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ijustwannabecool · 2 months ago

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The Day We Met Him

Lewis Hamilton x Wife!Reader Summary... Four girls are chosen for a once-in-a-lifetime experience: spending a day with Lewis Hamilton as part of a Drive to Survive fan segment. Trigger Warnings: Mild language. Emotional vulnerability. Themes of privacy, media attention, and public exposure.

A/N: This story is overwhelmingly soft, supportive, and heartwarming. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. All feedback is welcomed. Have a beautiful day! Let me know if you would like another part of this story. Happy reading.

The Day We Met Him

The Netflix logo fades to black.

Then:

"Drive to Survive – Season 7, Episode 3: More Than a Champion"

The screen lights up with a shot of Silverstone Circuit, the sound of engines rumbling like thunder in the distance. But this time, instead of team radios or dramatic crash footage, it opens in a cramped London flat—four girls piled on a sofa with wide eyes and disbelief on their faces.

“Pause it. Please pause it!” Tati yells.

Mimi’s thumb fumbles over the remote. They all freeze as the frame catches their four names printed on the screen beneath the words: “Four lucky fans. One unforgettable day.”

Jules is already crying. Bella just gasps and slaps a pillow against her chest.

The camera cuts back to older footage: the moment Netflix reps arrived at their door, the pure chaos of four best friends screaming, tripping over themselves, and sobbing while a producer announced they’d been selected to spend a full day with Lewis Hamilton.

It feels like a fever dream.

Until the next scene begins.

________

The Hamilton Residence – 7:03 AM

Soft morning light pours across the floors of a sleek, airy home. Everything is warm neutrals, scattered sunlight, and signs of life—framed photos, half-filled coffee mugs, toddler socks on the stairs.

The narration begins in the background.

“Lewis Hamilton has spent the last two decades becoming one of the most iconic figures in sports history. But today, he invites us into a chapter of his life no one’s ever seen before.”

It’s quiet. Too quiet. Then you hear the faint hum of a lullaby mobile and the low murmur of a baby’s coo.

And then, he appears.

Lewis walks through the kitchen barefoot, hoodie half-zipped, rocking a baby monitor in his hand. His hair is tied in a low bun. He’s yawning. The camera catches it all: a tray of bottles near the sink, a pacifier clipped to his hoodie string, a toy giraffe under his left arm.

“Good morning, mama,” he says to someone off-screen, voice hoarse.

You step into frame, in an oversized sweatshirt and satin shorts, brushing your teeth while holding a baby bottle.

“We overslept,” you mutter with a grin.

“No such thing anymore,” he laughs. “She’s been up since five.”

The reveal is so casual it’s jarring. The camera pans across the room, catching glimpses of your baby girl crawling across a padded mat with a sleepy giggle.

It’s the first time the world sees this side of Lewis Hamilton.

The athlete. The activist. The father.

________

The car is quiet. The baby’s asleep in her car seat. Y/N hums along to a soft Frank Ocean track while Lewis drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting between them, fingers laced with hers.

“You nervous?” you ask, turning to him.

“A little,” he admits. “Never done anything like this before.”

She squeezes his hand. “Just be yourself. That’s more than enough.”

They pull up to his mother’s house. She’s waiting at the door with open arms and a smile that crinkles at the edges. The hand-off is full of hugs, baby kisses, promises to call every hour.

“I don’t like being away from her,” Lewis murmurs.

“You’re not,” you say, slipping your hand around his waist. “She’s just with your first home, while you go do what you were born to do.”

The camera cuts to Lewis holding his daughter one last time. The kiss he presses to her curls. The way he doesn’t say goodbye—he says, “See you soon, starlight.”

________

Silverstone Circuit – 12:10 PM

The girls are pacing.

They’ve been given Ferrari team gear, all personalized, and lanyards with sleek black passes that say GUEST OF DRIVER – L. HAMILTON.

There are nerves in the air. Not just because they’re about to meet him—but because, somehow, they all already feel like this is going to be bigger than they imagined.

And then… he walks in.

Lewis. Real, magnetic, smiling in a way that softens his whole face.

Y/N walks a step behind, notebook in hand, chatting with a member of his team. She’s laughing at something. She looks so at ease in this world, like she belongs in every paddock, in every press pen, in every part of his life.

“Hi,” Lewis says, stepping forward and offering a handshake to each girl. “Thank you for being here. I’m really excited.”

It’s overwhelming. Not just because he’s Lewis Hamilton, but because of the way he sees them. Like they matter. Like this day is as much for him as it is for them.

________

They take turns racing against him on the sim. He laughs when Bella crashes into the wall. He gasps dramatically when Tati beats his sector time. He whoops when Jules nails a corner like a pro.

“You’ve all got better instincts than half the grid,” he jokes, clearly loving every second.

Y/N watches from the sidelines, beaming.

During a break, Mimi asks her, “Do you come to all his races?”

She nods. “Most of them. When the baby was really little, I stayed home more. But she loves the sound of engines now, so… here we are.”

“Did you ever think you’d end up in the Formula 1world?”

Y/N laughs softly. “I didn’t think I’d end up in love with someone who lived on planes. But when it’s right, it’s just… easy.”

________

They sit around a long table with Lewis at the center. The camera catches the way his hand rests against your knee under the table, the way you lean into him to whisper things no one else can hear.

He shares stories—funny, vulnerable ones. About his first go-kart. About getting lost on the way to a race in 2005. About the exact moment he knew Y/N was the one.

It’s not polished. It’s not scripted. It’s just real.

________

Golden hour hits Silverstone like magic.

The four girls stand near the pit wall, headsets on, as Lewis does a few laps around the track. Y/N leans against the rail beside them.

“Does it ever scare you?” Jules asks her.

She looks out toward the turns. “Sometimes. But he’s never reckless. And… he always comes back to me.”

________

Lewis returns from the garage, hair damp with sweat, suit unzipped halfway. He collapses into a chair and smiles as you press a water bottle to his chest.

“You were incredible,” you say quietly.

He tilts his head toward the girls. “They made today feel easy.”

The four of them sit down for their final interviews. Every interview of them is emotional, raw, full of passion and gratitud for the amazing opportunity they got to experience.

“I thought today would be about racing,” Bella says. “But it was about connection.”

“I didn’t expect to feel seen by him,” Jules adds. “But I did. All day.”

“I thought Lewis Hamilton would be cool,” Tati grins. “But I didn’t expect him to feel like… someone you’d want to text goodnight.”

“He’s more than a driver,” Mimi whispers. “He’s someone’s home.”

________

The Hamilton Residence – 9:03 PM

Lewis and Y/N sit on the couch later that night, baby monitor between them, baby socks on the table, your legs draped over his lap.

He kisses your hand and looks straight into the camera.

“Winning feels good,” he says. “But this—my family, our life—this is what makes everything else worth it. Now get out! We have a new season of Love on The Spectrum to watch.”

________

The Aftermath

It starts before the sun even rises.

3:41 AM

Tati’s phone buzzes. Then again. Then again.

She groans, blindly reaching for it from under her duvet. Twenty notifications. All from Twitter. All tagged with her username.

Her eyes adjust to the screen just in time to read one tweet that sets her heart racing.

“WAIT. LEWIS HAMILTON HAS A BABY? A WHOLE BABY???”

She blinks.

“That fan episode on Drive to Survive is changing LIVES.” “So we all just collectively missed that Lewis Hamilton is married and a DAD?” “That baby had hair. That baby has been around.”

Tati bolts upright. “GUYS,” she shouts, already tripping over her blanket as she runs to the living room.

4:02 AM

Bella, Jules, and Mimi are already huddled around the TV, eyes wide, hair messy, phones buzzing every second with new mentions and tags. Their group chat has blown up. TikTok edits are already circulating. Screengrabs of Lewis holding a pacifier. GIFs of Y/N laughing while feeding the baby. Fan theories. Reaction threads. F1 accounts going feral.

And the kicker?

A video clip from the episode— Y/N saying, “She’s just with your first home, while you go do what you were born to do.”

Someone captioned it:

“Y/N Hamilton is literally so cute. Lewis really won at life with her as his life partner.”

________

Hamilton Residence – Morning

Y/N stirs awake to the sound of Lewis's voice somewhere down the hall, talking softly into the phone.

“Yeah, Mum. We’re okay… Just a little overwhelmed… No, she’s still asleep.”

You blink against the sunlight and sit up slowly, the baby monitor quiet beside you. For a second, it doesn’t register. The stillness. The weight of what they’d shared with the world. Then your phone lights up.

412 unread messages.

You don’t even open Instagram. You already know it’s chaos.

By the time you wander into the kitchen, Lewis is finishing a call and cradling a mug of tea, his phone face-down beside him.

“Morning, love,” he says gently. “How you feeling?”

You shrug. “Like we just let eight billion people into our house.”

He chuckles, coming over to press a kiss to your forehead. “They liked what they saw.”

You eye him, teasing. “I think they liked what they saw on you, Hamilton. I saw someone call you ‘Daddy squared.’”

He groans and hides his face in your neck. “Make it stop.”

“You started it,” you grin, wrapping your arms around him. “You wanted the world to see who you really are.”

“I didn’t think it would hit this hard.”

The moment softens. Lewis pulls back and searches your face, serious now.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “With the baby being public? With us being out there like that?”

You pause for a long moment, then nod.

“I’m okay. A little exposed, maybe. But… I think it was time. I want people to know the version of you I get to see every day.”

He looks at you for a long beat, like he’s memorizing the way you said that.

Then he whispers, “I love you, you know that?”

You press your palm to his chest. “I know. And I love you right back.”

________

Social Media – Throughout the Day

TikTok: “lewis hamilton being a girl dad for 3 minutes straight”

Instagram: A new fan account called @TeamHamiltonHome already has 20k followers by lunchtime

Twitter: “When Y/N Hamilton said ‘She’s just with your first home’ I actually ascended into another dimension.”

Even other drivers are chiming in.

Charles Leclerc posts a story: “Didn’t expect to cry at 7am over Lewis Hamilton rocking a baby.”

Max Verstappen tweets: “Welcome to the Dad Club, mate 👶🔥”

Sebastian Vettel, in rare Instagram form, posts an old photo of Lewis cradling a helmet and captions it:

“Always knew you’d be a softie off-track too.”

________

Girls’ Apartment – That Night

The four friends are still in pajamas, surrounded by takeout containers and ring lights they didn’t mean to set up but couldn’t resist. They’ve been answering Q&As on Instagram all day, doing interviews with local press, and trying to process the fact that they had front-row seats to a life-changing reveal.

“I think my favorite moment was when he said thank you for making the day easy,” Jules says, curled into a blanket. “Like we made a difference to him.”

“I still can’t believe Y/N hugged me twice,” Mimi laughs. “She smelled like coconut and cashmere and I think I blacked out.”

“I’m just glad we didn’t cry on camera,” Bella says.

“You did,” Tati corrects. “They just edited it out.”

They all laugh.

Then, silence.

Not the awkward kind. The full-heart kind.

“I don’t think anything’s ever going to top this,” Bella whispers.

“Nope,” Jules says, smiling at the ceiling. “This was the moment. Everything before it led us here.”

Mimi hums in agreement. “We met our hero. And he was everything we hoped he’d be.”

“And more,” Tati adds. “He let us into his world.”

“And now?” Bella asks.

They all look at each other.

Jules answers softly: “Now we protect it.”

________

Final shot:

A quiet moment back at Lewis and Y/N’s home. The baby asleep on his chest. Y/N asleep beside them, hand resting on his. The camera lingers.

“Some things are meant to be shared with the world,” Lewis says in a voiceover. “But the best things—the most sacred things—those are the ones you hold closest.”

Fade to black.

THE END.

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zepskies · 10 months ago

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Lost on You - Part 5

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: We’re going deeper and darker on this one, with an ending you might not expect...

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. TW: attempted sexual assault (not successful), violence, character death, drug use, and a twist.

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

🎙️ Series Masterlist

Part 5: Eminence Front

Your last conversation with your mother was on a Sunday morning, in hospice.

You sat at her bedside and held her hand. Chris and your father were downstairs in the hospital food court, ordering sandwiches. You hadn’t had much of an appetite for three days.

“I had your father call the whole family so they could watch the music video with you and Soldier Boy,” your mom said. She wore a proud, if weak smile. “He even recorded a few tapes of it. He sent one to your aunt, another to your cousins, and another to our friends Leah and Stan.”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal piracy, Mom,” you said with a laugh.

“I don’t care. You’re my daughter, and you’ve worked incredibly hard to get here,” she said. Her eyes misted over a bit in memory. “We’ve all worked hard.”

You stilled at that. You didn’t know what memories she had filtering through her head, but you were sure your perspective behind the lens was…different.

In your mind’s eye, you saw yourself at twelve years old. Chris had been pestering you all day, as big brothers were wont to do sometimes. With a slap on his arm, you’d screamed at him to leave you alone.

He didn’t speak to you for a whole month. He didn’t go to your piano recital or your choir concert, where you had the best solo. He didn’t talk to you until you touched him again, grabbing his arm, pleading with him.

"Please, whatever I did, I'm sorry. Just talk to me!"

He startled as if he’d woken up from a dream.

Your parents had shared a look, and they’d known then that their gamble had worked.

You remembered being sat down by your mother and told that they had spent their entire life’s savings to make you a hero. So you were going to spend the rest of your young life training to be one.

“We’re investing in your future, but we’re also investing in ours.”

You remembered sleepover invites rejected and summer plans canceled on your behalf. Your mother used her meager retirement fund to sign you up for vocal lessons from a former opera singer. Your high school football coach father drilled you to condition your body like an athlete.

You never had a moment that wasn’t scheduled. You were always exhausted, taking whatever “supplements” your parents gave you to keep you going. (Often it was Adderall, until it started giving you insomnia, among other delightful side effects.)

You were miserable. Then again, you’d be surprised by what you could get used to.

The end goal was always getting into Payback. It was where you’d garner the most fame and make the most money, and therefore, make the most returns on your parents’ investments.

So your father later took out a loan to get you some basic combat training from an ex-Vought employee. Your parents wanted you to be well-rounded and prepared for anything when you got onto the team—and it was always when.

If was not part of the story.

Any small commercials and modelling gigs you landed throughout middle school and high school helped pay for your family’s bills, and later for college, where you double majored in Vocal Performance and Marketing. You would learn how to become your own brand.

Through it all, you always remembered what your mom had said to you on the set of your first commercial. You were crying because the hours were long and you missed your friends, and even your brother.

“Come on, let’s wipe those tears. You don’t want to smudge your makeup,” she’d said. When you couldn’t be consoled, she guided you over to a quieter corner of the set. “Listen, sweetheart. Don’t let them see you upset. You'll get a reputation for being difficult to work with.”

“I don’t care! I don’t want to do this anymore,” you said, sniffling badly as you scrubbed at your eyes. Your mother sighed sharply.

“You’re just starting out. Of course there are going to be growing pains,” she said. “Showbusiness is a cutthroat world, and yes, you’re so young. Maybe too young.”

She wiped your face with gentler hands, then she laid them on your shoulders and made sure you met her eyes.

“But you’re going to be better prepared than most superheroes. You can literally read men. You know what’s in their hearts, and you can control them. As a woman in this world, do you know how damn powerful that is?” she said.

She squeezed your shoulders.

“That’s why you’ll be smarter than any of them, and you’ll only show the world what you want them to see.”

What you want them to see…

“We don’t have to talk about that right now,” you said at last.

Your mom nodded and stroked your hand. Her eyes fell closed in rest. She looked so small and frail in her bed.

“I’m so, so proud of you,” she said. “Always remember that.”

Your lower lip trembled, and your eyes stung. You couldn’t help but feel hollow. What was there to be proud of? You’d failed. All your hard work was meant to give your family a better life, not…this.

“You’re so beautiful and talented,” she continued. “And you’ll get your father out from under these medical bills I put on him, won’t you?”

Deep in your soul, a painful ache twinged.

You ignored it and nodded in agreement.

“I’ll take care of Dad, don’t worry.”

Your mother died the next morning. You wrote a statement about her passing to explain your absence to your fans. It went through Madelyn Stillwell and Arthur before they released the press release and even had it covered in Vought News. Then you spent the next week entrenched in funeral arrangements with your father and brother.

When you eventually returned to Vought Tower after the funeral, it felt like another part of you had chipped off.

Your room was filled with flowers and gifts from your fans, which managed to make you wide-eyed, and even tearfully touched. So this was the power of fame, then?

But there was one vase filled with beautiful scarlet roses. Attatched was a handwritten note:

Welcome home.

You thought you recognized the scrawl. A small smile graced your lips.

You gave into the desire to venture up to the penthouse floor, and knock on Ben’s door. He opened it himself. He was dressed down for once in the afternoon, in a normal sweater rolled up to his elbows and tucked into his slacks. Once he saw you, he was a little surprised.

You held up the note for his view. “Was this you?”

