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whenmemorydies · 3 months ago

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Carmen, Natalie, and the Berzattos

CW: this post talks about domestic violence, addiction, mental health, racialised trauma, toxic masculinity and intergenerational trauma (this show deals with so much friends!).

Go gently with yourself if you choose to continue to read. Also its a long one (longer than my usual!) so fair warning if you're diving in: maybe put the kettle on.

Following on from The Claw, The Scrunchie and The Prayer Card metas (Part 1 and Part 2), I've been thinking more about The Berzattos (represented via Natalie's hair claw in Carmy's apartment) and their presence (seen and unseen) in season 3 of The Bear.

@espumado's fantastic meta on The Night of the Hunter and its use in The Bear, particularly as it relates to Natalie and the struggle she goes through in season 3 has informed a lot of this post. My reblog of that post also contains a lot of thinking that I had started to scratch at but haven't been able to expand upon until now. Also check out @currymanganese's brilliant analysis of The Night of the Hunter in the context of romantic relationships in The Bear.

Another source of information I've used in the research for this meta is this fantastic interview in the LA Times with the cast involved in 2x06 Fishes (thanks @brokenwinebox for sharing it!). Also thank you to @thoughtfulchaos773, @brokenwinebox and @devisrina for the chat about the above interview and discussions about Donna Berzatto's relationship with her son, Carmy.

Finally @vacationship's most excellent breakdown of the roles taken up by characters in The Bear according to Adult Children of Alcoholics ('ACA') roles defined by Sharon Wegscheider-Cruise and communicator types as developed by Virginia Satir has also informed this post.

The Berzattos

Okay so, given what we know about Carmy and about the Berzattos, it would seem obvious that, yes, his birth family is going to impact Carmy. I think its probably so obvious, that a lot of the fandom, myself included, have taken Carmy's relationship with his family for granted this season. To be fair, we were also getting Claire and the Faks shoved down our throats so some things flew under the radar including, in my view, the Berzattos.

What got me thinking about the Berzattos as a source of anguish for Carmy was a rewatch of 3x03 Doors - specifically Carmy's panic attack during that episode.

The first panic attack of season 3

At this late point in the episode, we've been watching Carmy and the crew's slowly escalating struggle with the demands of fine dining, when we arrive at Carmy running expo and calling for hands. His voice is hoarse and it sounds like he's been screaming for some time. His vision starts to blur and as he continues to call out for hands, we see glimpses of what appear to be intrusive thoughts, interrupting Carmy's work and triggering a panic attack. The sequence of shots that appear during this panic attack is below:

I note that Carm appears to be trying to come out of the panic attack by remembering his time at The French Laundry and Noma - much like memories of immaculately plated food helped him regulate during his panic attack in 1x08 Braciole and memories of Sydney helped him to regulate during his panic attack in 2x09 Omelette.

The final thought Carm has during this panic attack - indeed the thought he has when it appears that his panic attack is reaching its peak - is of his sister Natalie, in a church praying:

Note: I'm working on the assumption that the above memory of Natalie takes place at Marcus' mother's funeral. This is based on the clothes Natalie is wearing and how her hair is styled.

Its at this moment in his panic attack that you can see the crest in Carmy's emotions. The orchestral score during this sequence also builds to its climax at this point. Carmy's face screws into a tight grimace and he practically spits out the word, Fuck. Its only then that the music cuts away and we hear Sydney's voice bringing Carmy back to the present:

The fact that thinking about Natalie (praying while she carries the next generation of the Berzatto family) is what causes Carmy's panic attack to peak is what got me thinking more seriously about the impact of his birth family on Carm. ( This is something that others including @mitocamdria and @moodyeucalyptus have also picked up on here and here - the Bear hive mind at work!)

Below is my attempt to map these impacts out, from the perspective of intergenerational trauma, which can be described as,

"the apparent transmission of trauma between generations of a family. People who experience adverse childhood experiences growing up, or who have survived historical disasters or traumas, may pass the effects of those traumas on to their children or grandchildren, through their genes, their behaviour, or both, leaving the next generational susceptible to anxiety, depression, hypervigilance, and other emotional and mental health concerns."

I'd argue that intergenerational trauma can continue well beyond a person's grandchildren, particularly in cases where the systemic factors may have caused a trauma (for example: racial segregation, colonialism), continue to impact on multiple generations of a family.

So lets start by looking at Carmy's mother, Donna Berzatto...

Donna's trauma

I preface the below analysis with the caveat that we are not told what mental health diagnoses (if any) Donna Berzatto has (though she is clearly struggling with her mental health when we first meet her in 2x06 Fishes). The inferences I make below are based on what we have been told in the show about trauma that Donna has experienced.

Recall 3x08 Ice Chips where Donna and Natalie are talking in between bouts of Natalie's contractions. At one point in the episode, Natalie says:

I don't remember your mom.

To which, Donna sadly responds:

You don't want to.

Donna then becomes silently tearful remembering her mother.

Its clear from this very brief exchange that Donna has experienced some level of abuse at the hands of her own mother: Michael, Natalie and Carmy's maternal grandmother. That abuse has no doubt impacted on Donna's ability to parent her own children and likely influenced how she parented them as well.

As a mother myself, I've found that one of the hardest things about parenting has been avoiding the repetition of harmful behaviours that I've picked up through my own childhood. For all of us, the first - and often most memorable - models we have for how to parent have been the experiences we've had with our own primary caregivers (whether they were our birth parents or other adults in our lives). If those models were abusive or violent, we have to work that much harder to make sure we don't fall back on those examples when raising our own children. (And let me tell you, in the heat of the moment when your child is cracking a tanty in the grocery store, it takes A LOT to not revert to learned behaviours and instead take a step back and act from a rational place of calm lol).

For many folks who've had abusive childhoods, raising your own children can also be a very triggering journey. This article goes into a bit of why this is the case. If you've not been able to do any work on yourself or receive help to work through your own childhood abuse, you risk "blowing your trauma through" your children (I've borrowed the phrase "blowing trauma through" from African-American therapist and trauma specialist, Dr Resmaa Menakem, whose fantastic book My Grandmother's Hands has also influenced this post and a lot of my thinking about racial and intergenerational trauma). Given Donna's own history of abuse with her mother, its not a big leap to assume that she has "blown her trauma through" Michael, Natalie and Carmy with each of her children experiencing this in different ways.

There's also Donna's clear mom rage, no doubt built up over years as a single parent, and epitomised in the line from 2x06 (that broke my heart when I heard it because it resonated so much),

I make things beautiful for them, and no one makes things beautiful for me.

Based on the show's lore, up until 3x08 it wasn't evident that Donna had ever taken any steps to try and work through her own mental health issues and trauma. Once we get to 3x08 though, when Natalie says that she didn't tell Donna about her pregnancy because,

I just didn't want all the stuff you bring with you.

Donna replies by saying:

Yeah. I've been trying to put that stuff away.

Natalie then asks her mother how that process is going and Donna responds,

Its not easy.

Natalie then tells her mother that she's glad Donna is trying and Donna says she's glad that she's trying too.

Its not much, but the above exchange points to a slight shift in Donna's approach to her own trauma and to her parenting. This shift appears to have put Donna and Natalie's relationship on firmer footing than it has been in the past. Whether it will be enough for Carmy's relationship with his mother is another question and one I'm sure we'll see play out in season 4.

The Berzattos and Italian American racialised trauma

Other than the above exchange in 3x08 Ice Chips, we have no information about Donna's parents. I assume that Donna was born in America given her description of the Feast of the Seven Fishes (also known as La Vigilia) as described to Richie in 2x06 Fishes. During her description, Donna speaks about the Italian immigrants who brought "their seven best things" with them as if she's speaking about ancestors, not her own generation.

She does not use the first person here:

[I]ts based on people who left Italy to find new dreams and homes with new people. And they brought their seven best things from their sea to their new homes. And not so their families end up being a bunch of fuckin' jagoffs. (lmao)

Then Class A Jagoff, Uncle Lee storms into the kitchen and tells Donna that her retelling of the Seven Fishes legend is "not even close" and refers to all the sevens that occur in the Bible. Which is likely a closer explanation for the feast (see this overview on La Vigilia published on the Italian Sons and Daughters of America website). Notably, it was southern Italian and Sicilian immigrants that popularised the Feast of the Seven Fishes in America.

Given the above, it doesn't seem to me that Donna is a first generation Italian immigrant. Depending on the Berzatto family history, its possible that Donna is the daughter of Italian immigrants or the granddaughter of them. Her Italian ancestry could stretch even further back in time. At this point in The Bear, we don't know.

What we should note is that Italian immigrants and in particular, southern Italian and Sicilian immigrants to America, endured a history of racism in that country before their acceptance into the category of "white" in America.

Image source: How Italians Became 'White', The New York Times

This NY Times article provides an overview of the racialisation of Italians in America over time. The article notes that,

"[d]arker skinned southern Italians endured the penalties of blackness on both sides of the Atlantic. In Italy, Northerners had long held that Southerners - particularly Sicilians - were an 'uncivilized' and racially inferior people, [considered] too obviously African to be part of Europe."

This racism of northern Italians towards those from the south of the country was no doubt tied to Italy’s own racist and violent colonial history, including its involvement in Europe's rabid "Scramble for Africa". In the course of its time as a colonial power, Italy came to brutally invade and occupy Eritrea, Somalia, Libya and Ethopia.

Note: I don't think its a coincidence that, Ebraheim, Somalian "grill master", medic and veteran of the American military intervention in Somalia, found himself working at an Italian American beef sandwich shop. Much in the same way that its no surprise that many folks in my Tamil family ended up in the heart of the British Empire - the UK - after fleeing civil unrest and genocide in one of its former colonies (Sri Lanka). As Tamil writer A.S. Sivanandan is famously quoted as saying about post-colonial migration: "we are here, because you were there."

Once they first arrived in America in the 19th century, racism against Southern Italians continued:

"They were sometimes shut out of schools, movie houses and labor unions, or consigned to church pews set aside for black people. They were described in the press as 'swarthy', 'kinky haired' members of a criminal race and derided in the streets with epithets [that were more commonly] applied to enslaved Africans and their descendants[.]"

Though while Italian Americans experienced the severe racial prejudice described above, particularly during their early history in America, some were still able to benefit from their European ancestry in ways that people with non-European backgrounds were unable to. This included: being able to apply for US citizenship, being able to marry, own property, and choose where to live - things that BIPOC people often faced great barriers (if not outright bans) to accessing.

Notably, in Chicago where the Berzattos are based, the history of Italian racialisation differed to other major cities in America. In Italian Immigrants, Whiteness and Race: A Regional Perspective (p. 6) Italian historian Stefano Luconi notes that,

[I]n Chicago, Italian Americans competed primarily with Polish immigrants, who generally turned out to be less hostile to them than Irish Americans in New York City or Boston, and overall their accommodation within the adoptive society was easier than elsewhere.

Given the above, the Berzattos' connection with Polish "family members" Uncle Jimmy Kalinowski, Uncle Lee Lane, and Cousin Richie Jerimovich appears rooted in a long history of Polish-Italian relations in Chicago.

Note: Ancestry.com tells me Kalinowski is a Polish and Jewish last name. Uncle Lee identifies as "Polski" in 2x06 Fishes and in the draft script for 2x06 is listed as Uncle Jimmy's brother. While Richie's ethnicity isn't explicitly stated in The Bear, in 3x04 Violet, he refers to his daughter Eva as żabka which is Polish for "small frog" and is also used as a term of endearment for girls or women.

Eventually Italian Americans were assimilated into the racial category of "white" both legally and in the popular imagination of the country. This happened in a few ways including via Italian Americans claiming whiteness for themselves, particularly in active opposition to Black, African American communities. This is despite their historic racialisation in comparison to Black, African-descent people (which, in a better world, could have been the basis for shared and sustained solidarity between the two communities). Luconi observes that,

"in Brazos County, Texas, Italian Americans learned to claim whiteness for self-protection, which involved showing off hostility toward African Americans in the mid-1890s [...] By the same token, after realizing the social benefits of being characterized by a white identity, Italian Americans in Baltimore embraced the racist premises of the local political leadership in the early twentieth century and joined two campaigns that unsuccessfully aimed at disenfranchising African Americans in 1905 and 1909 by amending the state constitution." from: Italian Immigrants, Whiteness and Race: A Regional Perspective (p. 15)

The above NY Times article states that in 1892, the lynching of 11 Italian immigrants who were accused of killing a police chief in New Orleans resulted in Italy breaking diplomatic relations with America. As a result of this and to prevent unrest in the Italian American community, US President Benjamin Harrison proclaimed 12 October as "Columbus Day" and encouraged Americans to celebrate the contribution of the Italian Christopher Columbus to the creation of America.

Apparently, this sleight of hand (a legerdemain because it: (a) magically erased generations upon generations of First Nations who have existed in the Americas long before Columbus' arrival (and who continue to do so), and (b) because it vanished the explorer's penchant for rape and enslavement of the First Nations' people that he did encounter) was enough to reinstate diplomatic relations between America and Italy as well as carve out a place for Italian Americans in the white, American imaginary.

Indeed, despite recent calls to stop the celebration of Columbus Day led by First Nations people across America, it is Italian American organisations (including the Italian Sons and Daughters of America) and prominent Italian Americans that are some of those voices leading campaigns to keep Columbus Day as it is, reductively and disingenuously dismissing its critics as attacking Italian-American heritage.

Note: the above views are obviously not shared by all Italian Americans. See below protest staged by Italian Americans in the Berzattos' hometown of Chicago, in opposition to the city's Columbus Day Parade (Source: Fox 32 Chicago):

One of my heroes, Toni Morrison, once said of American national identity,

"In this country, American means white. Everybody else has to hyphenate."

White supremacy operates amongst racialised communities through divide and rule, with these communities pitted against one another, trying to achieve as close a proximity to whiteness as possible. In the US context, that proximity brings those communities closer to what is perceived as "American". The above examples show how some Italian American communities in America shifted the racial categorisation of their community to "white" over time by fighting for that proximity. I would argue that that shift came at a great cost, as all racism does: a cost to the BIPOC communities that were fucked over in the process and a cost to the souls of those now "white" Italian Americans who participated in divide and rule to get closer to a white supremacist position of power. Dr Resmaa Menakem would refer to those costs as traumas for both BIPOC communities and (now) white, Italian American communities.

In My Grandmother's Hands, Dr Menakem discusses the impact of racialised trauma on white people. Specifically, that white supremacy - or as Dr Menakem refers to it, "white body supremacy" - is itself a trauma response. I won't get into the details of this framework (and make this post longer than it already is lol) except to say its fascinating and I'd encourage you to read My Grandmother's Hands to find out more. Its relevance here is to illustrate that on top of our individual, personal traumas, we each carry with us racialised trauma. I make the point of articulating this because while The Bear alludes to race (sometimes masterfully as in this scene where Donna tries to play divide and rule in her own way), it often does so obliquely in ways that are not always obvious to viewers (for example, see director Ramy Youssef's discussion in Variety about the bike crash scene in 2x04 Honeydew). But make no mistake, race permeates this show.

For example, I think about Uncle Lee’s jab at Mikey in 2x06 about the latter living with his mom, and compare this to Marcus living with his mother throughout seasons 1-2 or Sydney living with her father in seasons 1-3. I think about how in many communities of colour, multi-generational living isn’t seen as shameful because the focus is not just on financial dependence but on relationships and care. Certainly, an adult child might not be financially independent but if they are caring for their parent, this is something to be valued.

I think about how the move to individualism (championed by Uncle Lee) away from family and community (features that Italian culture is historically very well known for) is a shift that, for many Italian Americans, may be viewed as a cost incurred as a result of an allegiance to white supremacy.

I think also about the words of Tema Okun, who wrote about how white supremacy shows up in organisational and professional settings in her 1999 article "White Supremacy Culture" and how in that work, Okun noted particular identifying characteristics of organisational, white supremacist culture, including (but not limited to):

individualism;

perfectionism;

either/or & binary thinking; and

a sense of urgency.

Sound familiar? I thought they might. These are traits that Carmy has exhibited in almost every episode of season 3 (and periodically in seasons 1-2). Notably, these are traits that are also valorised in the world of fine dining, as we see it through Carmy's eyes throughout season 3 (in flashbacks and in how he chooses to run The Bear). And we all know how well this shit is going for our man (lol).

I'll get into this more in an upcoming meta (again, this is me manifesting in a bid to force myself to finish writing the thing lol), but I just wanted to point out how both in terms of his racialisation and his professional career, Carmy is immersed in white supremacy - whether he wants to be or not - benefiting from its privileges while also being witness and therefore, subject, to its horrors. No one escapes this shit, not even those who've been welcomed into the fold at the top of the hierarchy.

All of this - the racialised history and trauma associated with the Italian American community as well as the clear whiteness that marks the fine dining industry - makes Carmy's character that much more fascinating to me. Here is a character with seemingly no personal prejudices towards BIPOC folks. He loves the BIPOC folks in his life quite dearly (in particular, Marcus who he treats as a brother, and of course Sydney, in whom he's found a soulmate). I think this is likely due in large part to the role Carmy's siblings (Mikey and Natalie) played in raising him. These two characters also appear to care deeply for the BIPOC people in their lives without much of the prejudice that many who have been racialised and socialised in their community might harbour. And in their roles as surrogate parents for Carmy, they appear to have modelled that healthy and normal (because we must remember, what is abnormal is racism) respect for their fellow humans. They're not perfect in this (recall 2x06 and Mikey's bombastic objectification of Claire) but we do see repeated glimpses of their goodness throughout the show (recall 3x06 and Mikey's kindness to Tina, or the pantry scene in 2x06 and the gentleness he displays towards Carmy there). This is in contrast to their mother, Donna, who clearly has done no work to prevent blowing her own racialised trauma and prejudice through the bodies of her kids.

Also while the racialisation of The Bear's BIPOC characters is readily apparent (because the white supremacist culture of the West is more attuned to looking at non-white people and automatically seeing race), its white characters are also racialised and have racialised histories. The above was my attempt at stepping out a bit of the racialisation of The Berzattos, of Carmy, and of the racialised trauma that they also carry with them.

Phew.

Okay, now back to the Berzattos...

Carmy's birth

Recall 3x08 Ice Chips and Donna telling Natalie the stories of each of her children's births. By far, the birth that appears to cause Donna the most rage, the most pain, is Carmy's. It also happens to be the only birth out of her three children that her (by all accounts) deadbeat husband is present for. Donna describes fighting with her husband during the entirety of her labour with Carmy and that the hospital was fucked because it seemed like everyone went into labour at the same time. She then tells Natalie that Carmy took a long time to arrive:

Note: Its not lost on me that Carmy's obsession with speed, rushing and sense of urgency was almost definitely drilled into him from birth, given the rage with which Donna describes his "slowness" in being born.

Donna then goes onto express how frightened she was and the further difficulties involved in Carmy’s delivery:

It was so hard and so scary because he kept getting stuck, and they just kept having to move me, and I remember they were moving me in all these positions. And then at one point, I think they had me fucking upside down or something.

And then, so brutally it becomes darkly funny (I've pushed a kid out too: it can be so painful, if you don't laugh, you'll sob hysterically lol), Donna describes Carmy's birth as just all around fucked:

The whole thing was fucked:

No seriously, very fucked:

So Carmy entered the world and the experience of his delivery was fucked nine ways to Sunday for his mother. A very difficult beginning to this life for a baby, to say the least. I would go so far as to say, given the way Donna is recounting Carmy's birth, that she experienced birth trauma, and possibly developed birth-related post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

Contrast this with how Donna describes Michael's and Natalie's births:

Despite Michael also having difficulty being born (Donna recalls that it seemed like "he wanted to stay" in the safety of her womb), Donna says that she felt really good, great and strong during her labour with him and that his birth was even described by a doctor as an "amazing" one.

