends up in a wheelchair for Knives to move all of them into a couple beach houses right on the lake. Knives and Legato in one. Vash and Wolfwood in another. With Retha alternating between them for Meryl and Milly to stay in the city and open their own daycare slash kindergarten.

Vash and Knives just adopt Retha into their family after talking with their own adopted mother, Rem. (Yes Rem is still alive just lives in another country)

OR Retha and Vash end up married with Wolfwood being their third wheel.

[millytheclown]

Milly stop being deadcore

My apologies yall im cooking something special and once I have most of the Ref sheets I’ll post them.

ANYWAYS My new welcome home au very heavily inspired by the Flashgame au and Baldi Basics and just in general old digital horror (Wally and my oc who is basically his son!!) I’ll yap about it more and when I have more art but YIPPPPEEE

+ ocs in general (Ayanna my tts oc, Vexan my ROTTMNT oc, and sunny Robotnik but older)

[chickensarentcheap]

Sending hugs always!

🎂 BIRTHDAY CAKE — when is your oc's birthday? how old are they? what are their sun, moon, & rising signs (if known)? what about their tarot card, ruling planet, & ruling number (if known)? do they fit the typical traits of these sun, moon, & rising signs?

🍝 SPAGHETTI — what is/are your oc's favorite food(s)?

🍰 SHORTCAKE — what is/are your oc's favorite sweet(s)/dessert(s)?

🍦 SOFT ICE CREAM — what is/are your oc's favorite ice cream flavor(s)?

🍔 HAMBURGER — is your oc good at cooking? are they good at baking? which one do they prefer?

Pleasee and thank you

Thank you! ❤️

Birthday cake: Esme's birthday is September 22nd and as of the current fic (not part of the series) she is almost 34. In the main series, she's almost 42. Her sun sign is Virgo, her moon is Aquarius, and her rising sign is Leo. Ruling planet is Mercury, tarot card is The Empress, and her ruling number is 3. I would say out of all of them, she fits Leo the most:

Spaghetti: She absolutely LOVES tacos lol. They're her weakness. But her palate is extensive and there's not many foods she will turn down. She loves being able to enjoy things from her garden really likes when they have a cookout over a fire on the beach. With food they've grown, fish they've caught.

Shortcake: this girl is all about cupcakes lol Her favourite flavour is pink lemonade

Soft Ice Cream: Her favourite is rocky road with melted peanut butter drizzled on it. Tyler first made it for her when she was pregnant with Millie and she's loved it ever since

Hamburger: it's canon now that she is an awful cook lol. As the kids say, she could burn cereal. But she is a fantastic baker :)

[ginevrastilinski-ocs]

Merlin OCs Masterlist

Name: Balin Stroke

Pronouns: he/him

Story: Untitled

LI: Arthur Pendragon & Guinevere

Quote: I'd call you Atlas, but he wasn't given a choice to hold the stars. You were.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Richard Madden

Name: Caelia Roan

Pronouns: she/her

Story: Untitled

LI: Landevale

Quote: Nothing you can say can stop me from going home.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Sophie Turner

Name: Delfine

Pronouns: she/her

Story: Darkside

LI: Morgana Pendragon

Quote: When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Anya Chalotra

Name: Dindraine

Pronouns: she/her

Story: Untitled

LI: Gwaine

Quote: And God knows I'm not dying but I bleed now. And God knows he's the only way to heal now.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Charlotte Hope

Name: Dorien Ravens

Pronouns: he/him

Story: Untitled

LI: Arthur Pendragon & Merlin

Quote: You may not be interested in war, but war is interested in you.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Nicholas Galitzine

Name: Drystan Braken

Pronouns: he/him

Story: (Show Me How To) Lay My Sword Down

LI: Merlin

Quote: This is not your destruction, this is your birth.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Daniel Sharman

Name: Elissa Pendragon

Pronouns: she/her

Story: Golden Age

LI: Guinevere

Quote: The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Holliday Grainger

Name: Elyana Pyre

Pronouns: she/her

Story: Untitled

LI: Arthur Pendragon

Quote: I'm a princess vut from marble, smoother than a storm. And the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Naomi Scott

Name: Eirwen | Wrenn

Pronouns: she/her & he/him

Story: Untitled

LI: N/A

Quote: If you were any braver, you'd be a lioness.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Maisie Williams

Name: Erec Kallan

Pronouns: he/him

Story: Untitled

LI: Poly Knights [+ Lyonesse]

Quote: You have me. Until every last star in the galaxy dies, you have me.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Fabian Frankel

Name: Landevale

Pronouns: he/him

Story: Untitled

LI: Caelia Roan

Quote: Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Harry Collett

Name: Lyonesse

Pronouns: she/her

Story: Untitled

LI: Poly Knights [+ Erec]

Quote: Threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it's morning now, it's brighter now.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Olivia Cooke

Name: Maeve

Pronouns: she/her

Story: No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

LI: Arthur Pendragon & Merlin

Quote: The fate is a blank paper where one writes their own story.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Millie Brady

Name: Mordirwan | Dragonet

Pronouns: he/him

Story: (Show Me How To) Lay My Sword Down

LI: N/A

Quote: I just want someone to grab my little face and scream "On purpose, on purpose I'm going to care about you".

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Billy Jenkins

Name: Nyneve Pendragon

Pronouns: she/her

Story: Embers In Our Bloodlines

LI: N/A

Quote: The stars gave her a crown and said this is your place of belonging.

Pinterest: TBD

FC: Millie Bobby Brown