He smiled slightly, but he didn’t answer you. He just welcomed you inside. You followed him into the living room area and sat heavily on the couch. An album was playing on his record player. You recognized Sinatra’s smooth voice singing “My Way.”

“You want a drink?” Ben asked.

“Whiskey, neat,” you replied. He rose a brow, but he fulfilled your request.

While he was busy, you grabbed his forgotten half a blunt from the ashtray on the coffee table, and you lit up. You didn’t often partake in drugs because you didn’t like being out of your lucid mind. You preferred being in control.

Today was different. You needed a distraction. Maybe that was why you were here to begin with.

You accepted the glass he handed to you and took a generous sip, though you coughed at the burn on the way down. And you took a puff, the smoke irritating your throat even more. You practically coughed up half a lung, until he sat down beside you and reached out his hand. You passed the blunt back to him. You two traded off hits until it was more than halfway down to the roach, and he eventually put it out on the ashtray.

“My offer still stands, you know,” he said.

You turned to him. Even in your “enlightened” state, you could feel his intentions. The way he roamed your body with his eyes was unmistakable, but just then, you had a moment of clarity. You couldn’t be bothered to play this game, or hide your true thoughts for that matter. You smiled to yourself, and you stood.

Ben got up with you, trying to gauge your reaction.

“Thank you,” you said, “for finally showing me who you really are.”

His lips slowly pulled into a frown. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“My mom died,” you said. “I know you knew that, but you couldn’t even muster up a basic ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ or whatever the fuck.”

You even laughed through the spark of tears. You wiped at your face. “This place is exactly what I thought it would be.”

The man was silent while you finished the drink in one long gulp. You slammed the glass on his counter, and you left his apartment.

It wasn’t the first time Ben watched you walk away from him, but despite his outward stoicism, it was the first time he felt the sting of it.

You knew it would be difficult at Vought, but you were finding it more and more challenging to keep focused as the months went by.

On one mission, Ben threw a man out of a three-story apartment. He lived, by some miracle, but shattered almost every bone in his body.

On another, Black Noir choke-slammed an escaped convict so hard, her esophagus caved in. And it was a good day if the TNT Twins even zapped the right culprit.

You were increasingly wary of the collateral damage and violence you were being complicit in, just by being there. You had to keep reminding yourself of why you were here. You needed to take care of your father, who was still swimming in your mother’s medical bills and funeral costs. You needed to prove to yourself that you could do this, with or without Ben’s help.

Even so, a day you were called to a full team mission made you more anxious than excited.

It was a drug ring that the police had been trying to dismantle for nearly a decade: Los Reyes. They were the "kings of cocaine," and they were brutal in their retaliations, locked in a turf war with one of the Italian mafias. As Stan Edgar had explained, the police were grateful for any help that Payback could provide.

You guys were sent to a warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen. According to law enforcement intel, it was the base of the Reyes gang's operations.

Infiltrating it was the easy part. Countess blasted right through the front doors, revealing your entire team to the group of men huddled around entire tables and crates filled with product.

When a man aimed a gun at you, Ben threw his shield. It hit the man, who then crashed into a support beam and broke his back in half. Your eyes went wide in horror at seeing his lifeless ones. You gaped up at Ben.

“Was that really necessary?” you asked in alarm.

"Would you rather get shot?” he said coolly.

The others picked off a few men in the room, but the rest of the gang scattered into other rooms within the large building. Ben barked commands for who should go in which direction.

“Sirena, you’re with Swatto. Head east towards the alley and cut off any rats,” he commanded.

You wanted to take issue with being partnered with Swatto. You glanced over at him. After how you compelled him a few months ago, he still had a grudge against you as well. But you two knew better than to argue with Soldier Boy on a mission.

You and your partner ducked out the east side into the alley. Sure enough, you saw blood splatters on the wall from a handprint, and drips of blood leading down the concrete path. After sharing a nod, you and Swatto followed the line of blood.

You turned the corner into a dusty construction site, where a new skyscraper was only partially built. Some walls were up along with the foundation, but it was mostly dirt, bare concrete walls, and piles of brick.

When you turned a corner, you and Swatto stopped short as bullets rained your way.

“Oh, fuck!” Swatto shouted. He pulled out his gun and decided to fly above. You heard more shots and men screaming, and then, it was quiet. You cocked your own gun, though you hoped you didn’t have to use it. The problem with your powers was you needed to be close enough to touch someone to actually compel them, man or woman.

Your last resort was your actual siren song, a power you rarely used. Mainly because it was lethal to any man who heard it. For that reason, it had to be your in case of emergency break glass tactic.

So you crept around the corner to see what Swatto had done. You were surprised to find that he fought well. He managed to kill a few of them, but one large man was still alive. He was on his knees in the dirt with his hands folded behind his head.

“See? Ain’t so fuckin’ tough now, huh?” Swatto taunted. “Get ready to get fucked in the ass in jail, Paco.”

You grimaced in disgust. “All right, that’s enough. Just—”

Before you could realize what was happening, the man raised up from the ground and swept the gun from Swatto’s hands. It flew across the clearing and hit the wall, setting the gun off. A bullet ricocheted and grazed Swatto in the side.

“Aw, fuck! I’m fucking hit!” he yelled in alarm. His wings expanded from his back, and he raised off the ground in flight. Your eyes widened.

“Where the hell are you going?” you shouted.

“I’m hit! I need a hospital!” His voice grew smaller as he flew away like a fucking coward.

It left you alone with a man twice your size. He seized you up with a smirk.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “You’re the new one, right?”

You raised your gun and fired, but you were too late. He evaded and grabbed the gun from your hands. You held your ground after the first punch, but the second and third made your legs shake. You were more durable than the average human, and you were well trained. Unfortunately, you didn’t have super strength like most of your teammates.

You blocked when you could and gave blows of your own, but this man was large enough that it didn’t slow him for long. He wore a sweatshirt with long sleeves, so you couldn’t easily compel him with a touch.

Okay, this warrants an emergency, you thought in alarm. When you opened your mouth to sing, he shot out a sharp blow to your throat. Maybe he thought you were going to scream for help, but it had its intended effect of choking you into silence.

He grabbed you and proceeded to beat you down, until you felt the sharp breaking of ribs and blood and dirt in your mouth. Every time you tried to slip away or get to your feet and escape, he knocked you back down. He was toying with you, and having fun with it too. You could sense his sick enjoyment.

But then, you felt his intentions shift. Darker, and more carnal. A more intense fear coiled in your stomach, rising up into your throat. A gasp got stuck there as you tried harder to crawl away.

He grabbed your ankle and dragged you back towards him. He took your wrists when you tried to claw at his eyes, or even just touch his face to try and enforce your power over his.

Just a scrap of skin. That’s all you need.

A whimper escaped you as you struggled, but you kneed him hard between the legs. That managed to stop him for a moment as he grunted and cursed. He got a hold of a meaty hand around your neck. Your eyes glowed in desperation.

Suddenly, the man’s weight lifted off you.

You panted for breath and raised yourself up on your elbow. You watched with wide eyes as Ben slammed your attacker’s face into the dirt until he couldn’t breathe. Ben glanced at you, taking in the sight of your bloody face and cut lip, your arm wrapped around your battered ribs.

His frown deepening in displeasure, he bent the man’s arm until it broke in at least two places. His howls of pain echoed into the night. Ben cut it off by twisting the man’s neck, until it released a loud crack.

He threw the body to the ground in disgust. He barely even wiped his gloves before he stood straighter. Then he went back to you.

“You all right?” he asked gruffly.

You stared up at him with tears shining in your eyes. You tried to answer, but it hurt your throat. It was also painful for you to move your body. You tasted blood in your mouth and knew it had dribbled down your chin.

With a rough exhale through his nose, Ben lowered down and slid his hands underneath your body. You cringed and cried out when he moved you, but you were grateful. You were embarrassed. And you were exhausted.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you folded your arms over your battered middle. You couldn't help but lay your head against his chest.

The rest of the team was waiting at the other end of the clearing, except for Swatto. Even Countess was quiet as she watched Ben carry you out of the construction site.

You spent a couple of days in the hospital. There you were surrounded by Vought security fielding off any journalists or tabloids, and you were accompanied by your dad and brother.

Chris especially was angry for you, not to mention worried, but you tried to hide your pain and reassure them that you would be okay. This was just par for the course when taking down the bad guys.

Yeah, that one sounded hollow, even to you.

You were grateful when you got out of the hospital and were sent back to the Tower. Even so, the doctor had you mostly on bedrest until your ribs healed up. You weren’t proud of it, but you wallowed in your embarrassment and a bit of self-pity while you watched a marathon of Cheers and ate from a box of assorted chocolates. You dug around for your favorites, but you kept getting the weird shitty filling ones.

“Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came,” sang the TV show theme song. “You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same. You wanna be where everybody knows your name…”

“Bullshit,” you muttered aloud. Such was your grouchiness that you had half a mind to change the channel. This godforsaken sitcom was too damn cheery, no matter how much you loved Ted Danson’s fine, rugged ass.

God. Maybe I do have a type.

That was when a knock at the door threatened to disrupt your solitude.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

You’d now recognize that smooth, deep voice anywhere. Sighing, you closed the box of chocolates and hid them under your pillow before you turned off the TV.

“Come in,” you said.

Ben stepped into your apartment and soon found you in your room. It was the first time he’d ever been in here, and he took a subtle look around. He wore his suit and tactical gear.

“Just come from a mission?” you asked.

He nodded and approached your bed. He smiled slightly.

“Eating your feelings in Whitman’s, huh?” he teased, tapping his nose. He could probably smell the chocolate.

You blushed and crossed your arms on reflex, but you grimaced when the motion made your ribs twinge sharply. You made a sound of discomfort and lowered your arms back to your sides. You shifted in the bed as slowly as you could. You’d been in this position for a while.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m peachy,” you groused. When you looked up at him though, you realized that he hadn't needed to come visit you. He was here of his own free will…and there was something you had yet to say to him. You sighed and met him with sincerity.

“Look…thank you, for saving me,” you said.

Ben inclined his head. He lowered down and sat beside you on the edge of your bed.

“You may not like how I run things here, but this is the way of it,” he said, holding your gaze. “This is the real fucking world. If you’re going to stay here, you need to get with that program, or this place is going to chew you up and spit you out.”

That fell between you two for a moment. The more you turned his words over in your mind, the more you realized that he was right, to a point. If you stayed, this was your life. You couldn’t keep handwringing. You had to be smarter.

“I’m sorry, I’m not looking very camera ready,” you said eventually. You meant it to be joking, but your voice was heavy. “I wouldn’t blame you for averting your eyes.”

You half expected him to make a joke about your black eye and torn lip. But to your surprise, Ben picked up your hand with a kind of gentleness. He raised the back of it up to his lips for a kiss. He gave you a reserved smile.

“Rest up,” he said.

He got up and strode out of your apartment. Not for the first time, he left you feeling unbalanced…and this time warm.

It took a few weeks for you to fully heal. You agreed to do an interview with Jason Carver, the anchor of Vought News. It was a bit intimidating being in yet another studio, and this was live.

The cameras aren’t there. This is just a stage like any other. You’re just…having a conversation, you coached yourself. You sat in an uncomfortable leather chair across from Jason at his desk.

When he got the green light from the producer, he kicked off the show by introducing you as his special guest.

“Can I just say, Sirena, we’re all very glad to see you’re all right,” he said, with a very convincing note of sincerity. Your abilities allowed you to read the truth.

Only show them what you want them to see.

You gave him a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Jason. I appreciate that. It’s just…hazards of the job description, you know?” you said. “But I’m doing much better, and I’m very thankful that my team was there to support me.”

“Yes, the rest of Payback really stepped up to not only apprehend your attacker, but round up the entire Reyes gang. Is that right?” he said.

You nodded, reading the teleprompter. You were meant to go on a mini monologue about how great your team was, and how grateful you were to be a part of it. It was a script approved by Madelyn, and even Stan Edgar.

You paused, glancing over to where Arthur and Madelyn stood in the dark with the rest of the crew. They were both looking at you encouragingly, but expectant.

You took a steadying breath, and you decided to go a bit off-script.

“Well, actually, it was Soldier Boy who saved me,” you said. Jason’s brows rose at your shift in direction, but he reacted with all due interest.

“Really?” he prodded.

“Yes, he did,” you said. The memories of that night filtered through your mind with harrowing detail, including the way Ben stepped in and brutally handled that man. “He didn’t even hesitate. He just threw himself into the fray…and when it was over, he carried me to the hospital himself.”

That part wasn’t exactly true. He’d carried you over to a Vought-owned SUV, and the director of the camera crew drove you over to the hospital. You decided to gloss over that detail, and many others.

“Wow,” Jason said. He shook his head in wonder. “He truly lives up to the legend, doesn’t he?”

You smiled. “He’s more than that. Believe it or not, Soldier Boy was the first one to take me under his wing. He knew I was new to the city, so he guided me all over New York to see the sights like a tourist. Stuff I’m sure he’s seen millions of times, like Top of the Rock and Times Square. Oh, and he was also very gracious when my nephew came to visit. Got me some major brownie points for ‘Best Aunt in the World.’”

That earned you a congenial smile from your host. Your expression faded with a kind of weight in your heart.

“Ever since I got here, he’s been the one to tell it like it is, with that deep, authoritative voice of his,” you said, laughing a little when you tried to imitate Ben’s voice. It got you a laugh, even from those in the studio. “In a way, he’s the one who’s looked out for me the most. I’m very grateful for Soldier Boy, and of course for the rest of my team.”

When you finished, Jason nodded and clapped along with everyone else in the studio.

“Well, that’s just wonderful. Well said,” he said, and he looked straight into the camera with two fingers poised at his temple. “Soldier Boy, if you’re watching, we all appreciate you. And we salute you.”

Ben watched the clip from his living room with a small, incredulous smile on his face.

He wiped the remnants of white powder from his nose and sneezed. Blinking the bleariness out of his eyes, he refocused on the screen while you talked about him. He knew you had to be playing it up for Jason and the cameras, but you also seemed so sincere.

“He’s more than that.”

After the segment was over, he enjoyed the climax of his high while sitting back on his plush sofa. He tossed up an old baseball from his collection up towards the ceiling, this one signed by Babe Ruth. He caught it when gravity pulled it back down towards his face.

That was how Donna found him when she let herself into his apartment. She was out of her suit and wearing a little red dress, one of his old favorites. She graced him with a sultry smile.

“Busy?” she asked.

“Evidently,” he said.

She pouted, almost like a little girl. She went to him and curled herself under his arm and against his chest, draping a smooth thigh over his.

“I miss you,” she purred.

He smiled wryly and turned off the TV.

“Really now?” he drawled. “Because by my calculations it’s been…what, a few months since we’ve fucked?”

Donna paused, the smile slipping from her face.

“And I’m not counting that hand job a couple weeks back. That shit was pitiful, and a little chafing,” he said.

For the past few months, he’d been wracking his brain to remember what it was that had attracted him to this woman, besides the obvious outer packaging. He knew the difference now.

In the beginning, she idolized him. Worshipped him. Loved him. These days, she only came to him when she wanted something, and he had gotten bored. Bored of her.

As if sensing his shift, Donna moved her leg off his lap and sat up with a frown.

“Well, then let me fix it,” she said, as she slid a hand up his thigh. Suddenly she was all too willing to use those red-painted lips to service him.

Ben couldn’t help but envision those lips as yours, a sinful red, while your mouth did sinful things. He’d gotten off more than once to the thought of it alone, ever since he shot that goddamn music video with you.

So he grabbed Donna’s wandering hand and looked at her coolly.

“Look, for whatever reason, I know you’re not happy,” he said, waving dismissively with his other hand. “Neither of us are. So let’s just stop wasting time.”

Her eyes widened. “What’re you saying?”

Ben’s brows furrowed. “Am I speaking fucking English? It’s time to call it quits, sweetheart.”

Donna’s jaw worked as she fought to keep herself under control. He had a feeling she’d be angry. She always was a little spitfire.

Her body was coiled like a spring when she withdrew her hand from his and got to her feet. She gave him an icy look.

“This isn’t going to last,” she claimed, with a prideful tilt of her chin. “In a month, a week, you’ll get tired of her. And you’ll remember that I’m the one who looks best by your side.”

Ben huffed in amusement before he laid back again. He continued to toss up his baseball.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said dismissively.

Donna let loose an aggravated breath, but she kept most of her reaction inside. She turned on her heel, prideful as ever, and left his apartment.

When her fingers landed on the doorknob, however, she turned back for just a moment. Silence greeted her.

It wasn’t until then that her tears finally bubbled over.

Days later, a knock on your door drew your attention out of pulling on some jeans. You were intending to go on a walk through the city, take some time to get out of the Tower and just be you for a change.

That had better not be Madelyn at the door again. She had chastised you for going off-script at the studio twice already. She made the point that she and Stan had gone over those talking points for weeks, and agreed that framing your rescue as a team effort would cover Swatto as well.