Donna describes Natalie's birth as "beautiful" with Natalie arriving after Donna had had a restful sleep and a vivid, prophetic dream. Donna then goes onto tell Natalie that she was delivered in the presence of a "sweet" girlfriend (Cicero's first wife, Gail) who sat with Donna during labour and who played "Baby, I Love you" for Donna as Natalie arrived.

The differences in how Donna recalls Mikey, Nat and Carmy's births and Donna's propensity in the past for holding her children's "mistakes" over their heads (recall 2x06 Fishes and the story of how Natalie got the nickname "Sugar"), make me think that she was likely to have rubbed Carmy's difficult birth in his face when he was younger. I think that Donna was also likely to have either intentionally or unintentionally (or perhaps both, depending on the circumstance) made Carmy feel less than his older siblings, maybe not as wanted. We have some evidence pointing to this happening in Carmy's past, peppered throughout the show.

Growing up in the Berzatto house:

As a child Carmy had a stutter, which causes speech to inherently slow (as it takes longer to form words and sentences). He was also scared to speak. Now a stutter in and of itself would not make the person speaking scared. Its other people's reactions to a stutter that would do that. Given Donna's vitriol at how slow Carmy's birth was, and her obsession with time (anyone fancy a kitchen timer? this lady's got 700 of them), its not a stretch to imagine that any delay in Carmy articulating himself as a child would have been met with ridicule or rage from his mother.

We know that all the Berzatto children grew up scared of their mother, a survivor of abuse herself, and an addict who drank to excess with clear mental health issues that it didn’t appear she was seeking treatment for. Recall Natalie's disclosure to Donna in 3x08 Ice Chips:

Carmy also grew up embedded in a particularly toxic type of white, heterosexual masculinity embodied by his brother Mikey and "cousin" Richie (who undoubtedly had it blown through their bodies by family, friends and the white supremacist, homophobic culture we are swimming in, in the West). I've previously discussed this in my meta on the use of 90s alternative rock in The Bear and more recently, in this reblog of @mitocamdria's meta Sublimation and Intellectual Orgasms.

Carmy gets called "a weird little dude" for knowing how to mix a drink in 2x06. He gets called a "gayrod" for owning the Noma cookbook in 1x01. He gets called a "soft shitty bitch" for calling Pete instead of Natalie in 1x05. He gets called a "mopey little fuck" in 2x06 for questioning Mikey and Richie right before they accost him with a veritable wall of gross dudebro, horndog descriptions of Claire (a girl they know and are friends with - again, fucking gross). Carmy hears his mother describe Steve as "gay" for being "arty" in 2x06 (recall that Carmy is also "arty" in that he can draw and likes fashion). If you weren't performing alpha-male dominance like Mikey, Richie, Uncle Lee or even Uncle Jimmy, the Berzatto household was a rough place to be. Truth is though, that all of those white, alpha-males have their own demons, and in the case of Mikey, those demons drove him to take his own life. The truth is that, like white supremacy, no one escapes toxic masculinity unscathed either.

We know Carmy suffered from low self-confidence as a child which might have led him to feeling aimless. He tells us in 1x08 Braciole that he got shitty grades because he couldn't pay attention in school, he didn't get into college, didn't have any girlfriends or many friends for that matter. Carmy also tells us in that same monologue that he wasn't "built" in the same way as his brother, who could walk into a room and take its temperature right away, who was loud, hilarious and magnetic.

I think about how for someone like Carmy, Mikey would have cast a long shadow. I think about how hard it would have been to have lived under that shadow while trying to figure yourself out.

It wasn't until working in fine dining that Carmy found his purpose. He says in 1x08,

For the first time in my life, I started to find this station for myself.

This must have been intoxicating and affirming for Carmy. Yet I think about how, after all that, he could return home having achieved accolades and fanfare in his career, try his best in the chaos of a Berzatto family Christmas to diffuse the powder keg that is Donna, and still be called "Michael" by his mother, his very existence in that moment, feeling like a puff of smoke.

We also know that Carmy's eldest siblings ended up being like surrogate parents for him. Mikey almost certainly was a father figure given the absence of his biological father in Carmy's life. Its not a stretch to imagine Natalie as taking on the role of a surrogate mother, given Donna's abuse and how Natalie looks out for almost everyone throughout seasons 1-3 of The Bear. In this video, Jeremy Allen White also talks about the tattoo Carmy has of two angels with a sun in between them as representing his brother and his sister, further confirming the roles of his "guardian angel" siblings.

I think about Natalie, parentified big sister that she is, sneaking a wad of cash into Carmy’s pocket as he leaves her and Chicago for New York in 3x01. I think about her calling him “honey” in that same episode as she affirms that she knows how good he is at being a chef - “honey” being a term of endearment commonly used in family settings but between parents and their children, not as commonly heard between siblings.

I also think about Mikey being born the eldest, the first and only (for a time) to have to deal with his mother's trauma and expectations. I think about how he took on the work of looking after his mother and his siblings when his father left the Berzatto home. I think about how Mikey is described by the actor who plays him, as a "dreamer who's not allowed to dream. He has to take care of everybody."

Loose ends

Another set of incidents haunting spread throughout season 3 also raised concerns for me, in that they remain unresolved and point to a resolution or confrontation for Carmy and the Berzattos in season 4. I named them in my reblog of @espumado's post on The Night of the Hunter. For ease of reference, I'll bullet point them here:

Carmy finds a box labelled "DD" (his mother, Donna's nickname) at The Bear at the end of 3x05 and looks through it. He appears frozen as he finds a baby photo of his mother holding a baby I assume is him. The episode ends at this moment and neither the box or Carmy's reaction are revisited for the remainder of season 3

Cicero tells Carmy during 3x09 that Donna wants Carmy to call her back about "the baby" (one assumes this is a reference to Natalie's baby) and that Carmy has been "fucking avoiding it" (one assumes again that the "it" here is the baby...but maybe its also just the act of calling Donna back)

But then Carmy says something strange:

Yeah. Hoping it would just go away.

Surely, Carmy's not talking about a baby. Babies can't just go away. And I don't think Carmy is so malicious that he'd wish his sister's child to disappear. I also don't think Carmy would refer to his mother as "it" (he's never done so up to this point on the show, as monstrous as she can be).

And in case you were wondering, Cicero's response to Carmy also doesn't sound like it applies to a baby or Donna (lol):

[Y]ou run right the fuck into it.

Intergenerational trauma and legacy

So what is the "it" that Carmy wants to go away? What is the "it" that Uncle Jimmy tells him to face by running "right the fuck into it"? My suspicion is that this is Carmy's baggage. The baggage that comes with being born a Berzatto and being born to Donna. All the stuff that we've been talking about here. Its also the baggage that both Nat and his mother have been trying to "put away":

Above from 3x02 Next: Natalie in conversation with Carmy. "Its not great 8am stuff."

Above from 3x08 Ice Chips: Donna in conversation with Natalie.

Carmy is trying to do this too: put away his baggage, while having been the "Lost Child" (referring to ACA roles and the recording about them that Natalie was listening to at the end of 3x07 Legacy) and the youngest child in his family for so long but now having to be the "Hero". @vacationship's post on ACA roles as they relate to The Bear gives a great breakdown on what the "lost child" and "hero" roles mean.

In the LA Times interview mentioned above, Jeremy Allen White says,

I don't think Carm's ever been outside of himself enough to really take in another person in their entirety, sadly. I think that's Carmen's real struggle.

As the youngest child of the Berzattos, Carmy has never had to step outside of himself to the extent that Mikey, Natalie or even Donna have had to. He has never had to care for anyone other than himself, until he inherits The Beef. And that responsibility is a HUGE one.

But Carmy jumps into that role, initially fuelled by the desire to retroactively fix his relationship with Mikey and fix "the family". Recall again his monologue in 1x08 Braciole:

[I]ts very clear to me trying to fix the restaurant, was me trying to fix whatever was happening with my brother. And I don't know, maybe fix the whole family because that restaurant, it has and it does mean a lot to people. It means a lot to me.

For the longest time, I interpreted "the family" that Carmy refers to here as his chosen family: the crew at The Beef. I think that while that was true, it wasn't the whole picture. I think Carmy was actually being more expansive in his definition of family to include his entire family: chosen and birth.

So while Carmy is obviously trying to make The Bear a success for Sydney ("Syd, we're going to get a star") and for Marcus ("Take us there Bear", "Yes, Chef"), as well as for the rest of the chosen family he first found at The Beef, Carmy is also trying to fix the restaurant for the Berzattos. Specifically, Carmy is trying to do what his father and brother couldn't do in keeping The Beef/The Bear going. He is trying to embody the Hero ACA role, vacated by Mikey with the latter's passing, even though his sister told him from the start, in 1x01:

No one's asking you to.

What I think I took for granted this season was just how much Carmy's desire to repair the legacy of the father figures in his life (as represented by the restaurant) was brought to an urgent and frenetic head for him in the late stages of Natalie's pregnancy. Upon rewatch of 3x09 Apologies, I picked up on some interesting script choices and imagery that I think have been chosen purposefully to relay to us that this is the case and that the impending birth of his niece is indeed, weighing on Carmy.

Now, at the start of 3x09, Carmy may or may not know Natalie has just had her baby. I assume he does. After Marcus watches that clip about magic, followed by unnecessary Fak, Claire and dumpster content (lol) and then Sydney practising how she's going to break Shapiro's offer to Carmy, we cut to the kitchen of The Bear and we hear Carmy calling out orders while running expo. He's yelling again. His voice is hoarse like it was in 3x03 during his panic attack. We see Carmy's intrusive thoughts at a rapid clip intercut with close ups of his, Sydney's and Richie's faces. We also hear Carmy repeatedly yelling at the staff to push:

Please give me the fucking agnolotti. Push.

Lets fucking push, please. Lets fucking go.

Push, please.

Push, chefs! Please! The cook is fucked. Refire, please.

Push.

From a quick google, "push" is used in restaurant settings but not in the way Carmy's doing here. I've seen it used to mean "sell" an item (as in getting a server to "push" a particular dish to diners so they order it) as well as to describe a busy period during service (as in the restaurant is in the middle of a "push").

In 3x09, Carmy is yelling “push” like a midwife at his sister's side while she pushes out her child, the next generation of Berzattos, into the world. But instead of his niece, Carmy is trying to deliver one more in a litany of dinner services at The Bear.

Note: you can clearly see here that the jagged lines that have appeared since season 1 when Carmy is having intrusive thoughts are actually made up of what look to be hundreds of claw marks. I've noted in a previous reblog of one of @thoughtfulchaos773's posts (that I can't find atm sorry) that this evokes Carmy (the Bear) trying to claw his way out of a mental spiral and back to equilibrium. @currymanganese also noted that the lines themselves look like a neural network, driving the point about Carmy's mental state home.

And then directly after the above "push" scene, we see copious amounts of water ejected over the The Bear's kitchen island, washing away flesh coloured food and sauce that looks like blood splatter:

Having rewatched 3x09 through the lens of intergenerational trauma, with the spectre of Natalie's labour, Carmy's apparent resistance to seeing Natalie or her baby, and having just heard his hoarse voice screaming push, push, push...to me this water started looking a whole lot like birth waters breaking, and amniotic fluid flooding The Bear:

Note: Rest assured, amniotic fluid doesn't contain all those suds.

@espumado pointed out in their The Night of the Hunter meta that the song playing during the above "push" and "broken waters" scenes of 3x09 is a song by Trent Reznor and Atticus Finch from a war documentary. The song is "The Forever Rain" from the documentary series The Vietnam War by Ken Burns and Lynn Novick. I'm sure its no coincidence that a song from a documentary about the Vietnam War - a war whose veterans were the first to be assessed for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) - is being used in a scene acting as an allegory for childbirth, given what we know about how traumatic Carmy's birth was for his mother, and inevitably, for him as an infant.

So why is Carmy so preoccupied with Natalie's pregnancy and the birth of his niece?

I think this all ties back to what Carmy told us in 1x08: that he wants to fix the restaurant (and in the context of season 3, this means making The Bear a success) and that in doing so, fix his family.

Note: which is also why I think we are shown that magic clip that Marcus is watching at the beginning of 3x09 with this bit of dialogue from it: "What makes magic different is that its inherently honest. You tell someone you're gonna deceive them before you deceive them. In some way, that makes it more difficult." We were told in 1x08 what the restaurant means to Carmy and his reasons for fixing it, but Storer and co have spent all of season 3 distracting us with Claire and Fak-shaped sleights of hand getting us looking elsewhere to understand Carmy's behaviour. By 3x10, Carmy's motives haven't changed. He's doing this for his family. All of his family.

Specifically in the context of Nat's pregnancy, Carmy wants to ensure that The Bear is a success for the next generation of Berzatto children, for his niece. And if Carmy is being haunted by a need to fix his family's legacy, particularly given the impending arrival of Natalie's baby - the youngest Berzatto after him - then his desperate, rageful plea to Syd after she brings him back from his panic attack in 3x03 Doors, is even more distressing:

They're going too fucking slow!

What Carmy means is:

I'm going too slow and this restaurant is going to fail because of it. And this baby is going to inherit my failure, just like I inherited Mikey's and just like he inherited our father's.

Remember: Natalie is a part owner of The Bear and so any financial failure of the restaurant will be felt by her and her family just as it would be felt by Carm.

What Carmy needs to realise is that while a brick and mortar institution may fail, what remains are the relationships, the people that he has met because of it (shout out to Chef Terry and her speech in 3x10 Forever, also shout out to Mikey and his chat with Tina in 3x06 Napkins). And if there are people - if there are relationships - there's always the chance to build another future together, again.

Conclusion (yep, I'm almost done)

I think about how whether he likes it or not, Carmy was able to pursue his passion in cooking because of his family’s racial (and class) privilege, particularly as a member of a community that was invited to join in the spoils of white supremacy. This privilege was most clearly embodied by the fact that the Berzattos had the means to own The Beef and the culinary opportunities for Carmy that flowed from that work and experience (contrast this with Sydney, Marcus and Tina's experiences in entering this field, which I've discussed here and which @freedelusionshere discusses here).

I think about how Carmy subverted and used that privilege to bring along the original crew of The Beef with him to The Bear, lifting up his largely BIPOC employees. And then I think about how he ran roughshod over them in order to try and meet the insane expectations he'd set for himself (in large part, as a result of his family's history).

I think about the safety net that Carmy had with Natalie and Mikey who were there to take care of The Beef, their family and their unwell mother, giving Carmy the room to find himself professionally. I think about Mikey leaving behind a restaurant for Carmy but also leaving behind an entire family for him too.

I think about Carmy not realising that while The Beef was a burden in some ways, it was a blessing in so many others.

I think about the clear intergenerational trauma that Carmy is contending with while trying to balance so many perceived, competing demands.

I also think about Donna's dream, the night she went into labour with Natalie:

In this nothing dream, I mean nothing dream. And it wasn't Chicago, and it wasn't New York. It was some sort of hybrid city, you know? And there was a fish tank. Big fish tank in the middle of the city. It was this giant fish tank, and I was the only one looking at it.

[...]

And I remember the colours were, they were so sharp and vivid and neon, you know, and I was the only one looking at it.

[...]

I was just staring at it for the longest time. And all of a sudden, I noticed that the glass started to come apart like it was gonna split. But I wasn't worried, you know? It wasn't bad, because I knew that more people were gonna get to see these beautiful fish.

And then I woke up, and I was sweating, and my water had broke.

When Donna had her children, she had no idea that she would lose her eldest child to suicide. She likely had no idea how far she was going to push her daughter away from her due to her abuse, and she most certainly did not know that her youngest would cease contact with her for years while becoming a renowned chef. None of us parents know for certain how things are going to turn out for our children, or for our relationships with them.

We can only hope, and do our best: do our best to break harmful cycles while trying to nurture children who will leave the world a better place than it was when when they arrived. And if our kids manage to do this not because of us but in spite of us, in spite of our slip ups and mistakes, in spite of our baggage, then honestly, we should be even prouder of them. Because it meant they were able to integrate our trauma, our histories, and their trauma, and their histories, all of it, and make something beautiful, something better.

And I think I can see why Donna wasn't worried when the fish tank started to crack. I get why she was so happy that more people were going to get to see her beautiful children and the world they were going to create, in spite of everything and because of everything.

As usual, tagging folks who might be interested (absolutely no pressure to read this fucking long ass thing though), but keen to hear from anyone who wants to discuss:

@currymanganese @thoughtfulchaos773 @moodyeucalyptus @vacationship @mitocamdria @brokenwinebox @espumado @tvfantic87 @turbulenthandholding @anxietycroissant @angelica4equity @devisrina @kdbleu @freedelusionshere @ambeauty @afrofairysblog @fresaton @hwere @ciaomarie @ambeauty

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #sydcarmy #the bear meta #the bear season 3 #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu #natalie berzatto #mikey berzatto #richie jerimovich #tina marrero #marcus brooks #ebraheim the bear #uncle jimmy

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somethingstrangeishere · 5 months ago

Text

TW: leprosy

Baldwin IV with his mommy 🥺

She tries to cheer up her precious boy by doing something sweet for him.

"No, my dear, those bandages don't make you any worse! Please stop putting yourself down for how you look...Look, I made a bow for you! You're cute. I love you, Baldwin."

***

I don't know if you've ever had similar thoughts...I just felt like speaking up. Honestly, it's very hard to put my thoughts and convey what I'm feeling (I'm not a writer and also not a native English speaker), and to be completely honest, as I think about it, my heart hurts and my eyes water. So if you read this - thank you, and sorry for taking up your time. If not - well, I've eased my soul one way or another by speaking out.

***

My heart melts at the thought of a warm, understanding and trusting relationship between parents and children, and I also love the dynamics of family relationships. In this context, mother/son. I don't know, and no one knows anymore, about the relationship Baldwin had with his mother, whether they were close, but I'm not relying on historical reference, but on my interpretation and feelings.

For a good loving mother, her child is the best, the most precious, the most loved and desired. But life does not always turn to you and your child in a good way. Some people are unlucky - whether you are a king or a peasant, a sinner or a saint - fate does not care.

How does a mother feel when her son is mortally ill? Put yourself in her shoes. Just try it.

***

You hold your newborn baby in your arms. Here it is, your little bundle of joy, so tiny, so adorable... You want to give him all the best, now your whole world is him, your little angel!

Your son is growing up, taking his first steps, saying his first words. You dream about his future, you love him so much...

Time passes, you live in love and care for him. And you hope that it will always be like this - or as long as possible...

...Now forget about it.

Suddenly you are hit with devastating news - your son has leprosy. It knocks you off your feet, it chokes you, it tramples you into the ground, tears your heart to pieces. At that moment, as soon as you find out, you see nothing in front of you and hear nothing. Your mind is empty, and there is only one thought of your son, your treasure. Doomed, cursed. If there really is a God, why did he let this happen? Why your child? They say leprosy is a curse from God. Why curse an innocent child?!

Pain, despair, anguish. You want to weep, You want to grab your son, hold him close and never let go. You realise he's doomed. But he doesn't realise it yet.

As time goes on, his health gets worse. Your baby does not understand what is happening to him - he is scared, he is confused, he is waiting for your support and comfort. You smile at him, you give him everything you can - but inside your heart is pounding and tearing as if it were breaking your ribs. Every night you're choked with tears. Your son is your flesh and blood, you gave him life, you brought him into this world, you condemned him to this existence...

Time passes, you do your best, but it seems as if God himself has turned away from you. You pray to all the saints, you beg the Virgin Mary - she is a mother too, she must hear, she cannot fail to understand! But nothing changes.