He was still laid up with a broken leg, long after the scrape of the bullet had healed. He was tight-lipped about how he’d broken said leg, but you’d heard from Tommy that he’d shattered it…somehow.

Arthur had smoothed things over about your adlib though. He pointed out that talking positively about Soldier Boy helped the whole team. He was the leader, after all.

So yeah, you hoped this visit wasn’t another passive aggressive dress down from the head of PR. You sighed and went over to get the door. You were thoroughly surprised to see Ben.

And a Ben that was wearing a regular suit, for that matter. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Hugo Boss catalogue, steeped in charcoal gray with a long black coat draped over his arm. Your mouth parted in soft shock, especially when he produced a single rose from behind his back.

You took it with tentative fingers and a blush rising hotly in your cheeks.

“Okay, what—”

“Let me take you out,” he said. “One night. You’ll get to see what it’s like to be with the most famous man in the world.”

What an opening line that was. You sensed he was in full Charm City mode, complete with a suave smile. Yours was more amused, even though you twisted the flower's soft petals lightly on your chin in contemplation.

After a few seconds to think, you gave him a patient look.

“Ben, nothing’s changed for me. I told you, I–”

“Countess and I are done, for real this time,” he said.

Once again, you were taken by surprise—mostly because he was telling the truth. You felt it.

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “When did this happen?”

“Recently,” he shrugged. “But like I said, it hasn’t been working for a while. It was a mutual thing.”

You weren’t so sure about that, but…

This is what I wanted, you reminded yourself. In fact, it had been half what you’d hoped for when you went off-script. You just couldn’t believe it had worked this well, so soon. As much as you probably shouldn’t, part of you began to feel bad for manipulating him. For lying to him.

But it’ll be good for my career.

“…Okay,” you agreed, glancing down at your plain shirt and jeans. “Just give me some time to change.”

He raised a brow. “How much time?”

You gave him a slightly cheeky smile. “An hour, and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

He sighed, but he agreed.

“Just don’t keep me waiting all fucking day,” he said.

“Come on. What’s a little delayed gratification?” you teased. Then you gave him a more sincere smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Ben nodded, with some added charm in the look he gave you in return.

You slipped back into your apartment and shut the door. You paused there when a thought struck you.

Shit, now what am I going to wear?

AN: Did you see that one coming?

A lot of darker angst and drama in this one, sorry for that. But I think you may like what's coming up...

Next Time:

You slid your hand over his on the table. You felt him stiffen slightly, his body tensing up at your touch. You frowned when you saw the glint of wariness cross his face.

“I won’t compel you again, Ben. I promise,” you said. As long as you don’t give me a reason to.

Your hand traveled up his arm, soothing along his neck, your palm finally resting against his cheek. His green eyes stared into yours.

Soon enough, his wariness bled away into desire.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 6

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fortheloveofarchons · 7 months ago

Text

The Harbinger and His Arranged Bride

(A Capitano x Reader fanfic)

Full chapter down below on the Ao3 link!!!

“Remember, it’s all for him. For them. For… yourself.”

It should be an honour to be selected by one of the greatest harbingers, The Captain.

A recognition.

A sense of gratitude that someone out there decided to choose someone like you.

However... What made him feel proud? Why would one of the most powerful Fatui Harbingers in Snezhnaya, The Captain, would pick someone who lives outside that frozen realm?

He had never come across someone like you, so how could he be pleased about choosing you?

Nevertheless, arranged marriages usually come about as a result of elders' obligations or business.

“Mama? Is it true?”

“...Yes, it is.” Your mama’s words ring in your ears, which serves to further unsettle your stomach. “Out of all the beautiful maidens in Snezhnaya, he has chosen you.”

“But… I’m from Sumeru.” The sunlight from your window kisses your dark tawny skin, as sweet as chocolate and as solid as oak. “Why would he choose someone like me? I don’t even know if he has ever been to Sumeru before.”

“Perhaps it's due to after everything The Doctor, Dottore, did to damage the Akademiya’s reputation and harming the livelihood of our people.” Your mama folds her clothes on the floor, tucking the sari neatly to ensure that there aren't any wrinkles. “Aside from rebuilding a part of the Akademiya and importing new goods to Sumeru, marrying someone from this land would be some kind of a peace offering. As odd as it is, think of it as a trade tactic.”

“So I’m just some scapegoat to them?” You fold your arms. “Figures, it’s always been that way.”

“Now, now. Don’t be like that.” Your mama finishes folding all of the clothes. “I know it seems scary to you, but I assure you that you are in good hands. The Captain, arguably, is much better than half of the Fatui Harbingers.”

“And how would you know that, pray tell.”

“Well,” Your mama turned her head around to face the wall. “Your father and I have met him before. A meal, actually.”

“You’ve met him?!” You immediately sit down next to your mama, taking her arms to inspect them. “Are you both okay? Are you hurt? Is baba hurt? Did he do anything? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Would you stop that!!” Your mama slaps your hands. “Of course we are okay. If we’re not okay do you think I will be sitting here talking to you so nonchalantly, ah?”

“...What’s he like?” Your eyes subconsciously twinkle from curiosity.

“He’s quite a gentleman. A polite, yet strong man.” Your mama couldn’t help but chuckle at the past memory. “At first, we were both hesitant to meet him when he sent in a letter of arrangement, but after meeting him all of our expectations were demolished. Though, I wish he would have worn something lighter and… less darker. Knowing how humid it is everyday, I’m surprised he didn’t break a sweat. Just watching him wearing that large coat made your baba sweat. Plus, black is bad. It's bad luck, after all!”

“What do you mean by ‘expectations were demolished’?” You curl the two fingers at your hand, making air quotes. “What did you even expect from him? And what did he do to demolish them?”

“Admittedly, we expected him to be more brute and intimidating.”

“And then…”

“When we meet him for the first time, he is exactly brute and intimidating.”

You throw your hands in the air, exasperated by your mama’s audacity. “Oh come on! What’s even the point of–”

“But,” Her words cut you off. “The Captain is also very direct and straightforward with his intentions. He was also very considerate and polite too, he told us that should we ever need anything we could just write to him, and that he will take good care of you under his arms. Plus, he told me that a wonderful mother like me has raised you very well~ He certainly is knightly~”

“Mama…” Disgust danced in your eyes in silent judgement. “You’re married.”

“Ah, an old woman like me can still dream~” She playfully smacks your arm.

“Still… Do I really have to go? I guess if I refuse this, he’ll kill us?”

“About that, now that’s what surprised us.” Your mama explains. “He told us that it’s okay for you to reject the offer, and that there won’t be any consequences for it. Although he chose you out of anyone else, he said he’d understand if you refuse.”

“Wait… what? Really?”

“ Meree jaan, ” Her hands on your cheeks feel warm. “I understand if you don’t want to go, but I can tell that he really cares about you. If he didn’t care, he would’ve just swooped you away before you could ever see your home again. The Captain… is much better than all of the people that you have dated before. I’m sure that he will make your life much more contentful than before.”

“Mama…”

“Yes, sweetie?”

Like a vinyl player being halted to a pause while rolling the music, the moment between you and your mama dissipates.

“How much did The Captain offer you?”

~~~~~~

“That… was a lot of money.” The pride that had reverberated in your baba’s voice when he told you the amount of mora that The Captain sent nearly made you spin. Though, it doesn’t really unsettle your stomach. It made your parents happy, after all.

“ I’ll miss you.” You mutter. “I’ll miss home.”

Her kiss on your forehead reassures you a response.

It’ll all be okay.

A stuttering breath slips past your lips as your eyes drop to the ground.

Looking outside from the plain looking carriage, where the trees and grass were kissed white, and rivers run beneath deep set icy. The more you look at this scenic view, the more they remind you of those landscape paintings from the cover of the old puzzle boxes.

You notice that your entrance to Snezhnaya has been… very quiet. You can only assume that The Captain, despite his status, wasn’t much for personal fanfare, understandably so.

At least you are betrothed to someone who values privacy. Your heart makes excuses for him.

You let out a sigh of relief.

No ostentatious carriages or trumpets announcing your arrival.

No people swarming in to ask you many nosy and invasive questions.

No sight of him… for now.

You are surprised that despite The Captain's good reputation, there is little interest in his affairs from others. Perhaps the people of Snezhnaya know better than to pry in confidential knightly affairs, or perhaps they were scared upon being found out snooping into his business.

“I guess someone like him would rather be covert than flaunt like a peacock...”

After slipping and bouncing the carriage against the freezing streets, you stumble out of the carriage like a ball hurled from a tin cup. Upon your arrival, you are greeted by a couple maids and butlers who lead you inside his private estate that’s east of the palace’s direction. You didn't even have time to take in the cold wind and what his estate even looks. They rush you in his estate, voices from both sides drowning out your thoughts.

"Please, allow me to help you with your attire. Goodness, it's soaked with melted snow."

"Remember, do not stroll out at night. It is unwise to do so."

"Make sure to take all of your meals when the servants send it in your room."

"Your wedding dress is already prepared, we'll send it out to you the day before your married day."

...Perhaps, in your baba’s words, The Captain wanted you happy and well.

~~~~~~

Days passed by, and the most you’ve ever done is being kept inside his estate. You were left alone in your own private quarters of the estate, windows sealed shut so the wind can't intrude and that you couldn’t escape.

Every day, when the clocks struck at nine, two, and six, food would be brought in by the maids, all in perfect portions on plates and bowls. Though lacking in spice and herbs, the flavours were adequate and delicious enough for you to ask for seconds.

Gifts were brought in too: Exquisite jewelled gowns made by the finest tailors in Snezhnaya, fresh and luscious bouquets grown from Mondstadt, sweet, flowery perfumes being concocted in Fontaine, vials of cream and soaps and herbs from Liyue, all anticipating for your acceptance.

You accept them, of course. Though partially overwhelmed by such luxury being handed to you casually, you can’t say no to free stuff.

When night falls, you’d lay in a giant bed, with white sheets like the colour of snow and a red velvet lace canopy. At first, you couldn’t sleep, petrified that The Captain would barge in the dark and rest his body on you. But thankfully he didn’t come, though your heart tinges with a bit of disappointment from the fact that he hasn’t even bothered to come and visit you before the big day.

Apparently, from what you overhear from the butlers, The Captain is still on an expedition in Dragonspine so he won’t be able to return to his estate until a week later. Then again, you’ve also heard that he doesn’t stay in his estate much, other than to rest and rejuvenate from his missions.

“Excuse me,” The intrusion of a soft voice broke your train of thought about him. You flinch slightly, your heart leaping at the thought of being found lost in your thoughts despite that it isn't a crime to do so. The doors to your private quarters had opened, and in the space between them, stood a smaller lady in a maid uniform. She gazes at you with a rather curious expression, and you can’t help but avert your eyes to the window.

“Apologies,” You turn back to find the maid’s cheeks burning with embarrassment. “My Lady, I– this maid is wondering why you aren’t in bed yet. The other maids could see light leaking out of your room…”

“Sorry, I just couldn’t sleep well.” You shake your head in response. “If… If it’s possible– Could I go out for a walk?”

“Tonight?” You could tell she’s hesitating from the way she clenches her dress. “But it's a bit late…”

“I will be outside for just a moment. And I’ll be back in here.” You reply bluntly, with only a little room for bargains. “I promise.”

You assume that your request, something as simple as a walk within the estate grounds, would be rejected. But the maid turns her head left and right, and then speaks in a hushed tone.

“If someone else found you, please don’t tell them that I allowed it.”

Happiness swells in your heart hearing her words.