Your son is growing up, and every year his condition gets worse. His skin is covered with leprosy spots. His eyesight is getting worse. He's always tired, he can't live without the help of doctors and medicines. He's rotting alive. People look askance. People judge. People see a monster. All you see is your angel. Every day you swear to love and care for him, swear you won't leave him...

***

A young 16 years old boy wins a battle. How proud you are of him! How weak his body is, but how strong his spirit. But he too has his moments of vulnerability...

...Especially when he fully realises he doesn't have long to live. He seems to accept it - or pretend to accept it...

How do you feel?

How a mother might feel when she realises that she may see her son die? Bury the one she brought into this world. To live to see that moment is something she doesn't want to do.

Thank you if you read to the end! I'm crying right now😭

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smilesrobotlover · 1 month ago

Text

Whumptober day 12- underground caverns

WOOOO did all this last minute so much so that I didn’t have time to make it any longer! Stay tuned for tomorrow to see what the deal is ;)

Warnings for a mention of blood and flesh and someone hurting his ankle.

~~~~~~

Two days had passed inside the small inn with everyone pitching in to help nurse Rusl and Leon back to health. To Rusl’s dismay, Leon had given up his breakfast and his coat the day they trekked up the mountain for him, and so the first knight was completely out of it, needing care for his lack of self-care. Not to mention the wound in his side that Rusl gave him when he was being controlled by the puppeteer.

With Ammon’s help, the injured men were healing well, with Leon acting more like himself as he recovered. Talon was also recovering, feeling much better and refreshed with rest, food, and knowing that Rusl was recovering well. Overall, things were looking up for the men, but Ammon was beginning to grow worried.

They were running out of rupees, which meant that they would be kicked out soon if they didn’t get more. And Ammon knew that they couldn’t afford to be kicked out. The red potions helped speed up Rusl’s recovery, but he still needed time. So Ammon decided to go out to try to make more rupees, with Linebeck, Benji, and Kass following to help him.

The village was crowded with its residents sitting or running around, and Ammon kept his eyes peeled for someone who would need assistance with anything. Normally, a person in need would give a handsome prize to those that helped them.

The men split up and began searching for ways to make rupees. Ammon helped a cat get down from a roof and fetched apples from the store for an old woman. He overall got ten rupees and five wildberries from it, which was better than nothing, but still not good. After selling the wildberries for fifteen rupees, he decided to search for the others, praying that they had better luck than him.

He found Linebeck first, who was angrily wringing out his overcoat by the fountain. Ammon walked up to him, confusion apparent on his face.

“What happened here?”

Linebeck huffed, laying his coat in the sun. “This guy had me dive into a river to get his stupid chest that he lost! I nearly died!”

“Oh.” Ammon stared at his coat as Linebeck began to wring out his hair.

“Then, the idiot gave me an egg for my ‘efforts’. An egg! What the heck am I supposed to do with an egg?”

“Just sell it.”

“And what will that get me? Huh? Not enough for what I went through! I won’t be able to keep the money anyways!”

Ammon rolled his eyes. “Linebeck we need the money to stay in the inn. What would you even need rupees for anyways?”

“You don’t need to know everything about my life!” Linebeck argued, handing him the egg. It was a golden egg to Ammon’s surprise, and he wondered if it would sell well. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Benji approaching them holding a big bag, looking smug.

“Please tell me those are rupees,” Ammon said, and Benji laughed.

“No, it’s even better than rupees!” Benji reached in and pulled out a seed. “It’s a deku seed! It’ll blind anyone when you throw it!”

Ammon stared, unamused. “Benji, we need rupees, not seeds.”

Benji stared back, glancing at the bag of seeds, before throwing own in front of Ammon. He wasn't lying when he said that it’d blind anyone, because Ammon couldn’t see a thing for a few seconds. When his vision returned, he saw Benji’s stupid face smiling at him, and Ammon glared.

“Don’t do that again! Now sell those so we can get more rupees, dang it!”

Benji pouted and put the bag of useless junk away. “They’ll come in handy someday! Just you see!”

Ammon rolled his eyes and glanced at the golden egg, handing it to Linebeck.

“This is golden, it could sell for fifty rupees at the minimum. Sell it.”

Linebeck huffed and got up from the fountain, trudging his way to shop while Ammon and Benji watched. Goddesses, it felt like Ammon was with his son when he was a teenager. Always distracted by anything that blew up and pouting over everything. An ache to see his son again suddenly appeared in his chest, but he pushed it away, needing to trust that his son will be able to protect himself. Right now, he needed to focus on his friends.

While waiting for Linebeck to return, Ammon spotted Kass walking towards them, cradling his left wing and looking upset. Ammon raised a brow and walked up to him.

“Are you ok?”

Kass’s eyes widened and he forced a smile. “Oh yes! I’m fine… I just… haven’t gotten any rupees.”

“You and everyone else. It’s alright,” Ammon said, turning to glare at Benji. “Benji, make sure you sell those so we can get rupees. Hopefully we’ll get enough for a couple of more days.”

“But—”

“Quit acting like a child and sell them! Right now staying at the inn is the most important thing, not having useless seeds!”

Benji huffed. “These seeds aren’t useless! I showed you what they can do!”

“Sure, they’re not useless if you want to flashbang someone. Sell them.”

Benji groaned and stomped away, leaving Ammon and Kass alone by the fountain. Ammon glanced at Kass and chuckled slightly, who was laughing as well.

“Sometimes I wonder if he’s secretly a child with facial hair,” the rito said, and Ammon nodded.

“I wonder that as well.”

“Excuse me.”

Ammon and Kass turned to see who was talking to them, and an older man was on the opposite side of the fountain, looking frazzled and nervous.

“Hello,” Ammon greeted, hoping that the man had rupees to offer.

“I heard you’re doing jobs around here, yes?” He asked, and Ammon nodded. “I have a job for you, and I’ll pay you a handsome prize for it! I just…I need help.”

Ammon and Kass glanced at each other, and they both nodded.

“Of course, what can we do?”

The man looked relieved and he pointed to the well to the side of town.

“There’s something wrong with the well. When I went to get water, I received a bucket full of blood and flesh!”

Ammon and Kass glanced at each other again, an air of unease falling between them.

“We depend on that well water, so please, find out what’s going on down there, and I’ll pay you!” The man pleaded. Ammon nodded, and rested his hand on the man’s arm.

“We’ll take care of it, do not worry,” he said, and the man smiled.

“Thank you, oh thank you! My home is right by the well, so knock on my door to tell me what’s going on.”

“Of course.”

The man smiled again and walked away, entering what Ammon assumed was his home. He let out a sigh and looked up at Kass, who looked nervous.

“Well, sounds like we have an opportunity to get more rupees, yes?”

Kass nodded, but he didn’t look any less nervous. “Yes, but that’s… horrifying. What could cause the water to turn to blood?”

Ammon shrugged. “It could be a dead animal. Or it could be something that isn’t blood but looks like blood.”

“Yes, but what about the flesh?”

Ammon hummed. “It’s most likely a dead animal in that case. Either way, I hope he does pay well. We could use the rupees.”

Kass nodded and glanced over, spotting Linebeck and Benji walking up to the two.

“How much did you guys get?” Ammon asked, and Linebeck huffed.

“Fifty rupees.”

“I got 25 rupees,” Benji jumped in, and Ammon frowned.

“How many of those seeds did you have?”

“Thirty.”

“Wouldn’t you have thirty rupees then?”

Benji huffed. “I kept some of them, ok?”

Ammon sighed and shrugged. “Well, that’ll buy us two more nights. But we just got a request to investigate the well, so we’ll be doing that.”

“Hopefully we’ll get plenty of rupees from this!” Kass said, and Ammon nodded.

“What are we needing to investigate?” Linebeck asked, and Ammon paused, knowing how the man got around blood.

“We’re—there’s something wrong with the water, so we need to fix it,” he said simply, and Linebeck frowned.

“How’re we gonna do that?”

“No idea, let’s go.”

Ammon led the rest of the men to the well, which looked like a normal well. But when Ammon looked down, he could smell a hint of the metallic smell of blood. No doubt that guy was telling the truth.

“Oh goddesses, what is that smell?” Benji asked, pinching his nose.

“Clearly whatever’s causing the bad water,” Ammon answered, and hopped over the edge, grabbing onto the ladder on the side. “Now come on.”

The other men followed reluctantly, and Ammon hit the bottom with a splash. He looked around where he was, feeling cramped inside the small well and wondering how all of them were going to fit comfortably. Benji landed next, his eyes narrowed as he observed the well.

“I’m no wellologist, but shouldn’t there be…I dunno…water?” He asked, kicking the shallow water before him. Ammon frowned and nodded, also feeling strange at how little water there was. He knelt to the ground just as Linebeck reached them, dipping his hands into the little puddles of water around him. Where he was expecting blood, he only got normal well water. Strange.

Benji nearly toppled onto him causing Ammon to fall onto his hands for support. He turned and saw Benji and Linebeck both staring at Kass, who was clearly taking up too much space.

“I–Um… I’m so sorry,” the rito mumbled, holding his wings close to him.

“It’s alright, Kass,” Ammon said, and Linebeck rubbed his head, staring at the stone around them.

“Yeah, but do we all need to be here?” Linebeck asked, leaning against the ladder. “Seems a bit crowded down here.”

“I suppose you’re right, Linebeck. I doubt we need everyone here. Two of you can go up above and wait.”

Linebeck stared at the ladder, as did Benji, and the two raced to climb it first.

“Get off!” Linebeck grunted, trying to shove him down the ladder, but Benji remained stubborn.

“I was here first!” Benji grunted back, the two fighting while Ammon stared bemused.

“Guys, I said two of you can go up, not one. There’s no need to fi—”

The step Benji was on suddenly snapped, and the short man yelped as he fell backwards, tumbling until he hit the stone wall. Except, to Ammon’s surprise, he didn’t stop rolling. Instead he phased through the wall and vanished before their very eyes. The men all stared in shock, it being silent for a long moment.

“W-what the f— did-did you guys see that?” Linebeck asked after jumping off the ladder, his hands in his hair. “BENJI! I’M SORRY, ARE YOU OK?”

It was silent for another minute until a strained voice from beyond the wall spoke.

“I think I twisted my ankle.”

The men all glanced at each other, and Ammon stepped towards the wall, putting his hand against it. Just like Benji, it went through as if nothing were there, and he poked his head through to see his friend laying on the ground, an uncomfortable look on his face. The two made eye contact and Benji forced a smile and a thumbs-up.

“So there’s a trick wall I guess,” he said, his voice sim pain. Ammon glanced down at his ankles and frowned, kneeling to observe them.

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t know, my ankle kinda hurts,” Benji mumbled, and based on the pain in his voice, it seemed like he wasn’t overreacting.

“Well, it’s best if you stay off of it for now—”

“Oh my.”

Ammon looked up to see Linebeck and Kass poking their heads through the strange fake wall, staring at the view ahead of them. He turned to look as well, noticing the large cavern right in front of him. There was more water, but it was a sickly green that shined against the torches lighting up the area. In the distance, a strange floating skull floated around, not noticing the group of men. Ammon stood up and drew his sword, a sense of dread overwhelming him.

“Come on guys,” he mumbled, stepping towards a platform within the water. He hopped over to it and gestured for the others to follow, though they only sat there.

“Ammon is—is the option to go back up still on the table?” Linebeck asked, his voice cracking, and Ammon frowned.

“No. There’s more than enough room down here, now grab Benji and get over here.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because you’re the reason he’s hurt in the first place, now get over here!”

Linebeck huffed and stepped out from the wall staring at Benji as he was a pile of dirt.

“Get over here, baby,” Benji said with a grin, and Linebeck physically recoiled, grabbing him as if he were a piece of seaweed covered in slimy gunk.

“Why can’t you just be normal,” he grumbled, getting the man on his back and standing up straight.

“You did this to yourself. Now carry me, big boy.”

Linebeck groaned and clumsily hopped over to where Ammon was, and Kass finally did the same, still holding his wing gingerly. Ammon raised a brow but didn’t comment on it, only moving further into the cavern. It was strange at how such a place could exist underneath the village, and Ammon couldn’t help but wonder why such a place existed. It was empty save for the flying skull, and the occasional dripping sound rang out through the cavern. Ammon turned to the rest of the men and nodded, pointing down a hallway.

“Let’s go find whatever’s causing the water to be ruined.”

#whumptober #whumptober 2024 #smiles wrjtes #strangers across eras #I didn’t tag this at all man 💀

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hoeforalbedo · 4 months ago

Text

ᗪEᗩᒪ ᗯITᕼ TᕼE ᗪEᐯIᒪ ✟

Prologue

———————— ♱ ————————

WARNING: PLEASE READ.

Sensitive topics including vague details of SA. Reader will display many mental health such as depression, PTSD, and anxiety. I will also discuss after effects of said trauma such as hyper sexuality, over-sexualizing oneself, over trusting, and many more. (Many cope in different ways however I am more familiar with this side of the spectrum as I have taken this information from my experience.) Suicidal topics. Horror. Manipulation. Blasphemy. Religious horror and possibly hints of religious trauma. Demons. Paganism. Witchcraft (I try to depict witchcraft as accurate as I can however if I make it too accurate, it will seem boring so I did add magical abilities. I write it based off of how I practice it). Possession. Death. Murder. Exorcism. Sex. Ritualistic sex. Female reader. A bit of crack (reader doesn’t take things seriously. Humor is the way of coping 😭)

If any of these themes trigger you, please do not read. You have already been warned.

Writing criticism is appreciated since I want to get better in writing.

SUMMARY: Depression is shit. This town is shit. Everything is shit. But that priest is sexy and trauma dumping is hot.

———————— ♱ ————————

Kim Hongjoong was never the same after working for the Vatican. He had performed an unsuccessful exorcism that took the life of the child. Trauma could do a lot to someone and so he never went back, instead residing in a small town In Massachusetts.

The town has everything it needs, shopping centers, supermarkets, entertainment, and of course, the church. The church is the center of everything, well geographically it isn’t, but everyone’s lives revolve around it.

There was never a need to leave. Those born in the town tend to be stuck in the town.

Fortunately, you were accepted into a prestigious college and had a scholarship to cover you. You were never an academic overachiever as everyone turned out the same. Working in the small town or becoming a nun to contribute to the church.

Everyone has always been devoted to the church. The town is small enough that everyone knows each other to the point you could get a knock on your door if you don’t attend Sunday mass. If you are sick, be prepared to have your parents invite the priest for a private mass.

As a child, you would pray before every meal, abide by the commandments, go to monthly confessions, and of course Bible is above everything. You weren’t allowed to question.

At 13, you asked why God placed the garden in the first place if he knew, since he is the all knowing God after all, that Eve would eat the fruit. Your parents slapped you and had you pray the rosary three times. Another time, you were at school. It was a catholic school where nuns were teachers. You had asked, “If God said that all life is valuable and killing is a sin, why would he order Abraham to sacrifice his son.” You just felt everything to be hypocritical and at the end, you were ordered to kneel on salt as you were slapped and forced to pray.

You were told that everything is all predetermined. That everything is God’s plan. When you looked around, everybody lived the same way everyday. Women were stuck in the house while men worked. “A woman's purpose is to cook and clean. You must always keep your husband happy.” When your room was messy, your mother would always berate you, saying, “If you can’t keep your room clean, how can you expect to marry a man?” Is that really the only purpose you have? If everything is predetermined, is that all there is?

Is that all there is? That question haunted you.In high school you worked extra hard, becoming honors and getting all A’s in all subjects. You even applied to NYU without your parents knowing, and only then when you received the acceptance letter did you tell them. You didn’t give them any choice. You wanted to leave, to study and become successful. They had thought you were possessed by the devil.

So why did you come back to this awful town? Maybe God is against you. Is there even a God? Some being may have decided to punish you. You were walking to the train after your shift at the hospital. You are a neurosurgeon. You know New York can be dangerous at night. Maybe you were asking for it. Ironically, the man was Christian. That cross was all you could look at. At the end, you became depressed. You could afford a psychiatrist but that never really crossed your mind.

The irony of it all was that instead of shying away from sex, it’s like all your body wants is sex. It doesn’t make sense. You would go to clubs and bars to get laid for the night but it never really got anywhere, and the more it never progressed, the more frustrated you got. You spiraled into this sex addict maniac who would oversexualize yourself only to back away when you’re finally feeling good.

In the end, an attempted suicide sent you to the ER and your parents were called. They had decided that taking you back into town would drive the devil out of you.

———————————————————————

"Don't be afraid, for I am with you. Don't be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand," A young man preaches for the hundreds of people in the church. He has black hair and he’s dressed in the green robe priests wear for ordinary times. He is clearly crafted personally by God. God must have taken his time carefully molding this masterpiece. You really shouldn’t be drooling over a priest. The poor lighting of the church doesn’t do his face justice, however he still looks angelic regardless.

“Depression is a sign of weakness, but that does not mean we are alone,” Pastor Hongjoong preaches and it’s clear that he’s talking about you. “God is always there for you and if you reach out to him, he will be there to light the darkness in our hearts. Depression, hopelessness, it is what the devil does to try and claw into us, to tempt us to sin. So brothers and sisters, let us pray for our sister Y/N, to help bring her into the light,” Hongjoong smiles. He watches how you uncomfortably shift in your spot, and it gives him a sense of satisfaction.

Suddenly, it feels like everyone is judging. The church looks darker than before and all eyes look at you, and only you. Even the huge statue of Jesus, a recreation of his crucifixion, stares at you as it hangs above the altar. He’s judging you and it’s clear by the look of Jesus that you aren’t crossing those pearly gates.

Hongjoong doesn’t understand why, but the way you shrink back makes him feel hot, as if his skin is burning. He shouldn’t feel that way and it causes him to feel sick to the stomach. He rushes the mass, and once he’s walked down the aisle where people sang the psalms around him like some sort of ritual, he goes to his office and downs two bottles of water. He mutters prayers under his breath until he can calm himself. Hongjoong was never the same since after the exorcism. The night haunts him and there are days when he questions his own faith. He must be a weak priest for questioning God but there are far too many questions than answers.

Once he had collected himself, he made his way back out where many people outside were waiting to say hi to him.

“Can we go home?” You whine. You already experienced unbearable humiliation earlier. It’s much worse when the town pretty much knows your business.

“No. Father! Father Hongjoong, our daughter, Y/N. We were hoping you were open for confession after the many sins she had committed. It’s also worse that she hasn’t saved herself for marriage-“ Your dad began, each word filling you with rage.

“You know I didn’t have a choice!” You yell loud enough for people to look at you weirdly. “How could you just tell people my business like that?”

“I do hope you can take her into the convent,” Your dad continues.

“I will not be a nun!” You snap.

“As you can see, Father, we fear the devil may have gotten to her,” Your mother nearly cried, dabbing her face with a handkerchief when there were no tears.

“It is unfortunate what you had to go through. It seems that the devil truly has power in this world and you just had to experience it first hand,” Hongjoong gives a comforting smile. He understands where you’re coming from.

“Well what can we say? It is all God’s plan, am I right Father?” Your dad laughs and looks for the priest’s approval of his words.

Hongjoong forces a laugh. How could God plan something so cruel? You didn’t ask for it. He didn’t ask for it and yet everyone else is justifying everything, making it seem that the pain is pointless.

“I always tell her, God gives us free will but some things happen for a reason! It was what God wanted!” Your dad continues when he believes Hongjoong agrees with him. You wanted to hurt your dad. Is that bad?

Hongjoong wanted this man to shut up. It is people like him who use religion to justify their wrong doings. “I’ll take her to the back for confession,” He interrupts. “Please follow me, Ms. Y/N.”

“Y/N is just fine,” You mumble as you follow him. You’d rather follow through with that stupid confession than hear your father’s words. There’s a reason you left.

You found yourself in a stereotypical confessional booth where there’s a screen in between you and the handsome priest.

“This is stupid. I did nothing wrong,” You mutter.

“In the eyes of God it may,” Hongjoong says thickly.

“That’s stupid,” You scoff.

“That, I can understand.”

A moment of silence comes between you both.

“I’ll just play into this stupid thing,” You sigh defeatedly. You didn’t want to go back to your parents so soon.

“Go ahead. I’m all ears,” He chuckles amusedly. “Oh Father forgive me for I have sin,” You say sarcastically, scrunching your face up in disgust. “I tried to kill my self because I couldn’t handle being a slut and having sex before marriage. If only I said no then maybe this wouldn’t have happened,” You mock the people who went up to you and called you names.

“Is that how you really feel?” Honjoong ask.

“Sure,” You shrug nonchalantly. If that’s what everyone is saying, it must be true, right?