“Thank you so much!”

~~~~~~

“It’s really cold…” Even with the heavy, dark blue coat that was gifted to you, it still doesn’t change Snezhnaya’s temperature. Still, you were surprised at how long these coats are, as it reaches down to your ankles.

And how heavy it is… since it’s made from thick wool. You hypothesised that this coat is lined with fox fur, a touch of luxury for sure.

You thought that winter would be pretty like those fairytale books that you read as a kid, but perhaps looking at it at night feels… different.

Outside of the estate’s garden, or if you’d even call it a garden– The winter trees shiver in bitter wind, naked branches adorned with snow. The clusters of twigs, gnarled and twisted, extend like the hands of a writhing old man.

You snug your head in between the high collar that is trimmed with fur, exhaling mists out of your plump lips.

When is he coming back?

Is he… really a good partner for me?

Thoughts swirl in your mind, and all you could do was to shake your head in resignation.

Sitting on the bench, you fiddle with your gloved fingers. Your heart is already content with the idea of a loveless marriage. As long as he doesn’t cast permanent scars on your body or even ask you to conceive a child for him, that’s fine, right?

…

What a bare minimum.

“Mmmph–!!!”

Just as you are about to head back, the sound of what sounded like a muffled scream made your blood run cold, and your body froze.

“What the…”

As much as you know the best decision is to immediately run away and hide in your private quarters, you know that whatever it is… will haunt you in your sleep if you don’t satiate your curiosity.

The crisp winter air bites at your cheeks as you carefully crouch and tiptoe through the snow-laden garden, the soft crunch beneath your boots muffled by the thick, frost-covered ground. Your eyes flicker to the ground and to the scene of the moment, trying your best to avoid the crunch of broken twigs or frozen leaves that might give you away.

As you slowly round a frozen fountain, your eyes catch a faith glint of steel ahead.

“Is that…”

#ao3 fanfic #ao3fic #genshin impact #genshin capitano #capitano #the captain #the captain capitano #il capitano #fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #fatui capitano #arranged marriage #fluff and angst #capitano fanfic

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dramagodesss · 3 months ago

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Ruthless - jj maybank x oc

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

chapter one : new house, new life

The hot Outer Banks breeze hit Camille's face with force, suffocating her. Though, in reality, her anxiety had little to do with the heat. What truly paralyzed her stood right in front of her.

For the fifteenth time, she stared at the shack—her shack now, though it had once belonged to her father—and felt a tight knot form in her throat. The door remained shut, and she was still unable to open it. Her feet seemed glued to the ground, trapped by an invisible anchor of doubts that kept her frozen.

It wasn't the house itself. It wasn't the memories trapped within its walls. It was her. Camille no longer belonged anywhere.

Not that she had ever truly belonged in the glamorous mansion in Figure Eight, where her mother, her new husband, and his daughters had settled. Ally, the eldest of the two, had made sure she understood that.

No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, Camille understood—at least partly—why the girl resented her. Her mother had shattered Ally's picture-perfect family, and even though Camille had no part in it, she had become the living proof of her mother and Joe's betrayal. But that wasn't her problem. Not anymore.

A stronger gust of wind made the plaque by the entrance gleam under the sun.

Les Palmes du Soleil.

The name echoed in Camille's mind like a distant memory. Her father had chosen it with care, convinced that the house received so much light that the sun itself slept there every night to recover from its long day of shining on the world.

The paint on the house, now slightly faded, was partially swallowed by the vines that had grown wild over time. It was a beautiful combination of nature reclaiming its space, but despite the charm, Camille felt nothing but emptiness. The house was filled with ghosts. The ghost of her father, the ghost of the little girl she used to be—the ghost of the life she could have had.

But she hadn't moved here to fix anything. She and her (new) family had come to the Outer Banks for a fresh start, and honestly, she wasn't going to complain. The idea of living so close to the ocean excited her. What thrilled her even more was the prospect of living alone.

And before anyone asked, what kind of mother lets her teenage daughter live by herself?—the answer was simple: a mother like hers. A mother who had messed up so many times that she had driven her daughter to the brink of insanity, to the point where Camille had slapped emancipation papers on the table.

"Either you let me go, or we destroy each other."

It hadn't been an impulsive decision. She had spent months preparing, gathering information, saving every last cent, and searching for every possible way to turn her independence into reality. Ironically, her mother hadn't immediately put up a fight. But she hadn't signed the papers right away, either.

For the first time in a long time, Camille had seen something close to fear in her mother's eyes.

"Camille, please, don't do this," her mother had pleaded, her voice more fragile than expected. "I don't want to lose you."

A bitter laugh had almost escaped Camille's throat. Now she didn't want to lose her? After everything she had done when Dad died, after years of putting Camille last on her list of priorities... now she cared?

She hadn't said a word.

Her mother had lowered her gaze, absentmindedly twisting the engagement ring Joe had given her. She had turned it a couple of times before looking up again.

"What if..." she had started cautiously, "what if I let you move out without you having to get emancipated?"

Camille had frowned, confused. "What?"

Her mother had sighed, finally letting go of the ring.

"I mean... you can move into your father's house without needing legal emancipation. I don't want you to make such a drastic decision, Camille. I don't want to sever our relationship that way."

Camille had stared at her, trying to figure out if this was some kind of trick.

"And what's the catch?" she had asked skeptically.

"That you don't cut me off completely," her mother had answered bluntly. "Come to the house once a week, even if it's just for dinner."

Camille had sighed, looking away. Once a week. She could handle that, right? If it meant getting out of that house without more fights, without a legal battle, without all the paperwork she had been preparing... then it was worth it.

"Fine," she had agreed at last. "Once a week."

Her mother had nodded, and for a moment, Camille had seen a flicker of relief in her expression.

"Then I'll help you move."

"That won't be necessary."

"Please, Camille." Her mother had whispered.

"We'll see."

And that was how she had ended up here.

-Come on. Just step inside, check the condition of the house, and head back to the mansion. It's not a big deal. I can do this.-

Standing in front of a house that belonged to her but still felt unfamiliar, Camille took a deep breath, this time with more determination, and forced her fingers to move. She slid the key into the lock, turned it, and heard the click. As she pushed the door open, the scent of aged wood and salt filled her senses.

The house smelled like him.

Like her father.

Her chest tightened, and she hesitated at the threshold, torn between stepping inside and turning around to leave.

The little house felt both comforting and suffocating at the same time. She had never seen it in person, only in pictures. It looked exactly as her father had described it: the kitchen was decorated with white and blue tiles, with a few utensils and trinkets placed neatly around. The fridge was still covered with magnets from her father's travels.

A faded photograph of her father, her uncle, and her aunt smiled at her from the wall. The three of them had backpacks slung over their shoulders, standing on what appeared to be a mountaintop.

Adorable.

She wandered further inside, taking in every detail. The house needed some airing out and a good dusting, but aside from that, it was perfect.

Letting out a shaky breath—one she hadn't even realized she was holding—Camille reminded herself that today was just a visit. Tomorrow was the real test: the official move, her first night alone.

Technically, she would only be fifteen minutes away from the massive mansion in Figure Eight. But that distance meant everything to her.

Especially after what happened with Juliette.

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸

As Camille descended the stairs, her mother's voice floated toward her, carefully measured yet undeniably cautious. "So... what do you think of the little house?"

She wanted it to sound light, casual even, but there was an undercurrent beneath her words—hesitation, uncertainty, maybe even fear.

"It's beautiful," Camille said, not meeting her gaze. "I love it. It's just that..." She trailed off, the weight of unfinished thoughts pressing against her chest.

Her mother nodded slowly, as if she understood what wasn't being said. "It's a lot, I know." She stepped a little closer, rubbing her hands together, as though trying to warm herself. "Camille... I... I'm so sorry for everything." Her voice was barely a whisper.

The words hung in the air between them. Camille had imagined this moment before—had needed it more times than she could count. And yet, now that it was here, the words felt empty. Hollow. Too late.

Her mother swallowed hard, fingers twisting Joe's engagement ring, a nervous habit Camille had seen before. "I know I can't change the past. And I know you don't expect anything from me. But if there's any way I can—"

"It's fine." Camille cut her off, her voice sharp, final. She didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to open that door.

Her mother's shoulders slumped slightly. "Are you going out?" she asked after a beat of silence, her gaze flicking to the headphones in Camille's hand.

"Yeah. Just going for a run. I want to see the island."

"Okay... well, come back for dinner if you can. Joe's cooking tonight."

Camille didn't respond. She slipped her headphones on and walked out the door before her mother could say anything else.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Somehow, Camille ended up running all the way to the harbor. Music pounded in her ears as her eyes darted around, trying to take it all in. She didn't see the boy in front of her until she crashed straight into him.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" She yanked out her earbuds, flustered. "I wasn't looking where I was going. That was totally my fault—I'm really, really sorry."

Instinctively, she took a step back, her cheeks burning. He was attractive, around her age—maybe a little older. His dark skin glowed under the sunset, and his expression was hard to read. His gaze was steady, but he didn't seem annoyed.

"It's fine. I was distracted too," he said, his voice surprisingly calm, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Camille quickly bent down to pick up his backpack, trying to push past her sudden clumsiness.

As she handed it to him, her fingers fumbled nervously with the tangled wires of her earbuds, struggling to shove them into her pocket.

"Seriously, I'm so sorry," she mumbled, more to herself than to him.

The boy—Pope, as he later introduced himself—nodded, glancing around, as if appreciating the harbor view. Camille stood there, uncertain of what to say. She wasn't used to this... to life here.

"Don't worry about it. Are you new around here? I don't think I've seen you before," he asked, his voice more observant than nosy.

"Yeah," she admitted, her voice softer than she intended. "Just moved in with my mom, my stepdad, and his daughters. I'm Camille, by the way."

"Pope." He gave a short nod. "Outer Banks can be a bit of a shock at first, huh?"

"Definitely," she said with a dry, amused laugh. "Still trying to adjust."

"You'll get used to it," Pope assured her with a small smile. "It's not as crazy as it seems. There are plenty of quiet spots if you need to get away."

Her curiosity piqued. "Oh yeah? Where would I find a quiet spot?"

Pope seemed slightly surprised by her interest.

"It's just... you know, moving, two preteens, parents..." She shrugged.

He gave her a knowing smile. "If you want to avoid crowds, the pier's a tourist trap. But there's this place—" He pointed toward the distant cliffs. "Near the lighthouse. Not many people know about it, but it's peaceful. I go there when I need space."

Camille felt a surprising sense of relief. "That sounds perfect. I need all the space I can get."

"Just don't get lost. The cliffs can be tricky, but the view's worth it." His grin was easy, natural.

"Thanks," she said, this time with a little more confidence.

There was something about Pope that made her feel a little less out of place in the Outer Banks. He wasn't trying to make her comfortable, but he also wasn't treating her like a complete outsider.

"Well, I'll let you get back to it," he said, tipping his head before turning to leave.

"See you around," she called after him, surprised at how soft her voice still was.

"See you, Camille." He didn't turn back as he said it.

She smiled slightly as she made her way back to the massive house in Figure Eight. The sun was setting. She needed to get home.

What she didn't know was that a group of boys had been watching her leave.

"Didn't know you had a girlfriend, Pope," the brown-haired boy teased.

"Oh, shut up, John B." Pope rolled his eyes.

"You know her? Don't think I've seen her before." The other boy, the one with piercing blue eyes, asked.

"She just moved here with her family. That's what she told me."

"Yeah?" The only girl in the group tilted her head. "Because she looks familiar to me."

JJ, standing slightly apart from them, watched her disappear into the distance, feeling like the world around him had faded into a blur. His sharp blue eyes tracked her movements—the way she walked, hesitant but determined. Something about her pulled at him, though he couldn't explain why. The way the sun caught her wavy blonde hair, the way she carried herself—there was a spark there, something intriguing.

The others kept talking, but JJ found it hard to focus.

"What's up with you?" Pope nudged him in the ribs.

JJ blinked, quickly looking away like he had just snapped out of a trance. "Nothing." He shrugged. "I don't know... she's just got something."

The group groaned in unison, throwing him skeptical looks.

They turned back toward Camille, watching as she disappeared down the road. For a moment, the four of them forgot their conversation, just like JJ had.

There was something about her, something JJ couldn't quite put into words yet.

"What? It's the truth."

They laughed, but JJ didn't join in. Instead, he stayed quiet, eyes still trained on the girl disappearing into the distance. He didn't know why, but something told him he'd be seeing her again.

And when he did, he'd make sure to figure out exactly what that something was.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

First chapter! What did you guys think?

I'm so excited to keep going hahaha

See you soon!

Love, Lana

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mikuchan · 4 months ago

Text

Aylin/Isobel Week Day 5

What could have been / in another life / AU

rated t | 1200 words | Isobel, Aylin, minor Z'rell

Read on AO3, or below the cut

“General?” Disciple Z’rell raps on the sitting room’s open door. The leader of Moonrise, Myrkul’s Chosen, looks up from inked plans and annotated maps as Z'rell gives a short bow.

“One of the other Chosen is approaching,” she says. “My watchmen report she’s nearing the bridge. She should reach Moonrise shortly.”

“Thank you. I’ll be down to receive her.”

Z’rell nods before exiting.

Isobel Thorm sets her quill in its tarnished stand.

Her staff leans against her desk, a single slender piece of bone topped by an ancient, staring skull. Its eyes glow a deep pink, Netherstone burning within the cold sockets.

Who, she wonders, is on her doorstep first? She knows precious little about the champions of the other Two. She’s aware of the Banite only by reputation: a prominent figure risen from the political ranks of Baldur’s Gate. (A city she has, while she can acknowledge its current tactical importance, never much cared for.)

Of the Bhaalist, Isobel knows nothing at all. Not even her name.

Her parents sit as always in soft armchairs in the corner of her office. As Isobel rises from the desk, they struggle to stand, groaning unintelligibly with the effort.

“Shh.” Isobel touches her father’s cold cheek, smiles gently at them both. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

Her mother droops back into the chair, skeletal form sinking into the dusty velvet. Ketheric wavers a moment more, filmed eyes wheeling dumbly from Isobel to the doorway, before collapsing with a rattling sigh.

Staff in hand, Isobel descends the spiraling staircases to the ground floor, stone flesh-warm beneath her feet. It’s been so since the illithid nest began to build itself, crawling through hidden passages and empty spaces, filling every crack with feverish tendrils. The whole tower smells vaguely of blood and slime, that dirty-raw scent of saline mucus.

It’s an inescapable reminder of what Moonrise has become. She’s glad of it. There’s a chill to her bones she can never quite shake, a loss of light that not even Myrkul could return to her. The illithid’s wretched meat and marrow heat the stone from within, and it helps her to feel not quite so…empty.

The lower levels hum with activity. Isobel moves through humans, goblins, half-elves, dwarves, others as they undergo armor-fittings, dart to and fro with supplies, stand more or less attentive as the higher ranking bark orders or spit lectures…

She doesn’t often descend from her private chambers. She tends to prefer the quiet company of her half-risen parents, her few trusted True Souls, and her own careful rituals. She strides through the scurry of bodies now, head high, staff of bone held like a scepter. She is every inch the imposing leader, and they part for her like clouds for the moon. Many drop what they’re doing to bow or salute. Others just gape.

“A True Soul?” a kobold whispers as she passes.

“Isobel Thorm, idiot!” a woman slaps him upside his scaly head. “The General herself! Myrkul’s breath, you new lot are all dolts.”

Z’rell is already waiting by the front entrance, where a pair of stout duergar have lugged open the heavy doors. A breeze sweeps in, circling Isobel with the scraping chill of the unnatural shadows. Years ago, she might have shivered. The cold might have brought a flush to her cheeks, reddened the tips of her ears and fingers... She dislikes it now, this too-mortal sensation, but she remains unmoving. She is as pale and still as the grave.

The night beyond the tower is equally unmoving. She can hear the turgid river below, weed-choked and gurgling. A few low lanterns flicker through the gloom. All they illuminate is the short stretch of empty courtyard, and the vacant bridge beyond.

Movement from beyond the bridge. Isobel narrows her eyes, leans very slightly forward. A bird in the distance? It’s too dark to truly see. Something swooping, something flying, its shape smudged by the smog of shadows. A heron, a mephit? A spell of some kind?

She doesn’t have time to puzzle it out. The figure dips low over the bridge before launching high – and then it’s coming towards them, plummeting across the bridge, faster than a trebuchet, larger than any heron or mephit, landing monstrously, incredibly, impressively before her. The duergar shout. Z’rell lifts her hands, readying offensive magic.

It’s a woman, taller than Isobel by far, with eyes too bright and a grin too wide. A web of ruby scars splay across her face, her throat, disappear under gleaming onyx plate. They seep thin rivulets of blood, staining her long pale hair. Huge wings stretch behind her, dissipating into the air before Isobel can fully comprehend them; were they made of blood, or were the feathers just soaked and dripping with it?

“I am Dame Aylin, Emissary of the Murder Lord.” The woman bows low. Startlingly, she then reaches out to take Isobel’s hand, pressing her lips to it. The kiss is brief but searing against Isobel’s cold knuckles. “Daughter of Bhaal himself, Chosen of the Dead Three. His Sword, now yours.”

Isobel’s other hand tightens around her staff, knuckles white against the yellowed bone. She’s rocked back, she realized, eyes wide, one foot behind to keep her balance. She straightens now, breath shallow as she attempts to regain a semblance of her prior posture. Is she mocking her, this Dame Aylin? It’s hard to read her expression as she releases Isobel’s hand. She looks earnest, intensely so, but there’s a strange spark to her eyes.