“Let’s take out the religion aspect. Is that how you really feel?” He asks genuinely.

You scoff bitterly, “No. I find all of this stupid. These people are hypocrites! These people are calling me names, calling me whore and slut as if they know me! And- And-“ It suddenly becomes so hard to breathe and there’s a stinging feeling in your eyes. “Fuck!” You wipe the tears that had begun to fall. You never knew how badly you needed to let everything out. “I really didn’t ask for it,” You whimper, allowing yourself to be vulnerable with a stranger.

“I know you didn’t. Some people are just cruel,” He answers as he gnaws on the bottom of his lip until it bled. The booth feels as if it’s closing in on him. Why does he feel this way? Your words make him sad, angry, murderous even. A part of him wants to save you. Protect you. It’s overstepping his job as a priest. He shouldn’t get so caught up when he just met you.

“He was wearing a cross,” You mutter. “That was all I could think about. I didn’t care if he had me pinned down, he was wearing a cross and all I could think was, maybe this is what God wanted. Maybe he’s punishing me. Maybe I wanted it after all. I didn’t even say stop. Maybe they are right,” You croak, thoughts spiraling from one bad idea to the next.

Hongjoong had enough of gripping his seat from anger. Ironically enough, he would have just made the same excuse back then, tell her the same thing everyone is saying. ‘Everything happens for a reason. It is God’s will!’ He doesn’t feel that way anymore. This is one of the times he wanted to curse God. You seem so sweet and genuinely a good person. He heard you were a surgeon and he’s impressed that a person from this town made it to be so successful, especially when everyone is so closed minded.

Hongjoong stood up, no longer wanting to feel suffocated by the booth. He left his side to go into yours, to see you face to face without some barrier between you. “Hey, it’s not your fault. You didn’t want it. Did you tell him yes? Did you tell him it was okay to touch you?” He asks.

“No,” You shake your head.

“May I?” He asks to touch your hand.

You hesitate.

“It’s okay to say no,” He assures you and you’ve never felt more comfortable with a man till now.

You nod.

“No no, I want to hear you use your words. Let me hear you.”

“You can touch me,” You whisper and you fight back a smirk when you realize the sexual innuendo. You wouldn’t mind fucking him. God it’s so frustrating. You’re supposed to feel depressed and yet you tend to go between depressed and horny.

Warmth erupts within Hongjoong although he tries to push it down within him, his skin feeling as if it’s burning again. His spine tingles and he subtly shudders. He holds your hand, giving it a warm squeeze.

“Lust is never a bad thing. It goes way more beyond sex. We, as humans, lust for money, success, power, and so much more,” Hongjoong says. He tells you things that a devout child of God would never say. “But, there’s a reason why lust is a sin. When people crave too much of it, when they become greedy, they start doing things that could hurt others. You’re not a slut. You’re not a whore. You are the victim of a sinner.”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #ateez hongjoong #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez x reader #kim hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong #hongjoong smut

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lemonpie45 · 2 months ago

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TW: ||ANGST, deadbeat parent, headcanon characters and my hcs||

Shrimpo's first mother, Ebi, has been living in a small and broken abode, trying to live with what little she has. Ebi could barely fend for himself from the world around her.. from him… He caused this first, and she had to clean up his mess. She never planned this, she didn't want this to happen, but seeing her child in her arms made her feel a bit more at ease, wanting to do what she can for her son.

Ever since Shrimpo's father left, she had to work overtime in more jobs she could handle, yet it was never enough.. Every night, she'd pray to the gods to keep shrimpo safe, to keep her little child away from harm, and that one day, a blessing will be bestowed upon them both. All her prayers were never answered till one day.

As Ebi's mental health decreased, her child continued to grow, and the bills too. When she was on the edge of sanity, she held onto her loving son, cradling him in her arms, then prayed to the lord one last time.. "伟大的主" "请让我的孩子远离" "让我的孩子健康" "让我的孩子平安无事" "让悲剧不再发生" "阿們" And those were her final prayers.. When she was done, she looked back to shrimpo, her son who was fast asleep.. She softly cried, quiet as to not wake him up. " 我很抱歉我没有成为你应得的母亲，我的孩子。" she muttered, nuzzling close to him before swaddling him in a large cloth, then tied it close to her, till he was at her back, snug and asleep. " 我会给你你需要的母亲 " she promised before finally leaving her hell, her past, her home sweet prison..

The search was on.

Ebi created by @honeydewandcake. not my oc

#lemmipiechat #Originally I called Ebi “Muqin” (the pronounciation) which was mother in chinese cuz i didnt know her name lol #dandys world #dandy's world shrimpo #dandys world roblox #dandysworld #dw shrimpo

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vastderp · 6 months ago

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I Had A Baby Brother

My brother was found dead last tuesday in his apartment.

He died anywhere from Sunday to Monday, and his landlord got worried and checked up on him and found him on the floor with one hand over his face. There was an open jug of methanol nearby. My sister thinks he drank it, I pray he didn't. It was an ugly, fucked up death.

He was in declining health this past decade because he was a paraplegic and uncontrolled diabetic. There are systems in place to help with low income people in his condition, but they were barred from him as he was a convicted felon.

He went from learning to walk again in the physical therapy pool to drinking a gallon of vodka per day, growing more hostile and bitter as the pain got worse, until his body just gave out. He drove away his friends, he drove away his family, and then he hit the floor and never got up.

I was meant to view the body with my sister and her grown kids, but the funeral home couldn't tell us where his body had been sent, and stopped answering the phone on friday before memorial day weekend, and then we had to wait for someone to follow up on my sister's dozens of phone messages, which they finally did, to try and make their little profit.

My sister, who has been handling all of this along with my niece, selected a different funeral home for the cremation because the first one was disgraceful with my mother's death in 2007, and they're disgraceful all over again with my brother's now.

At one point today they finally established contact, and asked how my sister wanted to handle the arrangements for her "father". O how casual the not giving a fuck goes! Dude pressed to make a sale even after she told him how unhappy we were with their work.

All this to say that I have a car full of inherited possessions, unused medical gear, and the shitty fucked up remnants of my brother's shrine to Mom.

Good old Mom may have died almost 20 years ago, but her gentle, loving mission to smother her only son to death (and probably into eternity) is finally successful. Of all of us, I've often wondered who got it worst: The golden child, the scapegoat, or the parentalized invisible middle kid. Now that one of us has effectively committed suicide, I guess it's for the scapegoat and me to hash out who gets second place. My mother crippled him long before his car accident, in one long and winding but uninterrupted line of consequences from his birth to death. I consider it a murder-suicide. Which was which? They were both the killer, and both the victim. Enmeshment is a motherfucker.

I'm super bitter, really fucking sad, and incredibly proud of what's left of my family for how they're coming together now. (Except my dad, who is in another state, petting his dogs, because I don't think he can really deal with this shit).

So what's left? To go put some cologne on his corpse when they finally let us go view what's left of him. He always liked to smell nice and he probably doesn't right now.

They'll cremate him, and give us a ridiculously heavy cardboard box of ashes that we'll have to carry out, knowing it's all that's left of a lifetime of struggling and pain. Probably we're gonna mix his ashes with Mom's, and make that lifetime of enmeshment official.

I hope if they go to the same afterlife, he kicks her in the cooter. I hope she kicks him back. I hope they can see each other with eyes unclouded by trauma, and forgive each other for the choices they both made. I hope they forgive me for still being mad at them both for not being stronger. I hope I will forgive myself for a lifetime of resentment and blame. I sure got enough time for that.

Jason was funny, weird, secretly really smart but never made a point of it. He was stylish. He was a broken man who could have made better choices and didn't, who was happily fed poison until he couldn't live without it, who was basically his own whole ass Pink Floyd song. His violence sent me running into a better life. His death sent me trudging back into a damaged family with gaping holes like torn out teeth, into the arms of my sister, and we reconciled. There's just us two left now, and it's our job to make something beautiful come out of this jerry springer childhood we shared. We're doing our best.

Dozens of catheters still in the package. Leakproof bed padding in a plaid pattern. Gallons of creams, antacids, fiber supplements by the jar, pressure sore ointments, fungus treatment creams, lidocaine pads, antibiotics, antipsychotics, a hash pipe or two.

An entire apartment hoarded with moist towelettes, pressure garments, and cleaning supplies. An entire life choked with mental damages and crying relatives. I put on CeeLoo Green's "Robin Williams" and sobbed until my face felt burned. It helped.

All the usable/safe to give away medical equipment is being distributed to the other impoverished disabled people in his apartment complex, who will hopefully put it to good use. I got his old manual wheelchair because sometimes I can't walk. I'm terrified of becoming more like him, so back to phsycial therapy I go.

The rest?

The memories, the pity, the jug of methanol that I pray he never actually drank, the stain he left on his floor after a lifetime of compulsive tidiness, the shrine to the woman he killed who also killed him? All these things I will keep with me forever. I will honor him. He could have been so much more, for so much longer. He had a whole story I'll never know. He contained incredible kindness and generosity, and also a rage so deep it was fatal. He was only 41.

If you can spare a couple bucks for the gofundme my niece set up, it'd really help make the financial side of this horseshit a little more bearable while we do all the shit that comes with a death. Thank you for taking the time to read this post, for your sympathies, and for reading my fucked up family trauma dump. Rest assured there will be more.

Dear god, will there ever be more.

Send help. Send pizza. Send sad hip hop. Hail Atlantis. Hail Jai.

#death #gofundme #donate if you can #i had a baby brother

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quitealotofsodapop · 3 months ago

Note

So in your Tiger Monk AU how many kittens does Sanzang end up having?

Was it an easy birth or were there complications?

How many sons and/or daughters?

What are their names?

Do any of his cat suitors (particularly Azure) try to court him by showing him that they can get along with and take care of his kittens?

Only to met with the kittens’ claws and Sanzang’s hissing (and that’s just when the other pilgrims aren’t around 🤣)

Do any of the demons that still try to eat Sanzang go after the kittens, thinking their flesh and blood will have the same effect as their baba’s (mama?) ?

And which of the pilgrims (and Macaque) ends up being the kittens’ favorite babysitter?

Prev.

While it would hilarious to torment our dear Monk with a large litter (Tigers sometimes get up to seven kittens/cubs at a time), odds are he ends up with the average 2-4 kittens.

Tripitaka takes to the "mother/mama" title more readily than the male counterparts. After all, if the Bodhisattva can be referred to in both male and female terms, why can't he?

His worst symptoms (in his opinion) is an overwhelming craving for organ meat. He finds it disgusting, but he needs that iron.

The only reason Tripitaka isn't swamped by suitors like before is because they're all afraid of whom was able to father the Great Monk's young (i.e. himself via river magic).

Tripitaka only choses two names at first, A boy and girl, telling his disciples that they can choose any extras when the time comes. He wants to honour his parents, Chen Guangrui (陳光蕊) and Yin Wenjiao (殷溫嬌), whom he nor his children will ever truly know, so he ensures both names contain a character from each.

Wēnhòu/温厚 - "good natured, warm and generous". Wukong got confused after hearing this name since it sounded like "tender monkey". That was unintentional, but Wukong excitedly thought the second character was to honour him, and Tripitaka was too tired to change it

Bōguāng/波光 - "reflection of sunlight on waves". A very pretty name. Ao Lie started laughing when he heard it and wouldn't tell Tripitaka why until the gang encountered Prince Mo'ang. "Master is naming his first born son Boguang!" Now all the dragons think Tripitaka did it as a sign of good faith to dragon kind.

Tripitaka has no delusions on the matter; he is male from birth, and the only reason he knows he can survive this mystical pregnancy is 1: A Demon's natural ability to shapeshift, 2: His increased healing ability, 3: Surprising reassurance from the Six Eared Macaque of all people.

(*the Pilgrims have set up camp for the night, all asleep save for a certain monk. Tripitaka is praying, still unfathomably worried about his and his child's health.*) Macaque, manifesting from the shadows: "Cut the mopping, fluffy. I can hear it from across the valley." Tripitaka, eyes fixed on the fire: "I'm sorry..." Macaque, sighs and groans: "My ears... aren't just for show you know. They don't just hear the Now, but also the Past, and Future. It's all in the wind." Tripitaka: "That's a marvellous ability to possess. But I fail to see how it will help-" Macaque: "You're going to be fine. You and your kids. Thats what I've heard." Tripitaka: (*surprised but secretly ecstatic with the news. Rubs hand on stomach where a lot of kicking it happening*) Tripitaka, warm smile: "Thank you, Liu'er Mihou. You've put a great worry of mine to rest." Macaque, acting nonchalant: "Whatever. Just don't want to be kept up all night by your panicking. There's three by the way." Tripitaka: "...wait, THREE!?!" Macaque, evil smile: "Enjoy!" (*shadow portals away*)

The cubs likely only arrive after some years (demonic pregnancy and all), and whilst it would be nice and clean for them to only arrive after the gang completes their Journey...

Imagine the utter chaos that would occur if the Great Monk's children decided to be born at Lion Camel Ridge? >:3

The Pilgrims and the Brotherhood are arguing, causing a huge fuss when Tripitaka, like a character in a Victorian romance novel, faints upon the nearest surface.

Guanyin teleports on scene and tells everyone to STFU - baby Golden Cicadas are in-bound!

The process is long and tiring, but doesn't have many complications. The main issue is trying to keep the parent awake - Tripitaka depleting all his energy to bring his children into the world.

Wenhou/温厚 (First Born): A feisty little girl. Is out kicking and hissing before her eyes even open. Has more prominent white markings than orange or black. A right diva/princess of a kitten, if something doesn't go her way, she lets everyone know about it. Bajie can't say no to his baby niece, and spoils her rotten despite Tripitaka's objections.

Boguang/波光 (Second Born): A confused little panther (black-furred tiger) who immediately gets into an argument with his older sister when she kicks him. Mostly chill but quick to sibling-on-sibling violence. Most mischievous. Loves hiding in people's hair, and due to blending in and causing his family to panic searching for him; his fave is Macaque (the feeling is mutual).

Tangzǐ/唐子/"Little Tang/Tangy" (Third Born): The runt of the litter. Tangzi took a much longer time to arrive than his siblings and even longer to start crying, worrying his family immensely. Guanyin even stepped in to rub the baby's chest until they got a solid angry "Mew!" from him. Eventually though, he's heartily eating and has as much hunting instinct as a sheep. Loves his Uncle/Big Brother Wukong the most-

HEY WAIT A MINUTE:

When did he get here!?

But yeah, 3rd babu is LMK Tang. All lazy and hungry and giving the big kitten eyes to get what he wants. He's named "Tangzi" as a joke to how much he looks like his mama + a pun on how much he exaggerates things like his hunger or how big that bug he saw was.

Tripitaka sighs tiredly. He never thought he could love someone so much until he met his cubs. He instinctually grooms them clean as a mother tiger would, and only allows his closest companions near enough to see them.

In drafting these Tripitaka river-kiddos I realised I accidentally did something XD

As for suitors and those who'd wish the kittens harm - it will be certainly a task to get anywhere close to them with not only their protective mama tiger nearby, but also their vigilant uncles!

If a demon ever actually managed to harm one of the babies to try and consume their divine energy - Guanyin themselves would step in and tear them limb from limb.

The gang are forced to stay at Lion Camel Ridge a little longer than planned. The demon populace are surprisingly accepting, and even joyous by the Great Monk's situation! One "of their own" is going to make it up the ranks of Western Heaven, and has produced healthy cubs that not even the Buddha can deny the preciousness of!

Azure attempts to greet the kittens personally shortly after the birth, only to get three tiny swipes at his nose, followed by a much larger one from Tripitaka himself. He's more in love than he could ever be.

#tiger monk au #pregnancy tw #childbirth tw #lmk tripitaka #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #lmk azure lion #lmk aus #lmk #lego monkie kid

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l1vchuu · 1 year ago

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resentment. part three

!! warnings: slight mentions of sh, angst, slow burn, strong language.

And Simon stood there, in silence. The slight yellow rays of the rising sun filled the now empty room- well, half empty. The walls- before filled with your favorite music artists and films, your bed- once piled with your fluffy little animals from Ikea and sheets- once warm and packed with your scent. Now everything was empty and dull- just like the way he had treated you the past few months.

His mind went blank- was he hallucinating? Were you there?

He looked around again, his gaze had sharpened. Did you request to have your own room? Where the hell were you? Why didn't you tell him?

Ghost closed the door behind him, making his way to Price's office- maybe he will tell him.

As the elevator closed its' doors behind him, he strode to the Captain's door, knocking three times before entering.

"Good morning, L.T."

"Good morning, Captain."

Price looked at the sight in front of him- a tall, masked, tired man. He knew what he was going to ask him- and he knew damn well how to answer.

Simon stood there, quite hesitant to ask the thing he had been thinking of- actually, he hadn't prepared the question at all- so the silence filled the room again until Price spoke up.

"She took a break- you will have your own room for a while."

A break? Ghost thought to himself.

"How long?"

Price took a sip from his coffee.

"A month. For now."

A month? A week or two- fine- but a month?

"Is there a particular reason-"

"No reason included."

Price turned to face him.

You and Ghost made quite the pair ever since they introduced him to you. You were always his sparring partner, and so was he. He only ate food if you were around, and so did you. You only accepted a mission only if he was there, and so did he.

After years of being friends and colleagues, you two became inseparable- which meant that absolutely everyone on the team knew that something was wrong. And only one person was to blame, right?

The Captain sighed, nodding his head slightly- a habit of his.

"You don't know, do you?"

Simon's head perked up.

"Know what?"

"She fainted yesterday. She was on the bed for a long time- and she basically looked like a corpse."

Price put his mug down.

"Look, Riley. I'm not the one to get into this mess- but I'm sure the others won't tell you, so I will. The nurse wrote that she fainted out of exhaustion- but that won't explain the cuts and bruises on her body, right? Did you even notice her change in behavior?"

Simon gulped.

"No, I didn't."

"You didn't notice anything? Nothing?"

"No."

Price massaged his temples.

"Our job is to make sure that our soldiers are in good shape and health, Riley. And she is one of our best."

Simon sighed. His mind was blank. Truly. Blank.

"I know, Captain. I've been on night shifts a lot and-"

"We all know what the real reason is, Lieutenant. Drop the excuses."

Price interrupted him, his tone was stricter now.

"Again, what I was saying was- You can't keep doing this. We can't let this team break the trust we have built for years. If one person goes down, so do the others. Understand?"

"Yes, Captain."

"I don't know what happened, and it is not my place to do so. I'm saying this as a regular person- try to fix whatever the fuck is going on."

Simon stayed still and silent. His eyes looked tired, but his gaze was strong.

Price sighed again, motioning him to the door.

"This is not a good thing, son. You have a month to figure it out."

As Simon stepped to the door, Price followed behind him.

"And you better pray she won't fucking quit in the meantime."

These were the last words Price had said before Simon left the office.

You arrived at the airport, a place you hadn't seen in a long time. You didn't notify anybody of your arrival because you needed to be alone- you wanted to be alone.

You took a ride to your college apartment, glad that it is still for rent. As the taxi passed through the streets, the trees danced to the wind and the sunlight flew through the air. It was about 8 am and the shops were just opening their doors to the public.

The taxi stopped in front of the apartment complex. You paid the driver and got your things to your old apartment without any worries.

You finally had time- time to think everything through and manage your feelings, time to heal.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, it was the first time you paid any attention to your appearance and you barely recognized it. Your eyes were swollen and empty, your skin was pale and dry, your arms were scratched up- a habit you had when you felt nervous, and your thighs had bandaids.

You had forgotten about it- you hoped you never remembered it. A few weeks ago you almost began an argument with Ghost, but it just ended up with you staying alone in the bathroom, your tactical knife in your hands, and a whole lot of tears and physical pain. You never resolved problems this way, never. Self-inflicted wounds are something you hadn't done to yourself ever since high- school. So you thought about it- Why did I react like that?

You cleaned and stitched up your wounds after you had showered- your skin was hot and soft from the boiling water. It was quite frankly the first time you had taken such a long shower- but it helped you calm down.