Who is she? This daughter of Bhaal, child of murder and chaos, sweeping in on bloodied wings – this is her ally? This is her fellow Chosen? She’s resplendent. She’s horrifying. She’s utterly unreadable, standing in the low light of the entryway with burning eyes, waiting for Isobel to respond.

Isobel does not respond.

Dame Aylin, Isobel realizes, has rattled her; and Isobel Thorm has not been rattled in a long, long time. Not since Myrkul dragged her from her grave.

“At ease.” Isobel finally gestures at Z’rell. “Welcome to Moonrise Towers, Dame Aylin. The final member of our trio should be arriving before day’s end. Until then, please: join me upstairs.”

“Wine for our guest!” Z’rell snaps. “Get those doors closed!”

Isobel leads Aylin across the hall as Z’rell barks orders, servants scuttling into action. She finds herself hoping the Banite arrives late. She wants to learn more of this Aylin on her own time. She needs to pry into what’s beneath that shiny dark armor, without the distraction of some oily politician.

Moonrise Towers has been a still place. It churns with recruits, yes, with battle plans and creeping illithid viscera…but Isobel, isolated in her bone-ivory tower, has sat above it all, engaged but unmoved. This woman, this Aylin, has unbalanced that as swiftly as a comet disrupts the night sky.

For the first time in a century, she’s violently aware of the beating of her heart.

moon banners from here

#aylinisobelweek2025 #dame aylin #isobel thorm #mine

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safarikalamari · 3 months ago

Text

To Love Another

Summary: Babe tries to figure out just who Gene is and comes to a different realization along the way

Rating: T

Genre: Canon Compliant, Missing Scenes, Falling in Love, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Character Study, One Shot

Words: 1244

AO3

Eugene Roe is an enigma.

A shadow floating between the trees, an expert tracker who calls Babe anything but his name.

Babe doesn’t mean to snap but right now he can’t stand to hear anything else. Then, Eugene has the audacity to say Edward. It’s only Eugene’s lost stare that stops Babe from saying what really sits on his mind. That maybe Gene doesn’t respect him.

Except that’s all Eugene is. Respectful, kind. It takes a life or death mistake for him to berate anyone and even then, Gene shouts nothing but the truth.

So, for now, Babe lets the matter be. He has other things to worry about after all. Like Julian. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, Babe wonders what he’s doing on this side of the world when he should still be playing baseball with his friends.

Well, Babe will make sure Julian gets back home. Catch up on all the living he’s supposed to do. It’s what his ma would want after all.

Babe doesn’t spare a thought toward Gene during the patrol and even less so amongst the barrage of bullets. Julian is reaching out, choking on his own blood, but Babe can’t do anything. He screams an empty promise, forces himself to retreat with the other men.

A hollow ache claws at his chest and he finds himself looking over at Gene. He wants Gene to say something, even call him Edward. Yet, there’s none of that. Only a pained expression, a silent apology that Babe can’t accept right now.

Babe doesn’t care. Nothing matters. The night is colder than ever and Babe wishes the ground would swallow him up. He wants to ignore Gene and he has no regrets when he snaps at him. It doesn’t help when Gene doesn’t bite back, where instead he’s patient. Too good for the battlefields of France. The chocolate is a temporary salve, the warmth of Gene and Ralph is all that keeps him on this godforsaken earth.

Then, it’s Babe who’s screaming at Gene, forcing him out of his lonely foxhole. He’s about to slap Gene across the face, to snap him out of his haze, but Gene pulls through at the last second. The wound he leaves on Babe’s hand hurts like a mother and Babe curses Gene to hell and back.

Of course, he can’t stay mad. Especially not when after all this time, Gene calls him Babe. A second or two passes before it hits Babe and a smile spreads across his face. Not one made out of reluctance or even to lighten Gene’s mood. No, this smile is genuine and Babe’s heart races in his chest.

Gene is gentle and caring. A passing comment is carried on his shoulders and Babe wants to help. Yet, Gene disappears in the snow, fades into the background. For some time, Babe thinks it all a dream, their shared foxhole, waking up to Gene’s arm secure around his waist.

When they reach different towns, Gene is just out of the corner of his eyes, drifting between the lines of life and death. It’s times like these, waiting for the next fight, when Babe just wants to hear Gene speak. One word. Even just to call him Heffron.

He isn’t all that surprised when he’s chosen for the mission. Babe will do what he’s told, despite the fear that weaves through his veins. He’s contemplating what comes next, a numbness spreading through him while waiting for the hours to pass.

Somehow, Eugene finds him and Babe breaks his chaotic thoughts to stare the other man down.

“Heffron, you better come back alive, you hear?”

It’s an order, but Babe doesn’t salute. Gene has slipped back into old ways and Babe’s stomach twists. His imagination tells him Gene is more terrified than he is.

The hailstorm of bullets, the screaming, Babe can barely keep his head above the chaos. He’s about to fight every soldier barehanded until the world comes to a stop. Another kid is dead and there’s nothing he or Eugene or anyone else can do about it.

What’s worse is Babe can see the guilt in Gene’s eyes. He couldn’t save Jackson but more than that Gene‘s stare screams at Babe.

Thank god it wasn’t you.

Babe doesn’t have any more crying left in him. Bitterness stews in his chest and it’s on his slow walk to nowhere that he runs into Gene. There is a silent trail of tears down his face, he looks to Babe for forgiveness.

If Babe could, he’d absolve Gene of all of his sins. Instead, they find themselves in a secluded basement, hands grasping, tugging open bloodstained uniforms. Gene’s kiss is rough, mouth open as if to swallow Babe whole. Babe is willing to let Gene consume him if it means a happier end.

They’re frantic, this is all just to forget and when Eugene enters him, it burns. Babe almost doesn’t mind the pain because at least he’s feeling something beyond the hollow ache within him. His climax isn’t much at all, just a passing wave of relief. Proof that he’s still alive.

Eugene is quick to leave him, bare and shivering just as dawn starts to break. Babe doesn’t blame him. The call for a medic will come soon enough and Babe makes a poor attempt of cleaning himself before facing the world.

For a while, Gene floats between the company. Babe has maybe a moment or two alone with him but it’s not enough to even reach out and touch. His fingers twitch and Babe wonders if all he’s good for is a quick fuck.

Then, they reach Austria. Life turns upside down and Babe is laughing, real and alive, arms open wide. In a first class hotel, Babe finds Gene, the frown on his face fading into something softer.

He takes Gene to bed that night, a gentle breeze passing through the window. Moonlight bathes their skin and Babe pushes into Gene, slow and breathless. He could watch him forever, eyes hooded, whispered affection floating above them.

“Babe,” Gene repeats over and over.

Never has his name held such reverence, an exaltation to someone other than their God. In this moment, Babe can pretend no one else exists for Gene but himself and he swallows the sin of pride like a thirsty man.

When he wakes, Babe stares at Gene, his sleeping face an unusual calm. He traces a hand down his temple and mouths a promise, his secret to be locked safe in his heart.

Leaving Europe comes all too soon and with that, Babe comes to terms with what happens next. He’s lucky to have Gene with him on the ship, their last days spent in each other’s company.

At the port, Babe readies himself for goodbye and he holds out a hand for Gene to shake. Gene has one last surprise in him, his arms warm and secure around Babe’s shoulders. Babe hugs him back, blinks away the tears that threaten to come.

He doesn’t want to let go, but they somehow both manage. Just before he leaves, Gene presses a folded piece of paper into Babe’s hand and disappears into the crowd.

Babe’s heart flutters as he opens it and this time, a tear does slip down his cheek. Gene has given him his address, his telephone number, but written under all that is the start of a new beginning.

Je t’adore. Mon sha. Mon Babe.

#baberoe #babe heffron #eugene roe #babe heffron x eugene roe #safari's foxhole #send me prompts please i need these two injected into my bloodstream

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savoytrufflephd · 1 year ago

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Let's talk about the title...

Having created this Tumblr for no other purpose than send HIUH (Hand in Unlovable Hand) asks to @thickenmyblood, I figured why not dedicate winter break to fic analysis posts?

So let's start with the title!

How could you possibly be here if you're worried about spoilers, but...

Hand in Unlovable Hand.

At first I was oriented toward the Mountain Goats song (“No Children”), you know how it goes :

I am drowning there is no sign of land you are coming down with me hand in unlovable hand

And throughout the fic's posting, lots of readers have been alternately finding Damen and then Laurent very hard to like (which was an awesome reading experience in and of itself because fanfic doesn’t always tend toward deeply complex characters). So the sort-of-toxic relationship view felt plausible (except I was always going for “appears-toxic-but-is-actually-true-love-and-totally-fixable” because this is make-believe anyway and it’s based on CP, so).

But now I’m thinking, what if the “unlovable” is actually about people who think they are unlovable? And what if that’s not just both Damen and Laurent, but also Nicaise?

So, like, what if what this little family actually has in common – even if Damen appears to have a very different history and Laurent has said they are too different – is their individual fears that no one will ever really love them?

Like Nicaise obviously doesn’t think Damen can actually love the real him and tries to be on his best behavior (even while pushing Damen’s boundaries). And Nicaise seems like he’s doing his level best to drive Laurent away, so that when Laurent eventually abandons him – as he fears - he can pretend that’s what he wanted anyway.

And Damen has panic attacks about Maxime not because he gives a shit about Maxime but because he’s let Maxime represent the idea that Laurent never really loved Damen, but was just using Damen and moved on quickly and painlessly. And Damen had no mother and had a distant father and a resentful half-brother and he’s only just beginning to believe that chosen family can be real family.

And Laurent completely doesn’t get that Damen has this insecurity because he sees Damen’s life as so normal and charmed.

And, finally, even though our unreliable narrator thinks Laurent has always been in control of everything, including their relationship and entrance into the family formed by Laurent and Nicaise, Laurent’s insecurities (on nearly full display in Chapter 19) have been sprinkled throughout this fic like breadcrumbs.

In the original breakup:

“We’re different. We want different things.” Damen said nothing. The coffee was ashy in his mouth. Dry. “I’ve got Nicaise,” Laurent said, “and I can’t—this is not working. It was never going to work.”

In the overheard conversation with Ancel:

Ancel’s back is all Damen can see. His hair shakes from roots to ends when he tilts his head in Laurent’s direction. “I thought,” he says, slowly, “that you wanted different.” “I did.” “Ugh, Laurent, you’re giving me a headache. What even is the pro—” “I’m not,” Laurent says, louder than before. The shock of sound works like a slap, and Damen wants to move back into the hallway, to scurry to the other bathroom, to leave them alone, but his legs simply won’t take him there. “ I’m not. I’m still—you heard what Nicaise—”

In Laurent's interpretation of the breakup:

“You wanted out,” Laurent says, “so I gave you out.”

But Damen finds Laurent so loveable – and he didn’t ever really talk to Laurent about the effects his abuse – that he can’t understand how unloveable Laurent feels.

So I feel like they three are all so much alike (and so lost in insecurity) that now they’re all talking past each other.

But I also feel like when they come back together in the right way, the family will be so good for each other, damn it!

#captive prince #captive prince fanfic #hiuh #damen x laurent #thickenmyblood #hand in unlovable hand #neither my wife nor child reads this fic and i suck at fandom these days but i NEED to talk about this masterwork #the sad thing is I'm a professor not a student

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who-datgirl · 1 year ago

Text

Who IS Ruby Sunday?

My head is spinning over the secret identity of 15’s companion. Ruby is only in one season as Millie Gibson, something very important will have to happen to have her only appear in 8 episodes. At first I wondered if maybe Ruby was The Master hiding in plain sight as a human. Davies confirmed recently that The Master is taking a break from the plot, so that knocked them out of the running for Ruby’s identity. I am left with one headcanon that, regardless of it winds up true or not, exists rent-free in my mind.

I believe Ruby Sunday is the child of 12 and River Song. I think during their 24 years on Darillium, River wound up pregnant. Once she realized she was carrying The Doctor’s child, she took the TARDIS while 12 was busy with something (In the Husbands of River Song special she confirms that she often steals the TARDIS with The Doctor none the wiser). River carried out her 9 months of pregnancy in secret and used the Chameleon Arch on newborn Ruby. The TARDIS then chose the coordinates that landed her at the church on Ruby Road on Christmas Eve (A clue chosen by the TARDIS for The Doctor since River and 12’s time on Darillium started on Christmas Day). River then popped the TARDIS back on Darillium mere seconds after she left and lived out her remaining happy years with The Doctor, with the truth about Ruby weighing on her heart.

Why would River do this? Simple. The TARDIS is no place to raise a newborn. The Doctor would have stopped running and settled down on Earth to raise Ruby. River knew her time was almost up, but with a child The Doctor would have continued his 24-year vacation and extended it into Ruby’s adulthood. River loves The Doctor for their gallivanting around the universe and saving countless worlds through their travels. The thought that an untold amount of stars in the sky would vanish without The Doctor’s help broke River’s heart: “Maybe The Doctor would never have travelled again” was her fear. Rather than raising Ruby out of a mix of love for Ruby and grief for River, River chose to let The Doctor’s grief of River be their fuel for saving worlds instead. Also, River figured by letting a Ruby live a human life on Earth she would get a quiet and good life that is without Daleks, Cybermen, The Yssgaroth, Weeping Angels, and all the other horrors that The Doctor and his companions deal with. For anyone interested in seeing how I imagine 15 and River’s confrontation about Ruby playing out, I will post a dialogue I wrote between them at the end of this post.

NOW, onto the little easter eggs that I have noticed so far that give credence to Ruby being River’s child:

15’s run has had a ton of talk with Ruby about family and being adopted, The Doctors biological ties are definitely a theme of the season.

Ruby’s initials are R.S. Same as River Song.

As mentioned above, Ruby is born Christmas Eve. 12 and River’s time on Darillium began Christmas Day. The TARDIS chooses coordinates that best suit a Time Lord/Time Lady when a Chameleon Arch is used. I believe The TARDIS chose that time and place as a clue for The Doctor to eventually find Ruby.

Coincidence seems to be forcing Ruby and The Doctor together. Almost as if 15 is the answer to her question about who her actual parents are.

When viewing Ruby’s memory, her hooded mother points at 15 which alters the memory. River and The Doctor’s connection has been shown to transcend laws of time and space before (I.e. 11 being able to see River on Trenzalore and even kiss her projection from the Library).

There is such a pervasive theme of music between 15 and Ruby. The Christmas special kicks this off with a fun musical number which seems innocent enough. Since then, all the talk of music has caused the words “Melody” and “Song” to come up quite a few times in the latest season. The Devil’s Chord episode to me felt like a slap in the face with deliberate wordplay. Timothy Blake begins the episode by discussing melody with Henry Arbinger (and Melody is River’s birth name). Towards the end of the episode Maestro finds “A hidden SONG” in Ruby’s soul. If she is River’s daughter that would literally be her last name.

I listened to the hidden song in Ruby’s soul that she sings before the Christmas music several times. Melodically it is quite similar to the melancholy tune “sung” by the Towers of Darillium in the “Husbands of River Song” special.

In “BOOM” the ambulance could not identify 15 properly as a life form. The ambulance had the same error when trying to identify Ruby’s next of kin.

I think if I am correct, once restored to a Time Lady Ruby gets fatally wounded and regenerates into the next season’s companion. This is why Millie Gibson is only in one season. I think Ruby lives on, just as the new actress Varada Sethu (Also Millie and Varada are both credited in next season’s first episode, perhaps we see the regeneration then?)

Is there any truth to this theory? Ultimately, that is up to Davies. As I said before, for me it will live as true in my head rent-free regardless.

As promised, my headcanon confrontation between 15 and River at the church on Ruby Road

*15 stands in front of the hooded figure on Ruby Road, demanding that she pull down her hood*

15: I know who you are! I know who Ruby is. I just have one question that I cannot understand……..*tears forming in 15’s eyes* WHY…..River…..

*The hooded figure pulls down her hood, revealing the saddened expression of Professor River Song*

River: Hello, sweetie.

15: Why River, why did you hide her away from me?!

River: Do I need to make you a list of reasons a baby on the TARDIS is a horrible idea? Traveling the way you do is no place for a child. And that was my greatest fear. I know that for you, you lost me long ago. If, if you knew we had a child. You would’ve stopped immediately. You’d do the one thing you’d never do in a million years.

15: *Angrily* What’s so —

River: You’d stop running, Doctor. You’d park your TARDIS on some corner of London. You’d sweet talk yourself into a quaint home, in some quiet city. You and her would spend years on Earth while she learns to walk, to speak. Long enough that the day would come that she’s old enough to ask why she doesn’t have a mother. I couldn’t do that, but not just to her or you. Do you have any idea how many worlds would see their final dawn if you are not around to pop in and interrupt some horrible disaster? Why, I couldn’t risk every star in the sky going out due to some mix of love for our child and grief for me!

So I did what was best for her, and best for the universe. I used the arch. I landed here. A time and place where she would grow up to be loved and to have one thing neither of us ever had, a normal life. I gave her the gift of a life free from Daleks, from collapsing stars, from the cold of space. I did that, and then I hid her time lord essence in the safest place I could, the one place you’d never go. Nine months have passed for me but for The Doctor on Darillium, I will return after a few seconds. We still have a few more years to go in the long night, and you haven’t a clue I left. You’re the smartest man I’ve known, but also the stupidest.

15: Well the universe didn’t seem to want us to be apart did it?! Coincidence pushed and pushed until I found her, or she found me, I’m not even sure which happened first. Everywhere we went together there was children, mystery, belonging, family all practically forced into my view. I was the answer to her question. Every time she asked who were real parents were, coincidence nudged my foot in her direction. It nudged and nudged until we found each other, and then the answer to her heart’s song screamed itself out in silence. I was meant to be in her life and I got there…..it, it was just the long way around.

River: In my heart I knew, if anyone could find her with no clue to go on, it would be you. I don’t regret the actions I took to hide her, but I’m so glad you are with her now. You, at least, can know her. My diary is out of pages. I don’t have any room for adventures with my daughter. You Doctor, you have all of time and space. Show it to her! If the universe doesn’t want our daughter to live a life of domestic bliss on Earth, teach her to be the Time Lady that she’s clearly meant to be. For the first time in a long while, you don’t have to be the only one of your people on the TARDIS. You finally don’t have to be alone in this universe, and for that I am so happy.