Laid in your bed, bags scattered all over the place, you looked at the ceiling and thought about the upcoming month. What were you going to do? Well, you had money from your last paycheck- so you didn't need to worry about that, you need to do something to get you out of your mind, just like the old high school times. What did you do in order to forget about everything? Oh yeah, you joined the military.

There were many other things you could do- maybe go to see a therapist. No, not a good idea. Why? What will I say to them, I don't know what I'm feeling. We'll figure that out.

Jokes aside, you genuinely didn't know how you felt. What was it that bothered you? Why did you feel like that? Absolutely. no. fucking idea.

You hated everything around you, about you, including you. You felt like crawling out of your skin and existing without being perceived as a living person. You felt like a piece of flesh, slowly rotting into the ground, hoping for the bugs to come and consume you whole. You wish to be buried deep into the earth's core, maybe the warmth will be enough to comfort you. You prayed that one day people would walk through you as if you never existed. You prayed that one day people would say your name and not have you in their minds. You didn't want to exist.

But on the other hand, you wanted people to think about you and notice you. You wanted to be taken care of, to be perceived as a human with feelings. You wanted to be held and have sweet things whispered into your ear. You wanted people to smile as you passed by, people to remember little details about you. You wanted people to think about you when you weren't around.

Everything was so confusing to you at the moment. You stared at your empty phone, looking at all of the names of people who you used to talk to before. You weren't allowed any contact with your teammates if you were away- no calls, no messages, no emails. The only way they could possibly make any contact with you is through letters. Will someone write to me? you thought to yourself. Yeah, you said to Price that you didn't want him to notify anyone of your leave- but surely someone would've noticed by now, right? Will someone notice my absence?

But you were away. You were away from the base, away from all of the oils and gunpowder, away from the ink and the papers, away from the tablets and computers, away from the stingy coffee and oatmeal, away from the ripstop and the uniforms, away from the steel and guns. Away from everything.

The first thing that you could try to fix was your eating habits. You barely ate a meal a day for a month and your body was begging for it. But it wasn't going to be easy, of course. You still couldn't bring yourself to have any type of appetite. You still felt the salty taste of your tears on your tongue, and you could feel shivers down your spine. Maybe you could go grocery shopping? Maybe that could help.

You lazily stepped out of your bed, put on casual clothes, and headed out the door with nothing in mind- you'll figure it out.

It was a normal day at the base. Everyone was doing their daily routines and their assigned work, training, or planning any new missions. It was the quiet season- there wasn't anything crazy going on, which meant that the atmosphere was lighter than usual. It was everybody's favorite time of the year, except Christmas or Halloween.

Simon was sitting in his shared office, his desk being next to Kyle's. It wasn't a normal day for him though, his mind wandered all around you.

Ghost has suffered through most of his life, given the fact that all of his family was murdered because of him, and he has been imprisoned and tortured by a Mexican cartel. In papers, he is often marked as dead and he constantly wears a mask in order to protect his identity and uses it to cope with his traumas. He often has nightmares and hallucinations, which you used to help him with- would it be staying all night talking or maybe distracting yourselves with movies. He has a long history of disorders, which was the reason why you and he got so close. You coped together, you brought comfort to each other. He was the first person on the team that you got comfortable enough with to share your past, and so did he. It wasn't pity that brought you guys together- it was genuine coping and the need to get better, you healed together.

And there he sat, knowing the fact that he had possibly ruined all the progress you had made.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.☆.｡.:

Heya! This part was short, for which I apologize- it's supposed to be more of a 'filler', in order to get the emotions flowing in. But don't worry, part 4 will come shortly after, with more action and sadness! (just kidding, or..?) If you liked this part, make sure to like or reblog <: See you next time, lovelies <33

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #call of duty x reader #cod #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #call of duty fanfic #ghost fanfiction #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley fanfic #cod mw2 fic #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare x reader #cod angst

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divaofmads · 1 month ago

Text

Forever In My Heart | King Baldwin

Part I | Part II

Gif by @princess-of-thebes-1995 Dividers by @saradika-graphics pictures by Pinterest

Summary: Baldwin knew that his illness would not allow him to live long. Unfortunately, he did not have an heir to leave the throne to, and since he was of French origin, he demanded an heir from the French kingdom to take over the throne after he died. So King Louis VII sent his younger son and his wife to go to Jerusalem and make a deal with the King.

Warnings! : Toxic Relationship, (King Baldwin is 20, Prince Hugh is 25, Y/N is 19), No Y/N using (Princess Maria), Inspired by history. It is not real historical events exactly, There are chronological mistakes, I apologize for the mistakes I made in English that is not my native language and I am trying to improve my writing skills

A/N: No one's religious beliefs were disrespected. The story was written by researching the ideas of that period.

A/N 2 : You can imagine whoever you want to play the bad guy(Please comment who do you imagine).

" 5th June 1173

My lover who is more beautiful than anything. My lady with lips sweeter than honey, a complexion that would make the moon jealous, and eyes brighter than the sun. The angel who inspires me. You're in my dreams when I sleep, you're the first thing that comes to my mind when I wake up. I miss you so much that every day we are apart I pray to Jesus that my father will return from crusade as soon as possible and start making preparations for our wedding.

After that incident, after the doctors had a dilemma about whether I might be sick, I thought that your father the emperor wanted our engagement not to be official, using his relations with the Seljuk State as an excuse. Forgive me for such impertinent ideas, my love. I would never betray you and your family. However, the crusades that my father Amalric started against the Fatimids by joining forces with the French and Germans showed me that what prevents our marriage is fate. But I know. No matter how late it is, our lives will be united, you will be the most respected queen the Latin kingdom has ever seen. Christian and Muslim healers will soon produce a cure for my illness together. Don't think about me. I will be fine, knowing that you love me gives me strength, my queen. Always be happy, be healthy. Always remember me. Dream about our future during the days we are apart, because I do. May the God who reigns in the heavens and watches over the whole world protect you.

I think the reason you didn't reply to my previous two letters is because you were busy, but this time I'm eagerly waiting for you to reply to my letter, my love. My heart is with you forever."

Who could love a man whom even God has cursed?

1180 4th June

When the night covered the lands of Jerusalem like a blanket, Baldwin stood by the window and watched his kingdom. God had given this holy city to the Crusaders and had stood by them. The Latin kingdom acted as a protector against the increasingly powerful Muslim invaders. Although the failure of the 2nd Crusade had caused a lack of trust among the Crusader countries, he was the only great king who was able to unite the Holy Land after his father Amalric died. His people were pleased with him. Despite being a Crusader commander, he did not want anyone to be treated unfairly, regardless of religion or race. But why did the king not feel proud when his people loved him so much?

When he looked at his reflection in the golden goblet he held in his hand, the answer to the question was actually very clear. Despite everything, he was the cursed king. He was weak and incapable for Muslims. How could a king who was struggling for his own health deal with state issues? He was also a servant lower than a pig. He was created so ugly because they did not believe in the same god. Just as ugly and useless as a pig. Saladin should have been ashamed of himself for being defeated by a king who was a child and a leper in the battle of Montgisard. But no one had thought about it. His smart moves in the army and state administration, his choice of advisors and the poor-looking king proved his power. He was the only king who came into being on the bed to manage the war. His courage had inspired the painter.

It was normal for Muslims to spread such prejudiced and hostile gossip, of course. But it was the Christians whose ideas he had to fight against. They thought that God had cursed Baldwin when he was born. He was the one God did not like. He knew how dark his soul was when he created him. When he grew up, the devil would be his guide. He was a cruel, barbaric ruler whose mind worked for nothing but evil. Leprosy was his mark and badge for his past and future sins. He was branded so that the people would notice and stay away from this devil.

He had long forgotten his identity. The man he saw in the reflection in the goblet, with a rotting skin, was either a pig or a devil.

But he was not human in either world. When he could no longer hide this curse and his fiancée did not even deign to write him a farewell letter, he lost the last feeling that would remind him of his humanity. Love. No one loved a pig, they would detest it. No one would stray from God's path and fall in love with the devil. He would rather die. And what were the feelings? What were the longing and love he felt in his heart? Moreover, what was the sadness that was hidden behind these two feelings and spread throughout his body? These feelings grew stronger after he received the news that the crown prince of France and his wife, the Byzantine Princess Maria, would arrive in Jerusalem tomorrow. Could a pig long for? Could a barbarian be sad, or could the devil love?

Baldwin could no longer bear to see the truth reflected in the globe and threw it to the ground. So many years passed. Baldwin stood strong against the gossip about him. He only loved his kingdom and swore to protect it. He rewarded the oppressed and punished the oppressors so that people could live in peace and not have hostile feelings. However, the seeds of love that had been waiting to sprout in his heart for years blossomed with the news that he would see the woman he loved again, and the king felt hopeless.

As the medicinal drink spilled from the glass that fell to the ground spread on the stone floor, the bare parts of his maskless, bandaged face reappeared before him like a nightmare. As his breathing rhythm quickened, he heard a voice.

"When the Physicians were preparing the drink, I could tell from the smell that it tasted bad."

When Baldwin looked in the direction of the voice, he saw William coming from the darkness. The only source of light in the room was the moonlight.

"William," he said, trying to hide his emotions, "I didn't hear you come in."

William smiled warmly. "You wouldn't have heard of it if there was a rebellion, your majesty, and forgive my impudence, but the reason for this has to do with your guests tomorrow."

Baldwin turned toward the city. "I was sure I would never see her again. But now, in the castle of Kerak, Raybald of Châtillon is hosting them."

William looked at the king. "Indeed, you should have known this day would come. Your relations with the Kingdom of France are strong."

"Maybe I was just afraid that day would come."

"You're still in love with her."

"Every minute I thought I had forgotten her, my longing for her grew my love."

"Princess Maria was a good match for you. She was very intelligent, kind, and combative. A fine queen for the Latin kingdom," he said, and the melancholy gaze of Baldwin, which he did not want to show, gave him away, caused William to apologize. "I apologize if I went too far, your majesty. I just wanted to recall a pleasant memory."

A beautiful memory. It was true. Every moment Baldwin spent with the princess was special. He could talk and laugh for hours about any memory he recalled. Baldwin was not born into a loving family. When he ascended to the throne, his kingdom was on the verge of division. His illness pretended him weak against his enemies. But in all his misfortunes, Maria was his white rose, and no matter how pessimistic he felt a moment ago, he now smiled because of her.

A bitter smile, ""Do you think she can still wield a sword skillfully?"

He had the same bitter smile on his face. ""There is no doubt about that, your majesty. Perhaps once they are settled in the palace you can challenge her to a duel and see for yourself."

Although this idea sounded nice at first, the facts were obvious. He replied in a reproachful tone, as if rebelling against fate. "How can I do this when I can't use my limbs and can't see in one eye, William, tell me!" He looked harshly.

"These words do not seem to belong to you, my king. Weren't you the king who learned to use a sword with his left arm because his right arm betrayed him at every opportunity? You designed special stirrups for your numb legs. You led fights with that blind eye of yours. Now don't tell me you avoided a duel with a 19-year-old young woman."

"I don't want her to see me like this, Will. My body is decaying day by day. God's curse is growing stronger and my resistance to pain is diminishing." He looked at the view again. "I don't want her to remember me like this. She confessed that she was amazed by my beauty the night we fell in love. He turned back to William and pointed his finger at his face. Look at my current state, the boy she fell in love with is dead. The Leper King was the end of that beautiful boy."

Baldwin suddenly felt unwell and William held him as he collapsed to the ground, his legs shaking.

"Your Majesty, you need to rest now."

William called to the servants to take Baldwin to bed. The servants came to them in a hurry and, taking kings arm, carried him to the bed. One left to get water. Another was adjusting his pillows. Finally William warned them to leave the room and approached Baldwin.

"You have always been a good boy, Baldwin. You are the best king the Latin Kingdom has ever seen. No ruler after you will be able to hold these lands together."

"I would not want this. I hope that people will recognize my efforts and protect the lands from hostile armies."

Before leaving William Baldwin's room, he spoke one last time. "Prince Hugh will take more care of you both, your majesty. Be careful."

Maria had been nervous since they arrived at the castle of Kerak. Representing the Komnenos dynasty had been a heavy burden on her shoulders. About six years before she was born, dark times had passed over Manuel I and the Byzantine lands. Constantinople had been sacked, the city almost destroyed. Châtillon had been the emperor's worst nightmare until Manuel took revenge on her. He disturbed the people as if he owned the Byzantine Empire. Maria's nanny would tell her these dark memories before she went to sleep at night. Maria was a naughty child and would tell the story that Châtillon would come back one night and kidnap the naughty children. But Maria always trusted her father. Although he seemed like an emperor who was afraid of the Turks and had a weak political mind, Maria was smart enough to understand her father's strategic steps. That's why she never feared Châtillon. Her father may have suffered great losses during those times, but later he took his revenge on Châtillon in a satisfactory way.

Baldwin did not attend her and Prince Hugh wedding. He was too tired to go to France. Otherwise, his death would have come sooner, and Saladin's army would have occupied Jerusalem long ago. Therefore, Reynald of Châtillon attended the wedding as regent. Emperor Manuel saw this as an insult, and the ties between him and the Latin kingdom were almost broken. But Baldwin, the Latin king, knew his former father-in-law well. He had observed the emperor very well during his engagement to his daughter, and had skillfully kept the bond between them together.

Despite everything, Châtillon must have been unable to stomach the emperor's revenge, for he was taking a jab at the princess who had joined them at the dinner table. He was talking badly about her father. He was making fun of the Byzantine Emperor, implying that if the emperor did not come under Crusader countries protection, the Muslims would give up Jerusalem and occupy Constantinople, and they would be successful. Therefore, it was very lucky for the princess to marry the son of the King of France. Maria would of course say something in response to these words, but the crown prince of France thought that women were stupid and should not meddle in state affairs. What did women know except intrigue, sex, and having children? Whenever Maria spoke, her husband humiliated her in front of the lords of the other kingdoms. She did not want to experience the same thing again. She felt sad enough when she thought of Baldwin anyway. But both Maria's and the prince's minds were changed by Châtillon's audacity. He had brought up the subject of Baldwin and the princess's broken engagement. Maria felt uneasy. She knew that her husband had always kept his eyes on her, for it was a sensitive subject.

When Châtillon noticed the tension between the two, he explained how strong the bond between her and Baldwin was. He had read Maria’s letters impudently several times before the curse of leprosy had set in. He disclosed some of the love poems in these letters. Of course, he could not remember the exact words, but he sang similar sentences with a mocking grin. Hearing these things made the Prince angry. The gold goblet in his hand almost bent, but he tried not to show it. He looked at his beloved wife with a meaningful smile. Not wanting to appear weak, he intervened. “I thought your engagement was a political agreement, my lady. Would you care to give me more details? I would like to hear it.” He brought the glass to his lips, finished the wine in one gulp, and slammed it down on the table.

However, Maria knew that the prince intended to ask her this question. If she was not satisfied with the answer he would give, his revenge would be severe. Hugh had threatened her with his dynasty. The prince was madly in love with her and knew that his love was unrequited. He was jealous of her in front of everyone and everything.

She was trying not to give away her lie as she pushed the toasted almonds on the Blancmange that had just been served into the rice fish paste mixture with the tip of her fork. "We were both kids at the time. Our alliance against his half-brothers brought us closer. These are childish feelings." These words were lies. Every emotion she experienced was too mature.

Raynald lifted his globe to his mouth and drank the spiced wine, smearing it through his filthy beard before scraping the remains of the wine away with the palm of his hand. "Your mind was capable of writing love poems as a child."

Prince Hugh gritted his teeth. He should have cut off the head of the daring man in front of him with his sword, but he was too arrogant to show his jealousy to anyone. Instead, he chose to show his anger to his wife by stroking Maria's hair harshly. She had to be careful.

She looked bravely at Reynald. Looking into his eyes, she put the Blancmange in her mouth and began to speak, ignoring the rules as she chewed. "I am flattered that you find the love poems written by a little girl mature. Yes, Baldwin and I were mature, and I was smart enough to see that you were a pain in the neck when you were still a mercenary."

Raynald looked to the prince to put the princess in her place, but Hugh agreed with his wife, and for once, though he didn't show it, he was pleased with her headstrong nature.

Then he looked at the princess with greed. "It was obvious that the daughter of the Byzantine emperor would not suit the future king of France."

Maria stood up, her chair leg scraping the floor. "Then you should know to watch your step when talking to me."

Then she turned respectfully, in a way that glorified her husband. "Master of my heart, if you allow me, I would like to go to the chapel and pray."

The prince was unsure of what to say. He did not want to be angry with his wife, for she had put Raynald in his place, who had insidiously planted the sin of jealousy in his heart. He was also flattered by his wife in front of the other lords and barons at the table. He only gave his wife permission to go to the chapel.

She grabbed the hem of her dress so as not to fall. So she left the room and walked quickly down the corridor. Talking about her memories with Baldwin broke her heart. His look, his smile, his conversation, his intelligence... She had never known a man like him in the Empire or the Kingdom of France. Her mind was always on her old love. She had stolen her own life. She spent her youth in the bed of a man she did not love, thinking of Baldwin. Now she was in pain and wanted to be alone, alone with the Virgin Mary.

One of her maids would come to her. She called to her lady, said that her son were crying uncontrollably. Little Philip needed his mother. She ignored the maids calling her as she ran down the hall. But the baby wanted her mother and was crying non-stop. But a child from a man she did not love would not be good for her right now.

She just wanted to go to the chapel and pray before the Virgin Mary. She was on her knees, placed her elbows on the altar. "Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Forgive me, I cannot guard my ideas from sin as I guard my chastity. Holy Mary, Mother of God. I am weak, the love that the devil has cultivated in my heart becomes sweeter to me every day that I do not see him. Please hear me, tear down the walls between us and inspire me to forget him. O Virgin, holy and merciful, obtain for all who offend thee the grace of repentance, and graciously accept this poor act of homage from me thy servant, obtaining likewise for me from thy Divine Son the pardon and remission of all my sins. Amen." She placed her palms crosswise on her chest. She was crying, convulsing with tears.

The prince and princess of France entered the holy lands with four horse guards in front and six behind to protect the gift chests. The royal coat of arms, the 'fleur-de-lys', was carved on wood on the body of the carriage, and the windows were covered with curtains in the color of the coat of arms's base color, the blue, thus completely cutting off communication between the people and the nobles.

But it was impossible not to notice such a long convoy. The children playing followed the horses and did not leave its vicinity, hoping to see who was behind the curtain. But the princess saw them. She had slightly parted the fabric and was enjoying the excited running of the children speaking in a language she did not know. Meanwhile, her husband, who was sitting next to her, distracted her by holding her hand. When the young princess turned her head to the prince, the smile on her face disappeared.

"Don't let children know you're looking at them, my lady. Then they'll have the brass face."

She looked at him smugly. "They are children. At least don't act arrogant towards children!"