**The Doctor gently grabs River, holding her in his arms**

15: River…if I could do anything to save you, you know—

**River wipes away her tears and slowly backs away after the embrace**

River: Oh sweetie. Hush now. You and I both know how this works. We’re always rushing by each other in reverse. You have the beginning of the rest of your life with her ahead of you. Me? Well……all I have is the time with you on Darillium. I really must be getting back. Eventually you’ll stop entertaining yourself or impressively monologuing to some poor sap on that planet and notice that the TARDIS is gone. I must be back before then.

**Rivers walks into the distance, fading into the darkness of Christmas Eve night. A lone stream of light appears as she opens the 12th Doctor’s TARDIS. River takes one last look at baby Ruby on the church steps, and then one last look at 15**

River: Until next time Doctor.

15: NEXT time? Wait, River. How in Earth do you mean?

*River grins widely at The Doctor, and says one word before shutting the TARDIS door*

River: Spoilers

*15 stares a long while at the now vacant space of their former lifetime’s TARDIS until the glimmer of an idea appears in their eyes. 15 dashes to their TARDIS. 15 slows their approach as they go deeper and deeper into the halls of the space-and-time-ship until they stop at the door. This is the one door on the TARDIS they refuse to walk by, to even think about. With tears forming in their eyes, they open the door for the first time in centuries. Cautiously they walk into the bedroom that 12 and River shared in their time on Darillium. The room’s lights slowly hum on, the bed still unmade on the side River slept so her imprint can be seen in the sheets. Atop her pillow, rests a Time Lord’s pocketwatch. 15 opens it and hears the hum of a Time Lord soul. Inside it are two holographic pictures, one on each side of the watch: one of River, one of the 12th Doctor. On the bottom of the watch 15 can see something inscribed in the Gallifreyan tongue. It reads a name: Amelia Song*

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nerdieforpedro · 2 years ago

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Let me wash your hair

Frankie Morales x female reader

Fanfiction (18+) nothing explicit but just implied

Summary: Frankie feels she’s doing way too much. His wife feels like it’s just right. A promise is the only reason he agrees.

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, pregnancy, slight self-doubt, angst

“Frankie! Frankie, where are you?” A woman yelled, echoing throughout the home.

Frankie has chosen to go out to the garage. He was not up for what his wife was trying do.. Instead, he was going to see if he could wait her out and then go in when she needed to prop her feet up again. Then see if he could, just you know, avoid it, but his wife is almost as persistent as he is. That’s why he loved her and married her, so she waddled throughout the house looking for her catfish.

“Francisco! Francisco Morales, you come here right now!”

He knew it was bad because she was saying his entire first name. She normally just calls him Frankie, so he sighed and retreated from the garage and headed to the house.

“Yes, mi amor, estoy aquí (my love, I am here). What do you need?” He knew darn well what she was after, the pilot just thought it was weird. His wife put her hands on her wide hips and poked out her very pregnant belly that honestly looked like her water could break at any moment, though she was only seven and a half months along. The doctor had said apparently, they were going to have twins to which, Frankie, celebrated how strong is swimmers were, and his wife slapped his shoulder and bemoaned about how fertile both sides of her family are.

Catfish’s wife was looking for him for a very different reason. She insisted that she would wash Frankie’s hair. The pilot did not understand the point of this, he could wash his own hair and he didn’t really even have that much hair in comparison to her, and especially since you know she’s carrying his children. He didn’t feel that she should be up and moving around like this anyway, she should be sitting on the chair or laying on the bed with feet propped up and he should be feeding her as far as he’s concerned, but she said no. Despite being pregnant, she still wanted to do things for Frankie, little things since her positions in bed were a bit limited and her husband spent quite a bit of time exploring her new body.

The pilot’s wife was insistent, that she wash his hair. He asked her why and she said he deserves to be pampered to which he laughed, and she did not take that well. The mother to be pinched his cheeks and said that Francisco Morales deserves to be pampered just as much as he pampers her so he will let her wash his hair. Frankie said that instead he could just be between her legs and that would be fine for him. You know, it always works for him, but she said no and his wife in fact had the fortitude to turn him down this entire week.

Just nothing. Nada.

Only kisses and hugs, so in addition to just being generally annoyed at this whole hair thing, he was also very sexually frustrated. His wife told him that he could be between her legs for as long he liked, if she let him wash his hair. Today was supposed to be the day but he was avoiding it because he figured after a week maybe she’ll just give in. Maybe just let him have her. But he had truly forgotten that his wife was the same woman who made a point to ride him reverse cowgirl for a week each time they had sex just because he mentioned he liked it once.

Francisco held his hands out and his wife took him by the rest and pulled him upstairs. She sat him on the edge of the tub in their master bathroom. Told him to strip down naked then began wetting his hair and lathering it the shampoo. Frankie didn’t know that head and shoulders made really good smelling shampoo like that. His wife laughed and told him to relax and just let her take care of him. Frankie told her that that’s what she normally does anyway so he doesn’t really see what’s so important about the hair, she just told him that he would see.

When she had covered all of his hair with the shampoo, her fingernails started grazing his scalp and working up the lather working circles and his scalp around his ears around his temples the back of his skull, he gripped his own knees and hummed, so this is what she meant maybe he should’ve accepted sooner. It was unwinding his stress about having hair done and making his pretty wife stand on her swollen feet. She rinsed his head of the shampoo to make sure she got all of it then repeated the same process with the conditioner. She said that the conditioner had to stay in for a few minutes, so in that time she just kept needing his head. She also started singing, not a song really, just some ‘la la la’s.’ Francisco nearly fell back. Do you know how relaxed he felt?

Something about the heat of the water, the soft hands of his wife roaming his scalp and Frankie’s hand groping her belly periodically to feel the babies kick. They have decided to keep the gender a secret from them both. They wanted it to be a surprise. Mainly, they just wanted to know that both babies were healthy, and that mommy was healthy as well. She rinsed the conditioner out of his hair and then got the blow dryer and dried his hair, the heat felt good on his head.

Francisco looked up at his wife. He was always in awe of what she was willing to do for him, whether it was to help care for a daughter that grew to be hers, to care for a man who disappeared for about two weeks without a trace, and then only came back with more PTSD than when he left with. She stuck by him and loved him and now was going to give him children to top it off. She was also willing to wash his hair and massage his scalp.

Francisco, never thought of himself as a good man, an honorable one but not a good one, so he wondered if that was enough to have this type of beautiful simple life with his lovely, perfect wife and his adorable little girl and soon to be two more wonderful additions to the family.

His wife is playing with his curls twirling then, she said she was debating whether or not to put rollers in his hair to see if she can get them even more curly. He politely declined, and instead decided to scoop her up and carry her the short distance to the bed as he reminded her, he was promised a tour between her legs.

Le Tags:

@fhatbhabie @morallyinept @pedritapascal @pascalsanctuary @nissaimmortal @grogusmum @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @goodwithcheese @iamasaddie @psychedelic-ink @pamasaur @pedrodascal @marcus-is-my-muse @clawdee @mintypossum @trulybetty @perotovar @joelslegalwhre @josephquinnswhore @mandoisapunk @awilderi @deviinci @secretelephanttattoo @for-a-longlongtime @legendary-pink-dot @sin-djarin @maggiemayhemnj @rhoorl @magpiepillsjunior @i-own-loki @beabliss @saturn-rings-writes @megamindsecretlair @musings-of-a-rose @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @laurfilijames @for-a-longlongtime @rhoorl @legendary-pink-dot @maggiemayhemnj @mandoisapunk @trulybetty @avastrasposts

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #fluff #implied smut #catfish pond #frankie friday #frankie catfish morales

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mayhemscorner · 1 year ago

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Oblivion Beneath Vows

Terzo x f!reader

18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Reader cannot produce an heir, leading to tension in the abbey. Will she be able to stay as a sister? Will Terzo even care?

Warnings: Soft core SMUT, ANGST, injuries, mentions of blood and abuse. Topics may be sensitive, theres also some fluff. I apologize in advance.

“Do you mean what you say?”

His voice clips loudly through the marble halls, for once, it was a tone of destruction. A tone so deep it rattled my rib cage and felt as if it would send the mausoleum shattering down. It was a dark contrast to his usual sultry and even light tone. I can only backpedal pathetically in my state of confusion. I was being accused of something I knew nothing of, and even worse it has possibly sent the most cool headed figure in this hell forsaken place in to a fit of mania.

“Answer me!” He seethes out, stalking at an unsettling pace towards me, black shoes clacking monotonously down the eerily white halls.

“P-papa I-“ I begin to stutter, back scraping against the cool stone behind me, emitting a gasp as I recoil forward at the sensation. My body jerks once again at the grasp of his hand clamping down on my shoulder, eyes scanning my every movement,” T-Terzo, this isn’t like you.”

“You-“ he begins, pausing to run his free hand in to his already disheveled hair and letting out a maniacal laugh,” you have betrayed this Abbey, tainted it!”

His voice only raises, becoming more feral with every word, bubbles of spit begin to perspire as if rabies itself had claimed him. In this state, I’m guiltily starting to wonder if it had.

His hand clutching against me tightens, accidentally sending my head smacking in to the tomb behind me and legs threatening to collapse below me. My only instinct is to claw frantically against his gloved hand as it starts to burn against me, searching his mismatched eyes for any sign of remorse,” I’ve done nothing but hold this abbey together in your absence!”

“Lies!” He spits out, the other hand gripping against the top of my head, ripping the veil away and destroying what had been left of my modesty… my humility. In moments like this, I understand why we praise hell over heaven. The darkness in this world consuming everything it touches, it’s now rare to see the light of innocence. Those lucky enough to see it, are damned to watch it fade just as quickly as it had appeared. A baby only coo’s for so long. A hunter must eventually kill its prey it admires from afar. Mothers in this world now have to watch their children die at the hands of others. And in moments like this, it is why I understand I was chosen to live a life of sin, because anything innocent… disgusted me. The first time I had ever laid eyes on a child, I had vowed that my legacy wouldn’t continue. I had been cursed regardless. Innocence was a pitiful ideology in this world and as the world before me escapes in a flutter of stars and blackness as his hand snakes around my throat, I can only smile. If I was damned to hell, i invited it with open arms.

But it never came, and as oxygen stings its way back in, my body crashes to the floor. I stare in horror, matching his own face as he looks at the hand that was just at my throat like it was the most vile thing that ever graced the earth. My lungs ache, gasping for air as the confusion sets in,” why are you doing this?”

“If you wish to leave this abbey, then I shall strip you of your habits myself.” He answers coldly, reaching for the front of my dress. My hand slaps his own away,” and where would you have gotten the idea that I’d just leave? Just to run away from the only thing in my life that has any meaning? To run away from you.”

His eye twitches, accentuating the phosphorus white that was the sign of the Emeritus bloodline. His hand once again reaches out to me, this time coiling his fingers in my hair and lulling my head up to face him directly,” these walls may not be thin, but there are still ways to hear, Y/N! I heard you talking to Nihil!”

My heart sinks, the pain against my scalp dulls as my veins fill with ice. It had been a set up all along. Something sinister is happening in the abbey, and it was Terzo and I who would pay. I can only bite my lip in worry as his other hand raises,” at least say something!”

My throat tries forming words, watching as tears threaten to spill over his lashes, but I can only choke on everything I’ve wanted to say. Nihil wanted me gone for refusing to produce an heir, Sister Imperator refused to even look my way, but I seen almost a glimpse of satisfaction whenever she would walk by. I couldn’t even repent at this point, knowing this had probably been on Terzo’s mind as well, and we weren’t getting any younger. The brutal reality, I was infertile, unable to produce an heir even if I had wanted too. But was I supposed to tell the truth in a moment like this? Would Terzo even believe me at this point? Would it be better if he just never knew, then only one of us would be to blame.

“Terzo- I’m… sorry.” I whisper, only looking away as I feel his hands tear the fabric just above my breasts, leaving me shivering in shock and coldness.

“So be it.” He swallows, turning away, yelling one last time in anger and sending a fist against the wall before leaving angrily down another hall. I grasp at my shoulder, feeling the raised marks from his hand, thankful that if I must be parting, I’d at least have something to remember him by for a few days. I cant tell if the tear sliding against my hot cheeks was from pain or sorrow… maybe even regret for not telling the truth. But if it was one thing I learned, Nihil and sister Imperator were not a force to be messed with. The healing flesh on my back was a constant reminder. The first conversation with Nihil had me sent to a barren room as other sisters had lashed me, all quietly apologizing as it had been their own form of torture as well. Even in a satanic church, punishment was frowned upon and only used when necessary. I messily gather my tattered robes, holding them at my chest to save what modesty I had left for anyone that had been cursed with crossing my path on the way back to my chambers. As I stumble down the halls in a sweaty daze, a small gasp rings from behind me,” oh, sister! What’s happened?”

“Ive been stripped of my habits.” I sniffle out coldly, composing myself as the ghoul comes in to view. I can see her eyes widen in shock behind the mask concealing her ghoulish features, all but her glowing and ominous eyes. I look down, finally taking in the state I was in. Fingers smeared with dried blood, no doubt from Terzo, and flushed skin peeking from my torn clothing. Even through that, I was never hit, and I had realized most of the things that Terzo had done to me were all in a safe manner, and never meant to truly hurt me. She sneaks in to an open room, retrieving a blanket and throwing it over my shoulders,” was that… the yelling I heard?”

I can only move forward in a daze, the whole altercation was hazy as other things flashed before me. Terzo had to be discussing with Nihil that a sister had been stripped of her habits, especially the one closest to him. If I don’t leave here soon, I can only imagine the punishment I’d receive if Nihil were to see me.

“Must’ve been something else.” I mumble blankly, wiping the corner of the blanket against my face and watching as the salty tears embedded in the fabric before moving on to my room. Im starting to wonder if heaven was barren, as the only form of innocence is standing before me, and they had been sent directly from hell. I deflect her arm that reaches to interlock with mine,” sister, please let me help you! I know this must be tough for you and I-“

“Please, just let me be! I’m fine! I need to go pack my bags.” I clip back, cutting her off and entering my room. I feel her eyes watch my every move, only briefly turning away as I strip my habits and throw them angrily at the wall. My eyes sting as I watch the past ten years of my life fall to the ground, sending my own feral instinct in to full force. Wearing only my undergarments, I throw the bedside lamp at the wall, followed by anything that could be lifted. I grip the dresser and topple it over as footsteps clammer in the hallway and the ghoul grabs me gently. It was like the stories of warriors after a loss, destroying any possession they had as if they didn’t deserve it in the first place. I felt like a warrior, but honestly what have I ever fought for? I once again find myself on the cool floor, finally hitting rock bottom and locking eyes on the dusty suitcase under my bed as if it were mocking me. A sob wracks my body and the ghoul runs a gentle hand through my hair and hums a melodic tune,” sister, I’m just going to close the door, you at least deserve the privacy.”

Her hum continues as she scurries to the door, making it a second too late as a foot stops the door from closing. My fingers grab against the robe by my bed, quickly throwing it on as the other figure steps in.

“Cumulus, give us a moment please.” Nihil wheezes out. I can’t help but to grit my teeth to the point of hearing a crack,” you’ve won, I’m on my way out if you’ll at least allow me to pack.”

“Out? You have not been stripped of your robes, sister. But I do advise you stop dawdling with Terzo. Ive seen the destruction you two have caused and our bloodline must continue.” He says, completely clueless to earlier events and only pointing at the destruction of the room.

I sigh, pulling my face in to my hands in frustration, “Terzo stripped me of my habit, and with him as acting Papa, I must comply to him. I no longer have duties to carry out within the abbey.”

“Nonsense, I am Papa. You are done when I say you are done, sister.” Nihil laughs, pointing to his robes ceremoniously, causing the most guttural laugh I’ve emitted in my life,” Terzo is my only Papa. I spent years serving Terzo, not you. This is not your choice, it’s his… and his only.”

He bends down, picking up my lamp and casting his ghostly white eyes unto me,” I would watch your tongue. I still have say here, and Terzo would be nowhere without me. Now tell me, how did he handle the news you were leaving of your own free will?”

“You made sure he heard only part of our conversation… it was you!” I utter in disbelief. The moment it happened flashes before my eyes as it all clicks together…

“Y/N, if you do not choose to produce an heir then I suggest you leave of your own free will. The bloodline as you know is critical for the abbey.” Sister Imperator waves dismissively on the other side of the table.

“Sister Imperator, I- I can’t.” I mumble back, twisting my hands together in my lap and looking between the two nervously.

“Then what are you saying child?” Nihil gasps out, leaning over the table to stare at me.

“I cannot produce an heir, I’m sorry.” I wince back.

“Those are not the words I’m looking for.” Sister Imperator clears her throat, kicking me against the shin gently under the table,” what you are trying to say is you are leaving of your own free will.”

“Just give me some time to think this through!” I plead, not yet ready to reveal the truth for Terzo’s sake… even for mine at this point.

“Promise me, sister.” She rings out impatiently.

“If I do not produce an heir… then-“ I begin only to be cut off as a knock rings against the door,” then, what?”

“Then I shall leave the abbey of my own free will.” I gasp out, realizing the commitment I had just made, excusing myself abruptly and opening the door to see no one there.

Her sinister smile is like a neon light shadow after staring at it for too long, etched across my vision as I comeback to the here and now, only to be faced with a similar smile on Nihil’s face,” ill let you pack your things. I do hope the journey home is… peaceful.”

Nihil takes his leave, causing me to send the lamp against the closing door in another fit of rage. I stuff what I can in my suitcase, and open the door to a life I barely knew, a life without the abbey. A life without Terzo. I finish ripping my veil and hang it on the outside doorknob, listening to the sound of squeaky wheels against cold stone.

“You aren’t leaving! No!” Cumulus appears from thin air, trying to pull me back,” I heard everything! You need to tell Terzo!”

I stop in my tracks and scoff, turning towards her,” and tell him what? That they’re right? I can’t produce an heir, so what good am I?”

“Can’t… or won’t?” She chirps in confusion. I shake my head and tighten my eyes in frustration,” both.”

“There’s gotta be a way around it! Nihil is already decommissioning Terzo, next Friday!” Cumulus quips out, quickly placing a hand over her mouth as if she wasn’t supposed to say anything. i can feel the sensation of needles prickling at my back,” what do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t have said that! No one must know! She has found a successor… I’ve already said too much!” She tries to backpedal but fails tremendously. I could sense the danger, but would Terzo even hear me out? I decide there was no time to think, only time to warn him even if he resented the very ground I walk on. Cumulus once again tries to hold me back,” you can’t tell him! Please, sister!”

“What else are we supposed to do? What if they hurt him?” I whisper as footsteps sound for the third time this night, revealing Terzo himself.

“What if they hurt who?” He calls out, gently sidling up, yet refusing to make eye contact.

“I have to go…” Cumulus whimpers out, retreating through a dark door and disappearing without a trace. The two of us remain, sitting in an uncomfortable silence that could be cut, even with a dull knife.

“Y/N… I came to apologize, but I assume there is nothing I can do to make you change your mind after my outburst.” Terzo mumbles, sliding his hand down his other arm nervously. I sigh, dropping my head and remember why I was leaving in the first place, it was he who had stripped my habit after all,” It seems your mind was already made. You aren’t one to go back on your word, and I should leave before you feel anymore shame for something that isn’t even your fault.”

His hand reaches against my shoulder, moving the robe to expose the raw skin below. I look over to see his bloodstained glove with red and swollen scratches peeking from beneath. Our own faults clash together in that moment, revealing neither of us was the bigger person, both reacting how predator and prey were destined to act… in a fit of survival. A sore reminder neither of us were the predator in this situation, only the prey fending for their lives without knowledge of anything else. His lips meet my shoulder, the pain mixed with longing of his soft presence unlike earlier,” do you truly wish to leave? It is because of me, no?”

My hand threads through his still messy hair as my head drops against his forehead,” it is not my choice if that’s what you’re asking.”

His wavering hand dances across my back, dropping my robe lower to trace my bare spine, checking for other injuries.

“Terzo, i’m fine.” I assure him, pulling my gaze upwards to meet his own. Tears blur his perfect eyes,” Cara Mia… who did this?”

His finger traces a healing scab from the lashes before tossing the torn habit from my doorknob and entering the poor state of my room. Terzo quickly locks the door and crashes against the bed, hunched over and grabbing a fistful of the bedding in anger,” how many times has this happened?”

“I-it’s not often, I deserv-“ he raises a finger, cutting me off,” How many times, Y/N?”

“…a few.” I exhale, still standing near the door. Terzo’s mangled breathing reveals his panic, as his hands pull against his hair,” why didn’t you tell me?”

“Terzo… I couldn’t.” I stifle out, cautiously walking up beside him and sitting down. His eyes return to the crazed state I had seen earlier in his fit of rage.

“It was my father.” He seethes out. I can only swallow, not even daring to nod. He goes to leave, only being stopped by my tight grasp, loosening at his wince of pain and the feeling of fresh blood.

“It was my fault.” I plea, searching his face to see if relaxes before I continue,” I can’t produce an heir… it was deserved.”

Terzo dons a look of confusion,” when did I ever say I desired an heir? Is this… is this the fault of your lashings?”

I nod, confusion creeping across my own face,” you aren’t mad?”

“This is why you are choosing to leave the abbey? I’m in no need of an heir, this disgraced bloodline has no reason to continue… I’m sure Nihil has plenty of bastard children doing the work anyways.” He chuckles out, shoulders finally dropping.

“Nihil said it was imperative, that if I didn’t, I should leave of my own free will, I was made to promise.” I stutter out. He nods,” as I’ve heard. I feel we have fallen victim to a coup d'etat of sorts, cara Mia.”

“That’s not all… they plan to remove you from your position. I wasn’t supposed to hear.” I whisper, breathing heavily from his close proximity. He only smiles, leaning over me and pushing me across the bed,” then there is no need for me to make an heir if they already plan on replacing me, no? But, we can at least practice the motions…”

He places a kiss where my jaw meets my ear, snapping his head to nibble against my lobe.

“Terzo…” I trail off, lost in the unique patterns his hands weave across my body,” I must kiss any wrongdoings I have made away, and I apologize in advance, because this may take all night.”

“You can’t quite kiss with anything other than your lips, dear.” I laugh, patting softly at the hardening bulge against my waistline. He only chuckles against my neck,” I did apologize in advance for keeping you up all night.”

His teeth graze against the vein in my neck, trailing down to my collarbone and nipping playfully,” that’s not a kiss!”

“Sorry, sorry!” He groans jokingly, eyes becoming hooded with intimate desire and coming up to rest his hands on each side of my face,” I must warn you, you could possibly die from a kiss this good.”

“I haven’t yet.” I whisper out, grabbing the collar of his dress shirt and connecting our lips in need. Terzo deepens the kiss, tongue sliding cheekily against my bottom lip and knee sidling between my legs, pressing desperately against my pulsating core. My own hands paw against his clothing, proving that innocence is found within sin, that there can be no heaven without hell. I already knew I was not destined for heaven, we worshipped the opposing side anyways. But in moments like this, I catch a glimpse of heaven through his eyes, a glimpse of the innocence that remains in him when his hands stutter before tracing the outline of my body as if it were a map he had traced a thousand times. It was as if I were his only piece of heaven for him as well, entangling our souls together as the electricity between us dances an intricate waltz of death and life. Death and sin had always won, but in this moment, we were only innocent in the intimacy created. I can feel my eyes lull to the back of my head as if they were searching for my next thought, lost completely in the motion of his lips needfully tugging and pulling against mine.

“Cara Mia, you are shaking.” He breathes out quietly, inching my robe lower and exposing my chest. I pull him in for another kiss, worried if he pulls back once more, he would be gone forever,” I can’t help it, I don’t want to lose you.”

Terzo peppers my lips in heavy, lustful kisses,” you see I am too indecent to go anywhere even if I wished to do so. But I am right where I wish to be. Now what is it that you desire?”

“You.” I breathe out hotly, quickly becoming flustered with the buttons of his shirt before he quickly tears it off.

“If that is what you desire, you shall have me in whole.” He groans out as my nails dig against the back of his head, tugging needfully. Terzo once again returns to my chest, leaving a playful purple mark below my collarbone, and trailing downwards. With every kiss, he states different words, the main thing he repeats over and over,” Mi dispiace.”

The pain of unfulfilled ecstasy brings animal like instinct to the surface, gripping at his pants and moving to my knees off the bed.

“I am the one trying to apologize here, you return to the bed.” Terzo tuts, cradling my face in the palm of his hand. When I rise, he turns me away from himself, arms circling around me and grabbing against my breasts. One returns to my back, pushing me forward as his lower half straddles mine. Fingers dance wistfully over the building wetness between my legs. A digit slips between my panty line and I gasp at the sensation of it being buried in. Curling loosely, the rhythm lulling my body in tune as I press my face further in to the bed. My breath quickens as does the pace, degrading me to a messy state of muffled moans,” T-Terzo.”

“ I know, I know Cara Mia.” He coos, retracting his fingers and flipping me over to face him.

“We do not have to go further.” He offers gently before I shake my head and motion him to come closer,” I said I wanted you.”

The devilish smirk as he lays on top of me causes my lower half to ache, jealous of my own lips receiving all of his attention. His tongue begging for entrance as his right hand drops his pants. I grant it, dropping my own hand to grasp against the hardness I longed for. I pump slowly. Feeling a shiver wrack his body and his tongue leaves my mouth. My body is swallowed by warmth at the initial penetration, a slow movement so I could adjust. A moan escapes us both, and he rhythmically snaps his hips in need, bracing himself with his hands digging in to my hips. Again he begins to apologize, keeping his pace but quickly losing his mind. I reach up, wiping a tear from his eye and rest my thumb against his cheek,” it’s a sin to look this good while being buried inside of me.”

“It must be a good thing that I am a sinner and not a saint.” Terzo huffs out, briefly losing his pace and slowing.

“Don’t tell me you’re already close? You said you would keep me up all night, Terzo.” I whisper his name in his ear as he lets out a grunt of pleasure.

“It’s hard to last when I have such beauty to gaze upon below me.” He exhales, dropping to interlock our lips once again and quickly regaining his composure.

My hips buck, anticipating the building sensation of release. His mouths closes tightly around mine, stifling my moan as I reach the summit of my climax, convulsing uncontrollably as his pace quickens.

Terzo is shortly behind, panting against his sloppy movements and finally going still as the heat grows between us. Terzo’s forehead brushes against mine, his lips following behind to place a soft kiss against my glistening skin.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Y/N.” He whispers, quickly gathering his discarded shirt to dab at the perspiration of my skin before he even worried of his own. My body refuses to move, swaying in to the dizziness of the afterglow in pure ecstasy.

“Im alright, just lay with me.” I beg through love drunk slurring. He only chuckles, sliding back in to his pants and dropping beside me to lay on his back. I turn to meet the messy state of his face, smeared paint and disheveled hair causes a grin to slip across my face as my hand lazily reaches out to move stray hair dropping against his eyes. I could only imagine what had rubbed off on to mine, but in this moment it didn’t matter.

“To think my irrational thinking had almost costed me you.” He sighs, pulling me to lay atop of him.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing you yell like that again in a different manner…” I playfully mumble in to his chest. Terzo’s laugh rattles my body as his hands cradle me close to him,” you little devil. Do not ruin a sincere apology by your lust.”

“You’re right, that’s something you would do.” I yawn out, jabbing another quip in his direction. My eyes struggle to stay open as he coaxes me to the bathroom, setting me against the cool granite counter and running a rag under water to clean my face. He hums lightly, washing away the grime and sorrow of today, even taking a moment to just rest his head in the crook of my neck. My memory fails me as sleep starts to win, my body curling around his as he lifts me and whispers,” come sleep with me, Cara Mia. We will get this sorted tomorrow.”

I nod as a robe is draped over my body, not even leaving the position he was carrying me in. Passing dim lights and sneaking through corridors, Terzo’s soft steps make it even harder to fight the battle of slumber. The instinct of surviving has wore off, and my body needed to recover. Just as I’m about to drift off, plush bedding greets my outstretching limbs, searching for his presence. When I finally find it, one last kiss is placed at the crown of my head and I finally let sleep win.

In a sinner’s world, I wasn’t afraid to indulge a little slice of heaven, even if only for a brief moment. As Terzo said, I was a sinner after all. However, I was willing to be an angel in someone else’s narrative, even if only temporary. And I was willing to love with every ounce of my soul, even if it would cost me my life. With him, it mattered not if we ended up in heaven or hell, it mattered that he was by my side for eternity.

#terzo x reader #terzo smut #the band ghost x reader #the band ghost fic #the band ghost smut #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost smut #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo fanfiction

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novankenn · 1 year ago

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Four of a Kind... WHY stop there?

/== Master Post List ==/

Fiona Thyme was not having a good time. Robyn had asked for a volunteer to go to Vale to keep tabs on Ironwood and Atlas' military... which should be protecting Mantel and not some "academy pissing contest", as Robyn put it. Fiona stepped forward, and now she was wishing she hadn't.

The job was simple enough... it was just the crowds. They were just causing her so much stress. Yet here she was on a guided tour of Beacon. She had to admit, Beacon was a nice looking school. Much less utilitarian that Atlas. She had just about gotten over her nerves when she froze, there were two people standing very close to her. As she stood there she watched the tour group move further and further away.

????: You're adorable!

Fiona: Ex... excuse me?

????: Yes she is. Sister Weiss, do you think Sister Pyrrha would mind?

Fiona stepped away and turned to face whomever had gotten so close to her. She froze when she saw a pair of young woman, both in blue dresses, trimmed with golden thread. She easily recognized Weiss Schnee, but not her companion.

Fiona: Ex... excuse me? Who are you and what are you doing?

Weiss: My apologies. This is my Sister Ruby.

Ruby: Hello.

Fiona: Hello?

Weiss: What are you thoughts on... children?

Fiona: Ah... what?

Ruby: She and Jaune would make rather precious little ones, don't you think?

Weiss: I agree.

Fiona: What are you two...

As one Ruby and Weiss, moved in. Hooking their arms through Fiona's they started to walk, causing Fiona to stumble and fall in step with them.

Fiona: HEY!!! Let me go! What are you doing?

Ruby/ Weiss: You have been chosen. Come sister-to-be, join us in making a better world.

Fiona: HELP!

Fiona tried to struggle, but the pair of young woman holding her were much stronger than one would have thought just from looking at them. But what was worse was how even though she was screaming for help... EVERYONE just vanished... like literally took off running in the opposite direction.

Weiss: Sister Pyrrha!

Ruby: We have found an initiate!

Fiona's face paled as she saw someone anyone would recognize... Pyrrha Nikos, also wearing the same dress as Ruby and Weiss... but what was really troubling was the struggling form of a red haired cat faunus draped over Pyrrha's shoulder like a bag of potatoes.

Pyrrha: How wonderful! I have discovered one as well!

Ruby/ Weiss: The King Mother will be over joyed! Blessed be the grand-babies!

Pyrrha: Blessed be the grand-babies.

????: LET ME GO YOU PYSCHO!!! I"M NOT BECOMING SOME FEISTISH BREEDING BITCH FOR YOUR SICK GAMES!!!

Weiss: Sister Pyrrha, that language.

Pyrrha: Neon. Enough.

Neon: STUFF IT BI... *Smack!* ... EEP! You just slapped my ASS!

Pyrrha: Shall I spank you again?

Neon: No...

Pyrrha: Thank you. Now who is you initiate?

Fiona: Fi... Fiona Thyme.

Pyrrha / Weiss / Ruby: SO PRECIOUS!!!

Fiona blushed at the praise, and then grew scared again as the group was once again moving. But they approached a very ominous looking door, fear spiked in side her, and Neon. It jumped even further when the door opened and Professor Goodwitch, also wearing a blue dress trimmed with golden thread stepped out.

Neon/ Fiona : HELP US!!!!

Glynda: Sisters, welcome back. The King mother wishes for a conference after the evening meal.

Neon/ Fiona: Please! Please!

The door snapped shut with an ominous thud when all six figures stepped inside the room. Across the hall a pair of heads peeked out into the hall.

Yang: This is starting to get out of hand. We should do something... or warn someone...

Blake: Yang, honey... do you really want to go head to head with a group that has Pyrrha, Professor Goodwitch, Weiss, your sister Ruby, May Zednog, Arslan Atlan, Neo, and Jaune?

Yang: Not really... but we can't just not do something!

Blake: I'll tell you what we will do, my little Sundragon.

Yang: (Blushing) ...

Blake: We are going to keep you as far away from those nut-cases as possible. I am NOT loosing my blond.

Yang: Huh?

Blake: Yang, I love you... and we're moving to Menagerie. We'll live with my parents until we can get our own place.

Yang:.. you love me?

Blake: Yes, now call your dad, tell him your moving in with your girl-friend, I'll start packing.

Blake gives Yang a quick peck on the lips, and then flutters her eye lashes at her.

Yang: Okay.

/====/ A/N : Well I have been give more suggestions... so I'll see what I can do to keep this insanity going.

Thanks to @freshmiraclecheesecake for suggestion Neon Katt, and thanks to @allday2006 for the suggestion of Fiona Thyme. Also Thank you to @segmentaldragon for the list of "potential initiates"... let's see if I can get a few more of these out?

#rwby #pyrrha nikos #ruby rose #weiss schnee #glynda goodwitch #fiona thyme #neon katt #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #bumblebee

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evillittlebirdie · 2 years ago

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Salvation (Kar'niss/Tav)

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine

"Astarion deserves all the credit for this idea," Tav complimented with a smile. She stopped near the tree where, at the base, sat a bucket and a small bag.

"Where would you be if it wasn't for this creative brain?" Astarion delightedly responded. The two laughed, and Kar'niss pursed his lips.

Before Kar'niss could ruminate on the apparent insolence Astarion showed, his attention was taken away by Tav climbing the tree. He watched in interest as she swiftly moved through the limbs before settling on one near Kar'niss's height. "Kar'niss! Walk over here. I want to see if I'm high enough."

Kar'niss obeyed as though her command was as second nature as breathing. He walked over to her. His head reached the height of the branch she was perched on. "Perfect! I guessed correctly," Tav beamed. She straddled the limb and raised her hand against Kar'niss's hair.

Ilhar grabbed Kar'niss's hair and pulled him from the vanity. Her manicured nails clawed into his scalp. There was no use protesting, but Kar'niss still squirmed against his mother's grip. She dragged him out of his bed-chamber and down the hallway. Servants and slaves scattered out of the way. Only one, a female duergar slave whose mind was far gone, lingered. They dutifully picked up the pieces of ribbon that fell from Kar'niss' hair.

Kar'niss is slapped and berated for an infraction he doesn't remember committing. Ilhar says he disrespected his tutor. Kar'niss doesn't remember, but obviously, he must have.

Kar'niss didn't move as Tav touched his hair. He kept his breath, ready to be hit for his committed transgressions. Instead, Tav explained, "If it's alright with you, I would really like to wash your hair. I didn't want to offer until I could figure out the logistics. I can't exactly ask you to lean into a basin." She gestured towards his body.

The drider never had the misfortune of being thrown through the air. Still, Kar'niss imagined the sensation was similar to how he was feeling now. What she proposed served no purpose. His extra eyes could see the thin layer of grime that now appeared on Tav's fingers.

Filthy creature. Putrid, rotting from the inside out. Fit only for caves and dirt. Blood, bile, mud, viscera, oil, matted, wiry-