Hugh gritted his teeth. He should have put her in her place, but their baby Philip’s nurse intervened to calm the anger between them. She smiled and called out to the princess as she sat across from her, put the baby to sleep in her arms.

"Your Majesty, in a few years your son will be running around the palace corridors just like them."

Maria smiled at the woman. "I hope he becomes a guardian of peace and justice." The word that crossed her mind was 'like Baldwin'. But she could not say it.

The nurse looked at the baby. "There is no doubt about it, my lady."

Prince Hugh was very angry with his wife. He could have given her a severe punishment, but his love was holding him back. Instead, he used his ambition for his son. He smiled arrogantly. "He will be a king in the Latin lands, a nightmare for Muslims! He will send the unbelievers to hell in this world. He will slaughter the unbelievers mercilessly. Otherwise, how can he be the commander of the Crusader armies?"

Maria hated herself for marrying such a cruel man. She could assure herself that the children's voices he heard outside had become screams of pain in his imagination. And look at the nobles who considered Baldwin a barbarian! What a disgrace! The princess was about to continue looking out the window in anger when she turned her head and caught the nurse's eye. The woman gave her no words. Her expression begged his majesty to be silent. For his well-being and peace. Maria smiled with tears in her eyes and did as he said, smiling slightly.

Meanwhile, William, who had received news that the royal carriage was approaching the palace, was giving orders for the final preparations. Sybilla had to make sure that the food and organization were perfect. The servants were arranging the prince and princess's favorite fruits and wines on the table in their rooms, and the gifts to be presented to the royal family were being counted in the great hall.

Baldwin lay on his back in his bed, surrounded by four physicians who were helping their assistants apply ointment to his wounds.

"Ah," sighed the king, "at last, my love. At last, I will be able to witness your beautiful smile again."

"Be a little faster!" But even that was tiring him. He was excited to greet them and wanted to stand up in defiance of God.

The physician warned the king, "Your Majesty, you must lie down for a day and wait for your skin to absorb the medicine. It will be more beneficial."

Baldwin gritted his teeth and spoke threateningly. “Are you disobeying my orders?”

The physicianstammered. He emphasized that he had been misunderstood. He apologized and ordered his assistants to hurry. After applying the herbal mixture to the king's wounds, they wrapped clean, white bandages crosswise, using two layers of cloth so that the skin would not be visible. Cotton fabrics in particular were imported from the Mediterranean. Otherwise, his completely covered skin would not be able to breathe and would become damp, and the amount of salt in his sweat would cause Baldwin to suffer in pain. In fact, the ointment was already hurting him enough.

One of his servants came to him with a silver cup in his hand and supported his back, allowing him to straighten up. Thus, he drank the healing water easily. As he was sliding the last sip from his lips to his mouth, William entered. He too might not have been in favor for king to welcome the royal family, but he knew that his life was short. Seeing the woman he loved should have been more important than the pain he would suffer. Who knows? Perhaps the last time they would meet would be Baldwin's funeral. Maria stood in front of her childhood love's coffin, crying heartily, and they would say goodbye to each other for the last time, and the only memory she had of him would be the metal mask.

"Your Majesty," he said with a wry smile on his face, "I have come to take you. News has come that they have almost arrived. Everything is ready in the outer courtyard. After the welcoming ceremony, you may proceed to the great hall."

Baldwin confirmed William and after the bandaging process was completed, he stood up. My God! For a moment, the King seemed to forget about the curse. He thought they were just like those two beautiful children from ten years ago. Two noble children who will live their love that has not been granted to anyone else. He hadn't even gotten help from anyone when he was sitting up in bed. Love must have been such a miraculous feeling. None of the physicians' ointments could give him the strength to stand up in minutes. The verses from the Bible that were read to cure his illness were of no use. Only his passionate longing for Maria gave him strength. It healed his melted bones and allowed his joints to bend freely. It allowed his joints to bend freely. Perhaps he would soon have the power to expand the borders of the Latin kingdom. But no! The truth had a bad habit of coming out at the wrong time. He was standing from William. He was only five steps away.

"Let's go." King said. At this moment, a servant called out to him, came to him with quick steps and held out the mask in his hand.

"Your majesty, mask!"

There's that Silver mask! The evil Witch who took him away from life. The King looked at the mask's artificial lips, hollow eyes, and metal eyebrows. He was the only person in the room who saw the mask's devilish grin. It was as if the mask was mocking him. He knew how much the woman he loved would pity him when she saw his sick body. And Baldwin's embarrassment must surely be the amusement of the mask. Once again the King was defeated. Although he had the arrogance of a king when he took the mask from the servant's hand, William knew the dramatic mood of the man he had known since childhood. So he supported the king with his words while his face was completely covered with a metal mask. When the servants grabbed his arm and tried to help him walk, he gestured with his hand for them not to come.

"The king looks quite healthy. No need."

William stepped back from the door and cleared the way for the king to exit.He clasped his hands in front of him and waited for Baldwin to come out. However, after their King left the room, William followed him to accompany, followed by the servants. It was noon. Light seeping through the corridor windows illuminated the gray stone walls. The designs and art of Arab architects were on display.

"My legs are shaking William. "This is not because of my illness," he said. He could keep Saladin and his armies away from his lands. He could win the battle. But for love, he was still young.

"I know, your majesty. Although not as excited as you, I'm excited to see the princess too."

Beautiful, attractive, innocent, seductive. Which word was more appropriate to say to the holy beloved? Which one would he choose to describe the relentless love inside him? Or were the other adjectives hidden behind these words what made his fall in love? Was it her stubborn and strong stance that made her seductive, was it her helpfulness and fairness that gave her the name of innocence, was it her white skin and wavy hair that reached down to her waist that made her attractive or was her beauty and grace necessary? There was no definite answer to these questions and even the answers that suddenly came to his mind were not enough to learn the reason for his feelings for her. The way he looked at her or the way she shyly looked away from him, he would now forbid each other. If their eyes met, it would be a sin. Then how would Maria have the courage to go to church again and ask for forgiveness?

All this was going on in the king's mind. When the horse carriage carrying the royal family entered the courtyard. The prince and princess were presented. The King was sitting on his throne waiting for them. But what he was most worried about was how he would react when he saw Maria. And that moment has come. As she descended the wooden steps of the carriage, Baldwin’s eyes went there. The years had made her a mature woman and made her beautiful. The dark brown tone of her hair had lightened, and blondes were mixed in between. Her skin was smooth as in her childhood. The cherry cheeks that adorned her snow-white face had not left her. A storm had formed in his heart, his love had turned into a natural disaster. When she descended the creaking steps and her feet touched the ground, Maria looked up at the king. Her honey-colored eyes sparkled. She had seen the child behind the metal mask in Baldwin’s eyes.

But the maid who got out of the carriage was carrying something in her arms that revealed the sin of their love. One of the heirs to the crown. Prince Philip. Maria's son by Prince Hugh. This child would have been theirs if this disease had not taken him prisoner. William expected the king to make a welcoming speech. But Baldwin seemed rather absent-minded. “Your Majesty,” he warned his king, “you must pull yourself together. The princess is now a married woman with a heir."

William was right. He had to come to his senses quickly and fulfill his duties as a king. The Latin King stood up, holding on to the arms of the prepared throne, and greeted the Prince and the Princess. He said it was a great honor for them to be here. Because he was on very good terms with King Louis VII of France. That's why it was such a pleasure for him to welcome the future heir, the Prince, and his wife, Princess Maria. Of course, when he saw Princess Maria next to the Prince, these words he said were completely fake. Even though he knew that Maria and the king were old childhood friends, the Prince did not allow Maria to speak and spoke to the king himself. Because he knew she still love this king with the ugly rotting skin. The king could not look at Maria. Because if he did, everything would be understood. So he averted his eyes, but Maria looked at her old friend William and smiled. Old memories had gathered in her eyes and came out.

William spoke up. "Your Majesty, if you wish, we can place the gifts of the Kingdom of France in the great hall. This will provide a much more intimate setting for the gifts presented during the banquet."

"Good thinking, William," Baldwin said. "Let's do what's necessary."

After the prince and the king finished speaking, they went inside. The servants showed the nobles to their rooms so they could get ready for the feast while their belongings were being put away.

Baby Philip had a separate room. They went to their rooms with the nurse.

When they came to the room, the bathtub was ready. The bathtub was made of white marble, shaped by marbles extracted from the Anatolian Seljuk lands. It was filled with water containing jasmine essence and leaves. Arab servants surrounded the bathtub, one had a silver tray, a loofah and soap on it. The other had a loincloth in his hand.

Princess Maria knew that Muslims were very clean. This was the most important thing for Islam and they were very contemptuous of people who were not clean.

The servants took off Maria's clothes, covered her private parts with a loincloth, and holding her hand, they sat her in the tub.

A woman took a copper bowl and dipped it into the jasmine water in the bathtub and poured it on the princess's hair. The cold drops of water cooled the roots of her warm hair. The weather was so hot here that the coolness of the water was a relief to her. She leaned her head on the edge of the tub and positioned herself so the other woman could massage her shoulder.

Her muscles, which had been tense due to sadness and her husband's irritable character, began to relax. The woman's delicate fingers were moving around the girl's shoulders and neck. The drops of water that had begun to dry on her skin were keeping it cool in the hot air. She was half asleep, half awake, dreaming but barely aware of what was happening. She didn't even realize when the woman's delicate, thin fingers were replaced by thick, calloused ones. Baldwin was in her dreams. She was sitting in the arbor of the palace in Constantinople, in the gardens with their many varieties of flowers, with Baldwin's head on Maria's lap. His eyes were looking up, into the honey-colored eyes of his beloved wife. The sun was streaming through the wooden planks of the arbor and making the heavens in Baldwin's blue eyes shine. She stroked his light golden brown hair. His skin was soft and shiny, just like when he was a child, and his lips were thin and small.

"My beautiful lover." He said. But voice was not like him. "Are you thinking about me?" The girl's eyebrows furrowed. As if this was a rebellion against passing into the real world. She opened her eyes and sat up. When she looked up, she saw Hugh sitting on the edge of the tub, looking at his wife with longing. But the same was not true for the princess.

She was serious. "What are you doing?"

Hugh replied as she stood up, using the sides of the tub for support. "I thought my wife missed me." He stood up too and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.

Maria lowered her eyes, raised one hand, and asked the maids to help her get out of the tub. But the prince was on edge against his wife's cold attitude. He watched with anger as he was left alone.

The servants were massaging Maria's body with various oils and combing her hair. Meanwhile, her assistant was choosing a beautiful outfit for the banquet. But Maria was nervous. She and Hugh had not touched each other for a long time. They had never brought each other to the perfect peak of orgasm. That letter from the Latin palace had changed something and the prince was aware of it. She knew that Hugh would use the maids to do this. Even though he knew that adultery was one of the greatest sins, the prince felt entitled to it. Perhaps he wanted to make the woman he loved jealous and take revenge. But he never achieved his goal. Because Maria could never love her husband enough to be protective or jealous of him.

As if it were a ritual, a rite, he would ask for sexual intercourse in the palace of the man she loved. He wanted to trouble her conscience.

While her dress and jewelry were being prepared for the feast, the servants dressed Maria in a white silk nightgown, the sleeves of which were wide and connected to the skirt like bat wings.

When the princess returned to bedroom, she did not see her husband. This was a relief to her.

"Where would you like me to put these clothes, my lady?" Maria was startled by the old woman's question. She answered with a faint smile on her face. "Put them where the emerald green surcoat is."

Then she went to her jewelry. They were in a carved wooden chest on the table. She put her fingers inside and began to rummage through the earrings, necklaces, and rings. The necklace she would wear to the banquet was very special. Among the betrothal gifts that Emperor Manuel had burned or distributed to the poor, the only gift Maria had saved was the beautiful necklace designed by Baldwin. The pearls hanging from the edges of the gold collar surrounding the red beryl, emerald, and alexandrite stones...

She called her maid over and told her that she would be wearing this necklace as an accessory to the dress they had chosen. The woman was fascinated as soon as she saw the necklace. "This is very beautiful, your majesty."

About ten minutes later, the prince called out to his wife, who was giving instructions to her maids to put away the clothes. "You must be happy to see your childhood sweetheart, my love." Maria was startled by her husband's voice as she smoothed down the pearl-embroidered dress in her hand. She ran her fingers over the soft texture of the shiny fabric and handed it to the maid. "The same topic again?" Then she looked at her husband. "That's in the past, you know. Ten years is a long time to forget."

Hugh grabbed his wife's arm tightly and turned her towards him. He clenched his teeth and swallowed. "For the mind, yes, but for your heart? Was ten years enough?"

Maria did not say a word, and that was an answer for Hugh. He squeezed his wife's arm tighter. The young woman groaned, feeling the pain in her arm deeply. She frowned under the pain and tried to pull away. "Leave me alone!"

The maids were disturbed by the tension between husband and wife and did not know what to do.

Hugh brought his face closer to hers. "If that's true, I swear..." he was cut off by a knock on the door.

Maria looked into her husband's eyes without the slightest trace of love.

She ordered. "Come in!"

The young servant girl ran to Princess Maria and bowed before her.

"Your Majesty, forgive me. Your son Philip, I believe, needs your help."

Prince Hugh was also angry. Were all those nannies interested in his heir? Just as he was about to attack the young girl, Maria grabbed his arm. "My prince, please! Have some patience!" She was worried. "Is everything okay? What's wrong?"

The girl was not very good at lying, she stammered. "He wouldn't stop crying. We thought he needed his mother. The mother's scent calms babies."

Hugh glanced at his wife contemptuously. "Your motherhood is as bad as your wifehood!”

Without saying anything, Maria left her husband and ordered the young girl to take her son.

The maid was escorting the princess to the room where Philip was staying. Maria noticed that she was quite excited. She had thought of scenarios such as her son being sick. She started asking the girl questions. Was her son sick? Maybe something bad happened to him and they were afraid of the prince and didn't tell her. The girl's nervous attitude made the princess even more nervous. "Stop, I order you!"

The girl stopped suddenly and looked like a child being scolded by her mother. Maria could see how frightened her face was in the candlelight. "What's the matter? You look very nervous."

The girl stuttered and pointed to the hallway behind Maria. “This way, my lady.” Maria swallowed and looked at the hallway the girl was pointing to. It looked much more ornate than the others. The work on its door was magnificent and decorated with gold leaf.

Maria frowned. "Philip isn't there, is he?"

The girl shook her head. “No, your majesty. Just come in. He’s waiting for you there.”

When the soldiers waiting at the door saw Maria, they immediately moved and opened the door. Maria knew very well who was waiting for her inside. She walked through the door with excited steps and went out to the balcony with the most beautiful view of Jerusalem. The two soldiers standing here welcomed their princess and escorted her to the door leading to their king's chamber.

The soldiers brought the princess to the door and left. Maria took a deep breath, knocked on the door and entered that was nervous. It was the first time she had done something in secret from her husband. She was sure he would punish her if he knew where she was. She could not leave the bedrooms. He would put guards at the bedroom doors.

She looked around. The objects were as if they were showing off in the light of evening with sun. This was not the room he had stayed in as a child. It was his father's room and its size was dazzling. It was a room worthy of a young king of the Holy Land. Maria looked at the bed across from her in admiration. Her childhood love was resting in this bed, leaving his scent on these sheets. She slowly approached the bed and picked up the burgundy-colored pillow. She wrapped her arms around it tightly, as if she were hugging Baldwin. She buried her head in the soft texture of the pillow and breathed in the scent. It smelled just as she remembered. It was so clean, smelled of soap and incense.

The princess remembered the dream she had the night of their engagement. It was a terrifying nightmare, to be exact. She had longed to speak to the bishop of Hagia Sophia. Even though the priest had interpreted her nightmare positively, Maria was always anxious. She was afraid of the end of their epic love. And one day, those things she feared separated them until death. When all these memories came to life before her eyes, a small smile appeared on her face. However, her eyes denied this smile and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"Is that you William? I've been waiting for you." It was Baldwin's voice, and it came from afar. Maria, with the remorse of her sin, did not want to be caught by Baldwin, and her whole body trembled. When she turned her head to the silk tulle curtain that separated the room, she saw his silhouette and dropped the pillow in her lap to the floor.

Take the pillow or leave the room… While she was trying to choose the right way in this dilemma, Baldwin pulled the veil aside and entered.

“Maria, you…” Baldwin stood there in shock and could not finish his sentence.

There he was, Baldwin. The man whose happiness she had forgotten for years with his longing was standing right in front of her. Baldwin was no different. He felt much stronger now. He never expected to meet those meaningful eyes again. Alone. It was as if their cursed love had flared up again.

Baldwin did not want Maria to get into a difficult situation. As soon as he saw Maria approaching him, he spoke up. "It is not right for you to be here, my lady. Please do not do this to us."

Maria, on the other hand, was determined. She had been imprisoned by a man she did not love for years, and when she could no longer stand this torture, the man who was her ray of hope stood before her.

They were standing face to face when she replied, "I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

Her hands were on groin, her nails tearing at the flesh on the sides of her fingers.

Baldwin replied, his voice filled with reproach. "You gave up on me, Maria. I learned of our separation from the letter your father sent to the palace. You didn't care to send a farewell letter."

Maria was crying. She looked into the king's eyes. "This is not true. I swear."

"Tell me what is right," he said. "Of course you couldn't go against your family, I understand that. But what about your love? Your fear got in the way of your love, and I couldn't read your last letter that smelled of roses, is that right?"

"No. You don't know how strict my father is. I wrote you letters many times. I wanted to send them secretly, but my nanny betrayed me. That's why I always got caught. I gave up because a young girl died in pain because of the letters I wrote you. I wasn't afraid of my father, Baldwin. I didn't want innocent people to suffer because of me." The words barely escaped her lips as she sobbed.

The girl took Baldwin's right hand, wrapped in a white bandage, and caressed it. But the effects of leprosy were beginning to set in again, and his arm was numb. What a disappointment it was not to be able to feel the woman he loved while she held his hand! "Oh God, please," he whispered. He did not care how great a sin adultery was. He wanted to feel the touch of the woman he loved. He wanted to experience the sexual urges he felt for the only woman in his life, past and future, who would love him. Not now, his inner voice said. He did not want to die without being drunk with Maria's love.

Baldwin took his right arm and pulled it from Maria's hands. He held out his left hand. "Come on Maria, come with me. We have a lot to talk about," he said. Although the princess realized that Baldwin could not use his right arm, she did not show anything so as not to upset him. So they went behind the silk veil.

The evening view of Jerusalem was almost under their feet. They sat on the couch. Their eyes met suddenly. It was the first time Maria saw her friend, her love, with a mask on his face, and it was painful for her soul.

"God has given you the most beautiful design of all his creations, Maria. You took me back to my childhood."

Maria smiled. "You too, my dear. The innocent, well-intentioned child standing before me has not changed at all."

Baldwin took offense. "You needn't pity me. I have been the god-cursed king for too long."

Maria put her hand on Baldwin's silver mask. Since she couldn't touch his skin, she had to be content with this. "You're still that boy I fell in love with." She caressed the cold, hard, emotionless mask. "The eyes looking with courage and hope. That boy whose character and heart I admired, has now grown up and become the greatest king the Latin Kingdom will ever witness."

There was surprise in Baldwin's voice. "Do you really think so?" He knew what was being said about him outside the borders of the kingdom. Even Saladin did not take him seriously at first. Until he saw that the king was a formidable enemy, he didn't respected him. Still, his illness had become a symbol of bad luck in many kingdoms, especially Byzantium, and had caused political relations to be damaged. If an agreement was made with the Latin kingdom, the curse of God would be poured upon them.

"Even if you gave me all the jewels in the world, it wouldn't satisfy me as much as your love." Her lips trembled, the area around her eyes turned red.

She was trying to control herself not to cry. She brought her face closer to Baldwin and buried her head in his neck, witnessing his scent and warmth. "You are not only the king of the holy land, but also the king of my heart," she said.

Baldwin was ashamed. He had never been so loved and pampered by a woman. He could even see his mother at political meetings. It had been a long time since he felt like a man. He had forgotten that he was a man because in other kingdoms he was nothing. Muslims called him a pig because they did not believe in the same God. Andalusian Arab historians spoke of him as a disgusting creature. According to Christians, he was the child of the devil and God punished him with ugliness and pain as a price for the cruelty and misery he would bring to the world. Jews living in his kingdom cursed their kings because they were not under the rule of a glorious king and prayed for his death. However, even though all that was left of that beautiful child was a piece of rotten flesh, he was reminded that he was human by the woman he loved, without knowing what he had become.

"You are here with me now, Maria. We may never meet again, but it is a great chance that you are here with me now."

Maria tried to smile, but tears were flowing relentlessly down her cheeks and down her chin, dampening Baldwin's white bandage. "I beg you, don't talk like that! Make me forget about reality for one night. Let's be in a fairy tale. Kiss me and let us to live happily ever after."

"I promise, Maria. I'll only make you live your fairy tale tonight."

Maria wrapped her arms around Baldwin's still feeling hand and lifted it into the air. She brought her lips close and kissed it longingly, many times.

Baldwin kept his word and wanted to talk about the good times.

"After reading the letter from the French court, William and I discussed whether she could still use a sword."

Maria wiped her tears and smiled. "I haven't used a sword since I got married. Hugh says it's not for women."

"It is unfair, the land of France has lost its best knight."

Maria shrugged. "If you're not my opponent, I don't care."

Baldwin's voice was full of affection. "We can reminisce whenever you want."

Maria snuggled up to Baldwin. She leaned her head on his chest. "It's okay, I don't want you to get tired."

Baldwin's numb arm was finally beginning to get feel, and he lifted his arm with difficulty and effort, and as he gently stroked Maria's hair, she looked happily at him without lifting her head from his chest.

"Maria, my beautiful queen. While my illness cannot prevent me from fighting the Ayyubids and leading my army, shall I miss the chance to duel with you? I will definitely be ready for it tomorrow."

"I would be honored, my king," said Maria. If she had married Baldwin, she would have been queen, and in their correspondence Baldwin always referred to Maria as "my queen." The fact that he addressed her with the same title, just like in the old days, showed the greatness of the love in his heart.

At the end of this entertaining conversation, Baldwin grew quiet. There was an inexplicable sadness in his voice. "You said your father was strict. You said a girl died because of us, Maria. What have you been through?"

Maria lowered her eyes as she remembered. Her eyes were red and a few tears slid down her cheeks to her chin.

"Several times one of the young maids helped me to smuggle letters into my room. The niche in the wall where i had once kept my doll was filled with letters from you. But the day the nanny discovered our secret, father showed no mercy. "she sobbed . "The young girl was punished by the priest reading verses from the Bible, supposedly purifying herself from her sins. Hot irons, daggers and hot oil. The girl fainted many times due to this unbearable pain and her weak body could not stand it anymore. The girl died."

"I never thought the emperor would be so afraid of our love that he would slander God. No God would allow such a punishment to be given to a virgin girl."

"I couldn't write you back. Because I never got to your last letter. The last time I saw it was among the gifts from you were being burned, in the middle of courtyard." She was sobbing and repeated over and over, "Forgive me, forgive me, my love."

Baldwin's heart ached as if it had been thrown into fire, and it was because of sadness and despair that Maria has.

"If I had a chance, if this curse would leave me alone, I would make you the happiest woman in the world," he said, stroking her hair.

But Maria, angered by this statement, rose harshly from her king's lap, her hands resting on Baldwin's groin, gripping the fabric of his robe tightly. "Please stop cursing your illness! You shouldn't care what people think. And I don't believe the thing what they think God says in bible. God holds you up as an instance to all; the kingdom of heaven is strengthened in your hands."

Baldwin put his bandaged hand around the girl's neck and pulled back the hair that covered her beautiful neck. "How can you be so sure about God, Maria? Are the priests wrong?"

"Did you not show your power, despite the limitations of your illness, and become a king loved by your people and respected by your enemies? You keep a part of God within you. You are not that man hated by God, Baldwin. If you were, I cannot imagine the illness that Hugh would have suffered," she said, laughing wryly at the last sentence.

When Baldwin returned her smile, Maria could tell by the sound he made as he laughed. and Maria thought.

"I would like to see your smile, enslaved by the mask, one last time, my dear," she said. There was sadness on her face.

Baldwin was embarrassed. "You know it's impossible, Maria."

Maria frowned. There was a half-mocking look on her face. "Why is that impossible? Has the evil witch completely transformed your face into a silver mask?"

"No, of course not. But the man under the mask has already killed the beautiful boy you remember."

"Then how come I'm looking into that boy's eyes?"

Maria slid off the couch and sat on her knees on the floor, looking pleadingly at the man she loved. For Baldwin, this was the moment he had feared.

"I beg you, let me touch your skin one last time, my dear."

The healers did not yet know about leprosy. There was only suspicion in their conversations. Despite this, they made definite statements and the worst thing was that it was contagious. Moreover, the woman he loved wanted to touch him. If anything happened to her, she would never forgive herself. Even this idea was enough to terrify him and he quickly stood up. He was going towards the window to get away from her.

"No, Maria. Don't ask me to do this!" But his muscles had become one with his illness and betrayed him once again. Baldwin lost control of his body for a moment and stumbled. Maria cried out as he lost his balance. "My love!"

Baldwin was down on one knee, his left hand on the ground, supporting his arm.

He felt that the woman he loved had hold his arm to save her king. When he looked up, Maria looked at him with a feeling that was companions of love and fear.

"Oh Maria." He didn't want her to see him like this, but fate betrayed him once again.

Baldwin got up with Maria's help. There was almost no distance between them. They were looking into each other's eyes with love. Despite the illness, the fake marriage, the years that passed, their love had not diminished even for a day. They could see the storms in the sea of love in their eyes.

"Come on, let me touch you one last time, Baldwin."

"If it infected to you, then I'll die."

"Nothing will happen, I promise."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I have what those incompetent healers lack."

"What was that?"

"Wouldn't some stupid servant have been infected by now?" Maria put her hand on the mask. "If they understood enough about the disease to be sure it was contagious, why couldn't they find a cure?"

Baldwin took Maria's hand and caressed it. "Okay then, I'll take off my mask. But if you care about me at all, don't ask to see my face."

Maria objected. “But…” But Baldwin was determined.

"I want you to always remember me as beautiful, Maria. Like that child whose beauty you admired and confessed to. Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my short life as an unhappy man."

Although Maria wanted to prove that she would love him in any way possible, Baldwin's request prevented her. Maybe not with words, but nodded, avoiding her eyes.

She closed her eyes and waited. But the king had another plan. When he left the dream queen and did not return for a while, Maria opened her eyes. Baldwin approached her with a piece of black cloth in his hand. He knew that Maria was a stubborn girl, so he had to make sure her eyes were closed. His hair, made of golden threads, had fallen out, leaving a purulent, bloody scalp in its place. His facial anatomy, which resembled a Greek statue, was now in a state of great destruction. His lips were falling apart, the bones in his nose were melting. He was not ready for Maria to see him like this, and he would never be ready. His concreteness should live as a memory, in Maria's dreams.

He lifted the cloth up and folded it into a strip to fit his eyes. It was much better this way. He could now let her touch him freely. He placed the piece of cloth over Maria's eyes, wrapped it around her head, and tied it at the back as ribbon. When her eyes closed, the pinkness of her sweet lips could be seen in all its glory. What wouldn't he give to kiss those lips? Her kiss reminded him of God's forgiving side. But all he had to do was get rid of the mask. He took it off, praying that everything would go well.

While Maria was waiting for Baldwin, the world was pitch black for her. It was like a blind man trying to witness life. Her ears were much more sensitive now. She could hear the friction of the silver mask sliding across his skin. She waited. She waited for the best moment for Baldwin.

"Are you ready?" he asked. Maria had been ready for him years ago.

Baldwin gently held the girl's wrists, as cautiously as if he were holding a glass rose branch. He could not control his breathing rhythm in excitement as he brought her delicate fingers close to his deformed face. And when her fingertips finally touched his rough skin, Maria sighed with joy. He needed to feel this warmth so much that he had finally managed to overcome the despair that had been following him for years.

“Baldwin,” she said, her voice catching in her breath. The happy expression on her face gave way to a sad plea. She took his face between her hands and caressed his cheeks with the thumbs. "I missed you so much. I had a hard time not rebelling against the fate that separated us. But God rewarded me with you for my wait."

"You are the only sin I do not regret, the only sin I will not beg God to forgive me, Maria," Baldwin said. Nontheless Maria's fingers seemed to be trying to explore the face of the man she loved. She saw nothing. If someone else had been standing in front of her instead of Baldwin, it would not have mattered. Still, she saw the anatomy of his face not with her eyes but with her touch. Baldwin's words fueled the impossible love she felt for him.

"You too, my love," she said, rising on her toes and pressing her lips against the calloused, chapped lips of the man she loved. A passionate act that proves that she doesn't care about his illness. Maria's lips were the heaven Baldwin had not experienced in this life. Baldwin's lips must have been dark sin for a married woman. But this sin was only the price of their desperate separation.

They said goodbye to each other for the last time, feeling their skin, before their love was lost in the sands of Jerusalem. Baldwin's virgin lips were alive with a woman's lust, and he didn't want this moment to end. God, I wish time would stop right now. If only the fairy tale these two poor lovers were living would never end.

Maria put one arm around the king's neck. With her other hand she felt around his body and found his hand and held it. She put his hand on her breasts. She squeezed his hand together to show him that she wanted him to caress it. Baldwin's hand was on the princess's breast while her hand was on his hand. Their kisses were much more passionate now. Their tongues were dancing on the wet skin. Their lips were in awe, as if they were reading a verse from the Bible. Baldwin slid his hand from his princess's breast and down to the curve of her waist. Her body shape had such an aesthetic. Her rounded lines were satisfactory. He almost lost himself in the complicated paths of love. But he suddenly remembered that he had to protect the honor and dignity of the woman he loved. He didn't want her to see her as an unchaste woman who was cheating on husband with another man. Baldwin turned away from her. “We must stop now, my lady,” he said. “This is not right for you.” He took his mask from the table where it had been placed and began to place it on his face.

"But we both want this. Or have you given up on loving me?"

He was so close to her as he untied her blindfold, he could feel her body heat. "Maybe my body will not live thirty years, but my soul will be exalted with love for you, my queen." He said. When she removed the tape completely, Maria was once again face to face with the mask that had ruined the life of the man she loved. But despite everything, she was grateful that she could look into his eyes. "Forever," he said and she looked into his beautiful eyes as he finished the sentence.

Maria's eyes got wet again. "My love is yours forever, my king," she replied.

Unfortunately, the end of this miraculous moment came early. William called out before entering. She was startled.

"Your Majesty, I have to take the princess away now."

Baldwin caressed the girl's cheek one last time. "My moon-skinned love, with eyes brighter than the sun. You gave me the most beautiful gift in the world. Thank you, I am grateful to you."

He had so much more to say, but whatever he didn't talk about turned into tears in his eyes after she left. He had to calm down before going to the banquet and pretend that this moment had never happened.

#king baldwin x you #the leper king #king baldwin x reader #kingdom of heaven #king baldwin iv #koh fandom #edward norton #forbidden romance #forbidden love #baldwin iv x reader #love #historical crush #baldwin of jerusalem #childhood love #innocent love #medieval #middle ages #baldwin iv x oc #impossible love

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huevinart · 1 year ago

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“I will live in you”

Syzoth x fem.Reader

Warning: Angst, death, blood, despair and loss of a loved one

Description: Syzoth's destiny is marked, loss haunts him.

It cost me a lot to try to move on, my new friends, people who supported me and accepted me were a great help to move forward, but she, y/n was a key piece, it took me a whole year to decide to court her or as Johnny says 'ask her on a date', I didn't want to rush anything, and neither did she. She perfectly understood my mourning and my obligations as the new emissary, she was patient, she gave me her friendship, her love, her heart... She was the first hot blood from the land that set foot in Zaterra, to my surprise she was well received, her diplomacy and charisma fell in favor among my people. Although not everyone looked favorably on me, they evidently understood my way of acting. I wasn't introducing them to a simple woman, I was introducing them to my partner.

The relationship blossomed, time helped and we got married. It wasn't long before he gave me the news that would light up my soul: we were having a child. In his womb was the fruit of our love. By then we were living thanks to the kindness of the Empress in her palace. She had indeed become her advisor and best friend, and the news was more than welcome. I had to take care of Y/N, my wife was a great fighter, an innate warrior, although her health was fragile.

I became overprotective in the months that followed, she took care of everything and everyone...but I never took care of her of me.

“Y/n, my love, I have a surprise for you,” my joy made her beautiful smile warm even my soul, “there is one month left until our son is born, so I prepared everything on my recent trip to Zaterra, everything so that be born.” There… come on, I’ll help you pack.” Why did I do that?

"Syzoth, I don't think it is appropriate to go now, my belly is heavy and such a long trip could bring forward the delivery."

I looked at it with disappointment and disgust, my people were looking forward to it, it was a new beginning for everyone. We argued, yes, I hate myself for that every day, every hour, minute or second but she ended up agreeing, she agreed to a damn whim of mine. That same night we left, and damn, she was right. The trip was hectic and our recent argument didn't help, we didn't exchange words, I didn't notice it, I didn't notice her pained face, how her belly was clenching, I deserve the worst. It wasn't until we were almost at my house that she screamed, her water broke, and her contractions took over. We hurried and as soon as we arrived I carried her in my arms, my son would soon be born. My euphoria at the acceptance of my people was so much that I forgot many important things, I forgot about their fragile health, that my people were not used to warm-blooded births, the wisest and most medical, so to speak, They had only heard history or studied books about it.

Your labor lasted 16 hours, I couldn't stop holding her hand, encouraging her, what did I do? But there came a time when I heard you cry, you were beautiful, your features were as perfect as your mother's, I was distracted by your beauty and did not notice the blood that flooded the place. They placed you on her chest and she kissed you on the forehead, looking at you lovingly.

I will remember her words to this day: “Syzoth, promise me that you will love her and protect her, live for her and make her happy, will you promise me my love? I love you and I will always be there for her and you.” Her voice was almost a whisper: "I will always live in you, daughter," then she kissed your forehead again. I was naive, I just said “yes my love”, I smiled and went to get some things for the baby and I was late because I wanted to bring flowers to my wife, what an idiot, it wasn't a promise. , it was a farewell. When I got to the room I only noticed the silence, until I saw you, I saw the blood, it was no use praying, it was no use begging her to just be asleep, I had lost again, she died and I couldn't say goodbye, I couldn't protect her, I failed. The bouquet of flowers that would decorate her room adorned her grave. Your crying put my feet on the ground, but it was not enough. Because of me you didn't know her, you didn't know your mother...

I'm a coward, I know. You are old enough to understand, I am a coward who tells you this through a letter, I am sorry. I promised her that she would save you, and I did, I protected you from me, I love you and I hope that one day you can understand, I don't seek forgiveness because I know that maybe I never deserve it.

Take care of yourself, yes, don't make Kuai Liang or Harumi angry on earth.

With love dad...

#mortal kombat #kitana #mileena mortal kombat 1 #mk mileena #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat1 #mk1 x you #syzoth x y/n #syzoth x you #syzoth x reader #syzoth #reptile x reader #reptile mortal kombat #fanfic #angst #mortal kombat x you #kuai liang #harumi hasashi

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joeyscherryjubilee · 2 years ago

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Like Calls to Like (III)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC

Author's Note: I fully believe Aemond is a consent!king, he's gonna make sure his lady is comfortable and is about communication.

Warnings: smut, first time for Laenyra, Crispin Cole, Aemond coping a feel beneath the table and a lot of consent.

Word count: 4,825

Summary: Laenyra and Aemond have finally confessed their feelings for one another. But they must put their desires temporarily aside in order to sit through dinner. Aemond, however, does not want to wait to lay claim to his princess.

“You seem happy, my son.” Alicent held Aemond’s hands. She was clearly glad of her son’s mood, especially as he was prone to states of lonesome forlornness. Aemond and Laenyra had arrived for dinner with secretive smiles and looks of longing clear on their faces. “Truly happy.”

She noted how her son’s eye flickered across the room.

“I am, mother.” He said the words with an almost shy smile, his mind wandering momentarily and Alicent’s heart clenched for a love she would never have.

“Good.” She forced a smile and squeezed his hand.

Alicent left him in order to greet a weak Viserys. Aemond, of course, immediately went to Laenyra’s side, standing too close to be proper and his hands itching towards her. Whatever note his princess received at breakfast, its contents had clearly shifted their relationship.

“A fine couple.” Viserys rasped, his weight sagging over his embellished cane. His gaze was set on Aemond and Laenyra with an unappealing smile though his joy was warming to see.

Alicent could not argue that fact no matter how much she wished to deny it.

“Let us eat.” She said instead, knowing any approval shown in front of her husband would be followed by talk of a betrothal.

The king sat first and let out a sigh that told his relief at finally taking the weight off his aching body. The group followed suit and Laenyra secured her usual spot between Aemond and Helaena, insisting that her aunt give a full debrief of the new insect that had been recently acquired.

Aemond shifted in his chair, the food in front of him untouched and his hands tapping upon the table. He was trying with all his might, and failing miserably, to not keep glancing over at Laenyra. She kept catching him staring, giving him only a knowing smile in response before returning her attention to Helaena.

His princess seemed to be the height of decorum, as though they had not been pawing at each other just moments before entering for dinner. Laenyra had tugged him into a hidden passage, bringing him to her desperately and they were late arriving because of it.

Laenyra grinned as she caught him looking again, she could feel his gaze and the heat it held.

“The wings are fragile but powerful.” Helaena explained eagerly, using her hands to provide a diagram of the new bug she had found. Aegon huffed in boredom from across the table, but otherwise said nothing. “It appears to be praying when it is still.”

Laenyra did not find the topic intensely interesting but her aunt’s excitement kept her attention and she smiled at how animated Helaena was.

There was a calmness in the room that was a welcome change from the usual despair that permeated the family meals. Viserys was in reasonable health and Queen Alicent in a somewhat good mood. Laenyra’s heart was soaring as she dared to think of the man next to her and what they have revealed to each other that day.

The calmness evaporated though, when Laenyra felt the brush of a touch on her leg.

“Are you alright?” Helaena asked as she jolted in her chair, dropping her fork with a clatter.

Laenyra nodded earnestly and smiled bashfully at the table.

“Apologies.” She said quietly at the look of concern on her grandfather’s face and the sudden interest in the rest of the table’s. “I simply startled myself when I dropped my fork.”

Everyone seemed to believe her and return to their own conversations or thoughts.

Helaena resumed her explanations though Laenyra froze as a touch feathered across her leg once again.

She glanced to see Aemond looking extremely pleased with himself, one hand on his goblet and the other beneath the table, stroking a deft pattern on her thigh.

“Are you quite sure you are well, Princess?” Aemond asked quietly with such a touching tone of concern that she glared at him.

“Yes.” Laenyra whispered curtly.

His responding grin was lecherous as she returned her attention to Helaena, attempting to ignore how his fingers trailed so dangerously across her leg. A previously undiscovered desire flooded through her and the room suddenly became hot. She pressed her legs together, seeking an unknown source of pleasure.

Laenyra attempted to remove his hand but could not do so without risk of discovery, he was unfairly stronger than her. Aemond made no further move as she squirmed at his touch, resting his hand sentry upon her thigh.

The meal passed by slowly, his hand a constant upon her body and Laenyra found time agonising until finally the servants cleared away the plates and she could leave without fear of scrutiny.

“I am tired, I shall retire.” She stood and breathed a sigh of relief as Aemond’s hand fell away, she desired his touch more than anything, but not at a dinner and not in full view of their family.

Her awkwardness was covered by Helaena announcing that she was also tired and wished to retire. It was unknown if her aunt did wish to rest or was simply covering for Laenyra and Aemond with her unlimited knowledge, but either way, Laenyra was most grateful.

Viserys nodded his consent at their departure from the table.

“Ser Arryk, would you please escort Princess Helaena to her rooms, and Ser Erryk, if you would escort Prince Aegon.” Queen Alicent commanded the twins by the door. Aegon looked extremely discontent at the idea of being escorted to bed like a child, but made no argument against it.

“Aemond can escort Laenyra.” Viserys said with a joyful smile. “I have no doubt he will see her safely to her rooms.”

“Of course, my love.” Queen Alicent said tersely, though sent a nod to Ser Criston which did not go unnoticed by Aemond.

Laenyra bid everyone a goodnight and led the way out into the darkened hallway.

They made it round the first few corners in a formal fashion before Laenyra glanced around and grabbed his hand.

Aemond couldn’t contain his grin as she tugged him forcefully through the halls, darting left and right and right again. She only stilled once they were far away from the dining hall and hidden within an alcove.

“I can’t believe you.” Laenyra whispered hotly, but there was no anger in her voice, only a barely contained desire.

“I am to blame for being tempted by such a siren?” Aemond asked with a lofty tone and clasped his hands behind his back with the poise of a prince.

Laenyra scoffed in order to conceal her amusement.

“You are silly.” She muttered and Aemond laughed loudly in the empty hallway.

She was quick to silence him, slapping her hand over his mouth and glanced around. No footsteps came to enquire about the noise but Laenyra waited a long moment, her heart thrumming, before she lifted her hand.

Aemond’s heart soared and he ducked his head in order to kiss her. Laenyra’s breath stuttered at the force of it, her hands gripping his arms to keep herself from drowning in the kiss.

“I’ll meet you in your room.” She said hurriedly, her gaze slightly hazed as she managed to pull herself away. Laenyra flushed scarlet at her prince’s responding smile, it told a thousand promises and desires that sung between them.

She darted away before he could say anything and Aemond was rather glad for it. Anything he wished to say would be highly inappropriate.

Aemond departed in the opposite direction, taking the long way through the castle in order to prevent any further gossip about his comings and goings. In some ways he was lucky that Aegon was such a disappointment, the focus on his brother’s activities meant that Aemond himself was not watched with anywhere near as much scrutiny.

He huffed in quiet annoyance though, as he rounded a corner to come face-to-face with Ser Criston Cole. Aemond usually enjoyed the knight’s presence, even if Laenyra despised him, but his appearance was an extreme inconvenience.

“Where is Princess Laenyra?” Ser Criston asked but there was no true concern in his voice.

“She wished to speak to Helaena about something and asked to walk alone.” The lie rolled easily off his tongue, Laenyra often visited her aunt before bed, the two could be found talking deep into the night.

Aemond made to step around the knight, but his path was blocked.

“Do you have a moment, my prince?” He posed his words as a request, though Aemond knew a refusal would result in further inconvenience.

“Of course, Ser Criston.” Aemond’s tone was monotonous, attempting to contain the frustration at being kept from his princess.

“Your mother is concerned for you.” The words were poised like they were coming from a place of care. But Aemond knew anything said by Ser Criston were truly the thoughts of his mother, who no doubt wished to know more of her second son’s recent activities.

“How so?” Aemond asked, feigning ignorance.

“She worries about how you have been spending your time, you departed upon Vhagar this morning with no warning, accompanied by Laeny-”

“Princess Laenyra.” Aemond interrupted sharply and his look was stern.

“Apologies, Prince Aemond.” The knight grimaced at the prince’s tone but made no comment. “You were accompanied by Princess Laenyra and I believe your mother is worried as to what rumours may arise from the two of you spending so much time together, unsupervised.”

He allowed the implications of his words to hang between them.

“I appreciate your concern for mine and Princess Laenyra’s safety and reputation, but I am unsure as to why this is being brought up now. Being alone with the princess is not a new occurrence and we often fly upon Vhagar together.” Aemond would not give him an inch, his tone deadpan and the knight squirmed.

“The reason your mother is concerned, I believe, is because of the danger of impropriety.”

“Impropriety?” Aemond drawled, raising an eyebrow and maintained a straight face, hiding his inner amusement at how far past ‘impropriety’ he and Laenyra had ventured. “I do not understand what you are attempting to imply, Ser Criston. Though I suggest that when you report to my mother, you ensure she is aware that there is no risk of wrongdoing and if she has any further concerns, she can ask me herself.”

Ser Criston was smart enough to recognise a dismissal and nodded curtly, undoubtedly knowing how displeased Queen Alicent would be at his lack of new information.

The prince left the knight, venturing once again through the halls, seeking out his one true desire.

Aemond breathed a sigh of relief when he finally came within view of his rooms, his steps quickening even more and he practically leapt through the entryway. He barred the door securely and confirmed its sturdiness twice. There would be no risk of disturbance.

His princess was standing before the fireplace, her gaze upon the flames.

Laenyra looked over her shoulder at him, the glow of the fire illuminating her like a true dragon.

I would follow her through the seven hells if she asked it of me.

Aemond clenched his fists, attempting to maintain his dignity and a distance between them.

She smiled gently at his stationary form, closing the gap herself and sliding her hands into his. Laenyra raised herself and kissed him, not at all embarrassed that she desired him, and the idea warmed Aemond’s heart.

“Hello.” She whispered and reached to stroke his jawline with a fire in her eyes.

“Hello.” Aemond murmured, his hands resolutely remaining by his sides.

“I was half-worried you wouldn’t come.” Laenyra said with a small smile and he knew he was forgiven for his lateness.

“I will always come when you call.” He breathed softly.

Laenyra glanced down at his hands, not on her body, and pulled him closer by the lapels of his jacket. Capturing his lips as hers, Laenyra dared to tease him with her tongue, a quick movement that was only a promise of things to come.

Aemond felt himself harden as she continued to take the lead for both of them, but as her hand weaved into his hair, tugging at him, Aemond's resolve broke. His hands moved quickly as he growled against her, tugging her body against his, his hardness flush against her belly.

Laenyra moaned softly and allowed him to dominate her, his mouth bruising against her own with the force, his teeth nipping at her, his longing as fierce and savage as a dragon.

“You are certain this is what you desire?” He growled after a long moment, attempting to restrain himself, for her sake.

“You keep asking, I will not change my mind.” Laenyra insisted, confused at to why he was so cautious of their joining.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He explained though it did nothing to diminish Laenyra’s confusion. Aemond smiled to himself and stroked her cheek, his thumb gliding over her swollen lips.

“You won’t.” She insisted, reaching for him, attempting to pull him closer.

“Not like that, my love.” Aemond murmured and tried to think on the best way to explain it to her. He pressed another kiss to her cheek before moving to brush his kips against her throat. Laenyra let out a small moan, a sound he wished to bind to his soul, as he dared to let his teeth nip at her pulse. “I need to make sure that it won’t hurt when we come together.”

He attempted to save her ears from crudeness, unsure as to how she would react.

“Oh.” Laenyra breathed, understanding dawning and Aemond glanced up to see her flushed but eager.

“Yes.” He said with a small smile. “Is that alright?”

Laenyra nodded, suddenly shy as she stood before him, all of it so real and her desire stirring so agonisingly.

“Yes, I trust you, Aemond.” She said and joined her lips to his again, more desperate with the heat building within her.

Laenyra sought to press herself closer to him and he could no longer deny himself of his most precious desire.

His hands weren’t gentle as he finally laid claim to her body, enveloping one in her hair and the other around her waist. Laenyra shivered as Aemond’s mouth enveloped her own, his kiss rough and desperate.

Laenyra gripped his arms, attempting to tether herself lest she float away on her desire.

“My Laenyra.” Aemond growled softly. She sighed prettily against his lips, his words fuelling the fire between them. His fingers were hurried with the tiresome strings of her dress. With a growl of frustration and yet another futile attempt to undo her dress, Aemond unsheathed his dagger and with startling precision he cut through the ribbons and frills.

“How am I supposed to explain that?” Laenyra laughed in shock at such a barbaric move though it thrilled her.

Aemond grinned roguishly, tearing the remaining seam and pulling it off her.

“Just say you were attacked by a dragon.” He offered and Laenyra snorted, kicking the now ruined dress under the bed.

“Attacked is certainly the right term.” She muttered and laughed as Aemond yanked her towards him once again.

“‘Attack,’ is it, dear niece?” He drawled, perusing her figure and taking note of how her perfect she looked beneath the satin slip, how desperate he was to rid her of it. Her nipples hardened as he dared trail his fingers along her sides, treading dangerously across her stomach. “You seem rather eager considering this brutal attack.”

Laenyra grinned at his words, her cheeks flushing and chest heaving as determination built inside her. The princess was not a patient person, she was the blood of the dragon and they were not known for patience.

Taking a deep breath Laenyra tugged at her slip, lifting it over her head. The thin dress pooled deliciously around her feet, Laenyra’s head held high as she bared herself to him. Aemond stilled and he felt a dragon rear its head and roar within him.

“Is something wrong?” Laenyra asked, a mild panic flashing through her eyes and he could see her starting to worry.

He shook his head earnestly.

“You are perfect.” He said hoarsely. His hand shook slightly as he raised it, his palm cupping her right breast gently. Laenyra shifted as he ran his thumb over her nipple. It hardened as Aemond stroked it and he dared to do the same to the left.

“Hmm.” Aemond hummed as Laenyra shivered, but he didn’t believe the cold had anything to do with it. His hands slid upwards, goosebumps following his touch. He slid his hands up her neck into her dark tresses, reviling in the softness of Laenyra.

With a startling boldness Laenyra tugged at his waistband, pulling him closer and joining them together.

“My love.” He whispered against her lips, his hands greedy as he gripped her naked body, leading Laenyra backwards to the bed. Aemond picked her up with ease, laying her gently down upon the covers.

Aemond stood tall, his breath rising heavily as he took Laenyra in, the way she looked so sublime on his bed, her body red with his marks and the apex of her thighs glistening, because of him. With a new found confidence Aemond steadied his nerves and knelt upon the bed.

Laenyra’s eyes were on Aemond as he moved to hover over her. She squirmed though as he leant to lay soft kisses up her stomach and Laenyra held her breath as he dared to press a kiss on both breasts.

“I love you.” He whispered into her collarbone, his tongue sucking and nipping at her skin, Aemond relished in the marks that were quick to form.

Laenyra whimpered her response as Aemond’s fingers trailed downwards and sat dangerously above her wet heat.

“You are alright?” Aemond breathed quietly and she huffed at him.

“If you do not touch me soon.” She threatened and he chuckled, her huff soon stuttered as he stroked her softly, his thumb applying such a pressure that a moan escaped her. Aemond couldn’t help his smug grin as he coaxed moans and whimpers out of Laenyra with slow, determined motions.

Laenyra relaxed into his touch, her back arching and her hips bucking upwards at Aemond’s skilful touch. He delighted in her body’s reaction to her, dipping his thumb between her folds to brush at her clit, her body jerking deliciously at he stroked her pearl.

Aemond moved to adjust himself, kneeling before her to utilise both hands to please his princess.

“Good girl.” Aemond murmured and he explored her body with his hand. Her wetness increased and he inserted a finger, shocked at how loudly Laenyra moaned as he pleased her. His thumb continued to stroke her and she fisted the sheets, a heat building that she did not entirely understand.

“It’s alright Laenyra.” He purred as she writhed. “Let me please you.”

Her thighs shook when Aemond changed the angle of his wrist, his movements speeding up and a second finger pressing inside her. He could tell she would soon reach her peak and he was eager to seek out all the ways to bring her pleasure.

Aemond curled his fingers slightly and Laenyra fell over the edge, her hips bucking upwards into his hand as she came. His fingers slowed and he worked her through her pleasure, her thighs glistening and Aemond grinned at his triumph, leaning down to press a firm kiss to his princess, swallowing the pretty sounds she made as he touched her.

“That’s it.” He praised when her body started shifting once again.

Calmness seemed to radiate from him though Aemond was a storm of desire inside, his arousal straining desperately against the confines of his pants and he shifted pitifully, attempting to alleviate some of the pressure and failing.

Laenyra whined while Aemond struggled internally as he stroked her, his palm providing delicious pressure and friction to her clit. Her eyes fluttered shut once again as her hips starting to rocking against his hand, seeking more pleasure.

Laenyra’s thighs began tensing once more and Aemond knew she was close again, her second peak coming quicker with her wetness, her eagerness to receive pleasure now she had had a taste.

A soft moan escaped her lips and Aemond was desperate to hear the sound again, crooking his fingers in just the right way-

“Oh gods.” She choked at the precision of his movements as they brought her over the edge once again, her whole body shivering against him and he grinned, his lips seeking hers once again.

“Such perfection.” He whispered and Laenyra fidgeted under him, suddenly bashful as he looked over her flushed body. “Don’t hide from me.”

Aemond leant down to kiss her with startling softness, with one hand he tugged softly at her hair and with the other he finally freed himself from the tight confines of his breeches.

“I love you.” They said it at the same time, in such tandem that they smiled at each other, hearts beating as one.

Aemond settled above her, taking his length in one hand and Laenyra shuddered with pleasure as he teased her folds, letting her know what he was about to do.

She nodded to him.

“I am yours, Aemond.” Laenyra murmured with fire in her eyes.

He thrust gently, slipping inside her with relative ease.

He worked himself in patiently, using her building wetness to soften his entry. She was greedy and eager to take him but Aemond was determined for her to feel no discomfort. Laenyra whined as he stroked her softly, just enough to work her up more, not enough to provide any real pleasure, she was already overstimulated.

“You must wait.” He purred in her ear, the tightness of her almost too much. He had to go slow for both their sakes and he grabbed at her reaching hands, trapping them above her head with one of his, not allowing her to distract him further.

“Let me touch you.” Laenyra pleaded, her voice was desperate but she was beyond caring. The feeling of him between her legs was too much, such perfection that she writhed beneath him, willing Aemond to move.

“Patience.” He said softly, his own resolve weakening as Laenyra whimpered. Aemond would never hurt her, and ensuring she could take him properly was his first priority.

“Fuck patience.” Laenyra growled, bucking her hips to have him further inside her.

Aemond let out a low curse at the feel of her body welcoming him, yearning for his touch.

“This is much more difficult for me than for you, my love.” He murmured, his thumb pressing into her clit, groaning as she fluttered around him. Aemond dared to thrust gently, just slow movements to see if she could take more of him. Laenyra whimpered at the action, her cunt clenching desperately.

“Aemond.” She moaned as he gave a sharper thrust forward, her body finally taking all of him, the two of them joined together perfectly.

“It’s as though the gods have made you for me.” He whispered, relishing in the feeling of fitting so well inside her. Aemond’s free hand reached up to slide over her breasts, his thumb brushing over her nipple with a grin at how willing her body was to take all of him. His look predatory as Laenyra moaned wantonly at his touch.

She gasped as he thrust gently, only drawing out a fraction before sliding back in, her wetness allowing for easy access, just as he had hoped.

“You’re perfect.” Aemond murmured, one hand still locked about her wrists as he leant down to kiss her. Laenyra whimpered against him, the feel of his chest against her sensitive nipples, the pressure of his body against hers.

“I need you to move, please.” It was desperate, she was desperate and Aemond couldn’t help the pride at it being his touch to make her feel such a way. His.

“We’ll go slow to start.” Aemond followed his words with a gentle thrust and Laenyra saw stars, her hands fighting at his. She needed to touch him, to feel all of him as he allowed her to settle into the feel of him making love to her.

“Oh gods.” She whimpered as he began to speed up, her body egging him to increase his force. It was so much, it was too much but it was perfect. “Fuck.”

Aemond was too far gone to find her cursing amusing and pulled out entirely, waiting long enough Laenyra’s eyes to open in confusion before slamming himself back in. Her eyes widened and he finally released her hands, allowing her to grip at him.

Laenyra’s felt fat tears of pleasure cascade down her cheeks as her body finally let go and Aemond continued to thrust with so much force she had to scream into her pillow.

“You’re taking me so well.” He growled, his speed and force causing the very bed to creak dangerously. Aemond gripped the headboard with one hand to assist his movements, his other hand reaching down to gently stroke her clit, the juxtaposition of his movements only overwhelming her further. “You’re perfect, Laenyra.”

She grabbed his shoulders, clinging to him desperately as he brought them closer to their climax.

“Look at me.” Aemond ordered softly, his fingers gripped her jaw to face him. Laenyra reached and took his hands in hers, their fingers entwined as she looked upon him, their gaze set upon each other as they took and gave pleasure.

They soared and fell together, like dragons taking flight and the pleasure was unspeakable between them. Aemond delved his head into the crook of her neck at the intensity, biting into his lip so fiercely he drew blood in order to not scream out his pleasure.

Laenyra was not so controlled and moaned loudly in his ear, her hands clutching at him, attempting to tether herself to reality. Her thighs shook as she came back to herself, the overstimulation bearable as Aemond settled himself beside her, one arm thrown possessively over her.

“I love you.” Aemond said breathlessly. He noted with a fierce pleasure the marks upon Laenyra’s body, how flushed she was and how she looked at him like he was the only person in the world.

“I love you.” She murmured in agreement and reached weakly to stroke his face, tugging at his hair to pull him closer for another kiss.

Aemond gave her a kiss freely before pulling away, sitting up and hurrying to dress.

“Where are you going?” Laenyra asked in a tired voice, curious as to his movements. Aemond tugged on a tunic and pressed a swift kiss to her cheek.

“I will be gone one moment, my love.” He said and grinned at the sight of her exposed and satiated in his bed. She stretched to pull a pillow closer, fatigue settling in.

Laenyra hummed her consent to his movements, her body relaxed completely for perhaps the first time in years. She only closed her eyes for a moment though Aemond had returned by the time she opened them again.

He was standing at his desk, a small pot set atop the table as he mixed a herbal brew.

“Aemond?” She yawned aloud and he turned, a cup in one hand and a wash cloth in the other.

“Moon tea.” He explained quietly, offering the mug to her with a kind smile. “Helaena keeps a store in her rooms.”

She drank it quickly, not relishing in the bitter taste. Aemond stood before her, his touch soft as he wiped away the mess from her body.

“I love you.” He whispered after a moment, his eye flickering to her face as he discarded the cloth. Laenyra’s heart clenched at how vulnerable he was, how much of himself he was exposing to her and the trust they had.

She stood and reached for him, baring her body unashamedly now that Aemond had seen all of her. His gaze was intense, their eyes set on one another and her touch was soft as she traced the exposed parts of his scar. Laenyra vowed to have him remove it for her soon, but that was a discussion that would come later.

“I love you, Aemond.” Laenyra said with a fierce look, insisting that he knew how fiercely she felt for him. “It is you and I, forever.”

He warmed at her words and smiled as she pressed her forehead against his and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his lips.

“I would ask you to return to bed.” Laenyra whispered. “If you desire it.”

Aemond chuckled and nodded, kissing her brow.

“There are many things I desire in this world, and I dare say you in my bed is at the forefront of them all.”

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