But suddenly, Tav's soft voice entered his mind. "Kar'niss."

The other voices scattered away once Tav's light entered his mind. Soothing and sweetly, she told him, "Please do this. Trust me."

His Majesty's Chosen commanded him. Alight with renewed purpose, Kar'niss ignored his mind's insults. He nodded in agreement and was rewarded with Tav's pearly smile.

Astarion grabbed the bucket and the bag. He held both items up high for Tav to grab.

"It may be cold," She warned him as she waved her hand. The bucket suddenly filled with water. She sat on the side saddle on the limb and placed the bucket between her legs.

"Ah yes, she warns the drider the water is cold. Not me." Astarion lamented.

Kar'niss wished he could use one of his legs to kick the elf away. But he stopped himself. Astarion was obviously a pet favorite of Her Majesty's Chosen. Kar'niss would only need time to prove the vain elf's heresy. He could smell the elf's faithlessness. He believed in nothing.

"For the hundredth time, I apologize," Tav sighed, rolling her eyes. "I'll remember that the next time your arms are so sore you can't lift them up."

Astarion huffed disrespectfully, his arms crossing his chest. "Hmph, well, I will leave you to your beauty parlor." Tav chuckled in response, waving to Astarion with her free hand.

Kar'niss was relieved to watch Astarion stroll off. "Can you tilt your head back for me?" Tav asked him. He forgot about Astarion and obeyed Tav. He tilted his head back, and the back of his neck hit the bucket's rim.

The water that cascaded from Tav's hand was cool, but it wasn't the temperature that made Kar'niss flinch. How long had it been since he felt the water on his hair? He remembered his first few days on the surface. It rained one day, which was a very jarring event for him. And before that, it was when he fell into the water the first day he saw his reflection.

Kar'niss' heart twisted in mortification. It had been years then. So many years. His hygiene never bothered him before. He had grown used to the layers of dirt and dried blood. Before he was introduced to the Absolute, he was content. He had hoped that one day when she made him whole, he could be clean and pure.

***

Tav didn't care to admit she had a secret motivation for washing Kar'niss's hair. She needed information. And she knew she could ply it out of him.

Tav ran her fingers through Kar'niss's hair, pulling at the knots. Underneath the oil, Tav could tell his hair was strong and thick. It just needed some tender care. And she was happy to provide. She made sure to pull her fingers carefully through the tangles. She didn't want to hurt his scalp or accidentally pull more hair than necessary. She began to speak as she rinsed his hair, "I used to wash the hair of all my brothers and sisters. I came from a pretty big family. I was the oldest of twelve. What about you?"

"Only son. Disgrace," Kar'niss mumbled quietly, "Five sisters. Proud, proud daughters. All yathrin, priestesses of the spider bitch."

Tav frowned at his self-depreciation. But didn't know if she should address it or not. She hesitated as she looked at the water. It was already brown, almost black from all the grime she cleaned. She placed her hand under his neck and eased him up. She could feel the hard shell of his exoskeleton rising up to his hairline, where there was a thin line of skin. She pretended not to hear the Kar'niss's breath catch in his throat. She pretended not to feel his pulse quicken. She ran her fingers through his hair, squeezing the excess water into the bucket.

"You grew up very differently than me. I had six brothers and five sisters..." Tav disclosed as she tossed the bucket of dirty water on the ground below. She filled the pail again with clean water and returned his head to the bucket.

"Six brothers..." Kar'niss echoed in amazement. Tav couldn't fault him for finding the situation strange. She heard that most noble Drow families allowed for two sons before they began to sacrifice the males.

Tav reached her wet hand into the bag and pulled out the small bottle of rosemary oil. She poured half of the bottle's contents onto Kar'niss's hair and began to lather.

Kar'niss inhaled deeply, obviously picking up on the aroma of the oil. "Courtesy of Astarion," Tav explained, "No disrespect to my fellow companions, but he's the only one whose hair doesn't smell like lye."

"Mistress likes this smell?"Kar'niss clarified.

"Rosemary? Oh, I love it. I can do without that pomade he douses his hair in. But I love the scent," Tav imparted.

Kar'niss hummed in response, a chirp vibrating in his throat.

Despite herself, Tav giggled softly and told him, "I like that sound you make. That little chirrup. It's cute."

Kar'niss's extra eyes began to blink rapidly. "Mistress?" He called in confusion. Tav might as well be speaking Draconic rather than Common.

Tav avoided his call and continued to later his hair in the water. His hair was as white as fallen snow now that it was clean. She moved her fingers to his scalp and began to massage the skin. She was concerned when Kar'niss started to tense. But slowly, he relaxed under her ministrations.

"Moonrise Towers. That is where you were taking those pilgrims, correct?" Tav inquired.

"Yes. They sought to pray in my Queen's glory. Our Queen," Kar'niss replied. "Her Majesty's Chosen, General Thorm, is preparing an army."

Fuck.

"An army, you say..." Tav continued on, moving her fingers along scarred skin. How long had it been since Kar'niss had been touched by anyone? How long had it been since a kind, delicate hand gave him mercy? She should be ashamed of herself for taking advantage of him.

"They shall follow, or they shall submit," Kar'niss answered reverently. A soft moan vibrated in his throat. He bit his lips to quiet it. "But General Thorm cannot move yet."

"Oh?" Tav tried to choose her words carefully. As far as Kar'niss knew, she was one of the Aboslute's Chosen. She rinsed Kar'niss's hair again and allowed the bucket to drop. She reached into the bag to pull out a comb. She brushed through Kar'niss's hair. "He is searching for the weapon." She thought about the Astral Prism safely tucked away at camp.

"Not much longer," Kar'niss hummed. A purr vibrated in his tone. "He'll find it soon. That and the Nightsong. Balthazar is close to finding it."

The Nightsong. So, this mysterious artifact was connected to the cult as well. Just as Tav suspected. Well, Tav had to find the Nightsong before this Balthazar did.

Tav didn't press her luck. She finished brushing Kar'niss's hair and began to braid it. The movement was as second nature to her as any other caretaking activity.

"Mistress?" Kar'niss spoke, his voice tentative and still vibrating.

"Yes, Kar'niss?" Tav acknowledged, taking care of her styling.

***

Kar'niss allowed his mind to wander to a place he had no right to be in. He thought about turning his body to face her. He would reach to pick up Tav in his arms. He would cradle her against his chest. His abominable body would ache, searching for a release he could never have. He cursed the Spider Queen. But he would do what he could to please His Majesty's Chosen. Kar'niss had served well and was granted a tender touch. And he would spend the rest of his life cherishing Her if only Tav would touch him one more time.

"Never mind," Kar'niss answered. He was a coward. And he deserved to rot in the shadows rather than have any grace. "Forgive me for distracting you."

"No forgiveness necessary," Tav commented in her affectionate tone. She gave his hair a final pull before taking a long ribbon from the bag. She used the ribbon to tie his hair back.

Pretty things long ago. Far and long ago. Ilhar wants me to marry. I do not want to marry. I want to be a cleric like my sisters. Ilhar will be proud of me. Lolth will shine upon me.

"You look absolutely stunning. Your hair is beautiful," Tav remarked.

Kar'niss hesitantly brought his hand to his hair. It was still damp, but he could already feel the difference. He ran his fingers down the braid to the silk ribbon that tied it together.

"Thank you, thank you, Mistress..." Kar'niss gratefully murmured, feeling tears form in his eyes. He blinked his eyes close, averting his gaze from Tav. "I feel my strength returning with each day. Maybe soon I can join you on your travels," Kar'niss offered, desperation tinging his voice. He could feel his abdomen tremble in anticipation.

He would draw blood for her.

#whumptober2023 #no.30 #It's okay just to say I'm not okay #bridal carry #not much longer #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #kar'niss/tav #bg3 fanfiction #angst

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scream1ngskittl3z · 4 days ago

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🏳️‍🌈 Why We Pride: A Reminder This June 🌈

Every June, rainbow flags fly, brands slap on slogans, and the phrase “Happy Pride!” echoes across timelines and storefronts. But in the haze of glitter, parades, and corporate hashtags, too many people forget — or are never taught — what Pride really is, where it came from, and why it still matters.

This isn’t just a celebration.

This is a reminder.

A memorial.

A protest.

⸻

✊ Pride Was Born From Resistance

The first Pride wasn’t a party. It was a riot.

In the early hours of June 28, 1969, police stormed the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in New York City. Raids like this were common — queer people, especially trans women and drag queens, were harassed, beaten, arrested simply for existing. But that night, something snapped.

Led by Black and brown trans women like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, the queer community fought back. Bottles were thrown. Windows were shattered. People screamed, resisted, demanded to be seen and heard.

Stonewall wasn’t the first act of queer defiance — the Compton’s Cafeteria Riot in 1966 came earlier — but it ignited a movement. And in 1970, the first “Pride” march was held to commemorate the uprising.

Not to party.

To remember.

To reclaim space.

To demand justice.

⸻

🖤 Pride Is Political

When people say “keep politics out of Pride,” they show they’ve forgotten — or erased — what this month really means.

Pride is political because our identities have always been politicized. Because:

• Being queer has been criminalized.

• Being trans is still under legislative attack.

• Loving openly could once get you fired, arrested, institutionalized, or worse — and in many places, it still can.

• Black, brown, disabled, immigrant, low-income, and trans members of our community still face disproportionate violence, homelessness, and systemic neglect.

You can’t separate Pride from politics because Pride is survival in the face of oppression. It’s a refusal to go back into hiding. It’s a raised fist in the air that says:

I’m still here. And I deserve to be.

⸻

🏳️‍⚧️ Pride Must Be Intersectional

We don’t get to have a Pride that erases the people who built this movement.

It was trans women of color — not politicians or CEOs — who threw the first bricks.

It was queer people living in poverty, sex workers, runaways, people with HIV/AIDS, and chosen families who risked everything to demand change.

If your Pride doesn’t include:

• Black queer folks

• Trans and nonbinary people

• Disabled queers

• Immigrants

• People living with HIV

• Working-class and homeless LGBTQ+ folks

…then your Pride is performative. It’s empty.

True Pride is intersectional or it is nothing at all.

⸻

🧠 Know the Names. Know the Struggle.

Say their names — not just during Pride but always:

• Marsha P. Johnson

• Sylvia Rivera

• Stormé DeLarverie

• Bayard Rustin : Black gay civil rights leader who organized the March on Washington in 1963.

• Miss Major Griffin-Gracy : Trans elder and prison abolitionist.

• Audre Lorde : Black lesbian feminist writer and warrior poet.

• Barbara Gittings : The mother of the LGBT civil rights movement.

• Brenda Howard : Helped organize the first Pride March.

These aren’t just historical figures. They’re the foundation. Without them, Pride wouldn’t exist. Without them, we wouldn’t be here.

⸻

✊ LGBTQ+ Rights We Still Have to Fight For in 2025

1. Trans healthcare access

2. Ending conversion therapy

3. Protection for queer youth in schools

4. Safe asylum for LGBTQ+ refugees

5. Ending the criminalization of queer people globally

6. Real protections for BIPOC queer folks

7. Inclusive education

8. Reproductive justice

9. Decriminalizing HIV

10. Ending police brutality and state violence

✊ Pride isn’t a finish line. It’s a frontline.

⸻

🚨 Pride Is Not a Brand

Every June, corporations put rainbows on their logos. But where are they when:

• Anti-trans bills are passed?

• Queer employees face workplace discrimination?

• Their donations support anti-LGBTQ+ politicians?

Rainbow capitalism is real. Pride is not for profit. It’s not a marketing opportunity. It’s a movement. It’s radical. It’s rooted in resistance, not rebranding.

Support companies that uplift queer voices year-round — not ones that vanish on July 1.

⸻

🕯 This Pride, Remember

This Pride, don’t just celebrate.

Educate. Reflect. Resist. Remember.

Remember the ones who came before.

Remember those who didn’t survive.

Remember the youth still in unsafe homes.

Remember those living in fear, silence, and shame.

Remember that we are not free until everyone in our community is free.

Pride is joy, yes — but it’s also grief. It’s anger. It’s fire. It’s love weaponized against hate.

So this June, be loud. Be unapologetic. Be informed.

Not just in rainbow — but in remembrance.

Not just in celebration — but in solidarity.

⸻

Because Pride was — and still is — a protest. And we’re not done fighting yet.

🏳️‍🌈✊

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bananadrinkxxx · 2 years ago

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THE BLOOD CROWN

Aemond Targaryen Fanfiction

Warning: 18+

PART 13

"Rhaenyra, we need her dragon."

Her dragon. It was like a slap in the face. It didn't come as a surprise, and yet it hit her. Hard and without mercy.

"No."

"Every dragon will help us get closer to the throne."

Fuck the throne, Rhaenyra wanted to say.

She was tired. The last few days had been exhausting and nerve-wracking. The miscarriage, the death of her beloved father, and the capture of Lucerys had driven her to the brink of despair. Alicent's letter and her ultimatum had been the final straw. Her betrayal had broken her heart. But in a moment of calm, she had wondered if it really came as a surprise. The years of resentment and dislike should have taught her better. And yet she had held on to that ridiculous friendship. To those moments between them. Alicent had once meant the world to her. She had been more than a friend. A soul mate, her pillar of support. But now she knew Alicent had never been that.

She finally saw who Alicent was. She was her enemy.

"I said no. He's way too young."

"He's old enough." Why didn't Daemon let up. Rhaenyra looked at him angrily. He returned her gaze.

"He is Aemma's dragon. He will not accept another rider."

"It's uncharacteristic but a dragon can have multiple riders. If Aemma is..." He stopped.

"If Aemma is what? Say it, Daemon, I dare you."

"What Daemon says is not wrong, Rhaenyra," Rhaenys objected. She interrupted the conversation that was slowly turning into an argument. Her grand cousin was standing next to Daemon, a strange sight. She knew that Rhaenys detested Daemon's manner. She always had. Rumor had it she was even against him marrying Laena. "Take it from someone who lost both her children." There was that undertone of blame in her voice but Rhaenys had not heard her speak of the accusation that Rhaenyra had murdered her son since she had chosen Rhaenyra's side. "It is more likely that Aemma is dead than that she is alive."

Rhaenyra still felt guilty about what she had done to Rhaenys. It was not what Rhaenys accused her of, but she had still robbed her of her son. It had been her suggestion that Laenor flee into the unknown. Wherever he was now. But she had needed Daemon and Laenor had needed his freedom. They both would have gone down.

"I don't believe Aemma is dead. I'll believe it when I hold her body in my hands. I am a mother, her mother, I feel that she is still alive."

Rhaenys gave her a pitying look. Rhaenyra did not want her pity.

"All right, let's forget about Aemma for a moment. We need the dragon. He's old enough to be useful," Corly added, standing next to his wife.

"I will not take my daughter's dragon away from her."

"But your daughter isn't here, damn it," Daemon suddenly shouted, flinging the figures off the painted table. "It's naive and stupid to leave the dragon unused when we can use it."

Rhaenyra looked at the table. The table that showed her future kingdom.

The Painted Table was a table carved in the shape of Westeros, engraved with its major cities, castles, and landmarks. Located at the top of the central keep of Dragonstone. Aegon the Conqueror planned his invasion of the Seven Kingdoms from the chamber. The Painted Table itself was more than fifty feet long: roughly twenty-five feet wide at its widest point and four feet at its thinnest.

"Everyone out."

She saw the surprised looks. Corlys seemed to want to say something, but Rhaenys gently put her hand on her husband's arm and shook her head. It didn't take long for everyone to obey the order, leaving only Rhaenyra and her husband, who looked at her angrily.

It reminded her of the moment when Daemon had first laid hands on her. Strangled her when she had told him about the Song of Ice and Fire, something her father had revealed only to her. From that moment on, she knew that her father had not appointed her just out of pity and guilt. He had believed in her.

Rhaenyra had forgiven her husband for his reaction. He was hurt, had lost his brother, and his child. In addition, he had found that his brother had never wanted him as heir to the throne and had never told him about the prophecy, which was of enormous importance.

But she had also lost loved ones, had been betrayed. Daemon had had no right to lay a hand on her, but Daemon was someone driven by his emotions. It was no excuse and it was not to be repeated, but she would not allow his rash action to drive a wedge between them. She needed him and he needed her. He had never touched her before, never threatened her. It had happened in a moment of anger and grief. She didn't want it to change anything between them. She needed him. Not only as a war leader and strategist. She needed him because he was like her. Of the same blood. Chaotic. Self-destructive. She loved him. And he loved her. That's why she had decided to forgive him. But she would make sure that it would not happen again.

"I know what you're going to say," Daemon said. "That I have given up on Aemma, but I haven't. I'm just being realistic and telling you that we need her dragon. You're not robbing your daughter just because you're passing on her dragon. The dragon makes the decision in the end. If he only wants Aemma and he feels she is still alive, then he will decide against any other rider." Daemon approached her and took her hands in his.

His hands were warm. Hers were always cold.

"I want to win this war. I will, no, we will win this war. But for that I need your support. You are my queen, but you must also act like one. Think of Lucerys. Think about our children."

"I don't do anything else."

Daemon came closer and pressed his forehead against hers. It was a special moment of connection. By the gods, how much she loved this man.

"Then let's give them our answer. Let us answer with fire and blood."

Aemma's dragon did not let anyone mount it. Two men were now dead and one seriously injured. Ten other men had failed. One woman had almost made it but the dragon Marax had thrown her into the sea. And although it was a defeat for the blacks, it was a gain for Rhaenyra. For she knew now that her feeling had not deceived her. The feeling in her heart that had never left her. She was no fool. The possibility still existed that Marax just didn't want another dragon, but she wanted to hold on to it, to the feeling that she would see her child again.

Aemma Velaryon was alive and she would do anything to find her girl again.

Daemon stared into the raging fire of the fireplace. He had retreated to his chambers; he needed a quiet moment. He needed to think. Marax had turned away every potential rider. The dragon was still young, and small, but he could have been useful. A dragon he could have sacrificed. Of course, he would never have told Rhaenyra that, he was no fool, but he had needed a dragon whose rider was of no great importance and who was weak enough to be useless to him in the present situation. He had been reluctant to sacrifice a dragon, any dragon had tremendous value and with luck nothing would have happened to the dragon, but without a rider Marax was useless.

Rhaenyra would never have agreed if she had known Daemon's true intentions. He did not want to betray her, but his wife was behaving foolishly in everything related to Aemma.

He stroked his face tiredly. The last days were very exhausting. He was no weakling, but the sleep he found was little. He wanted to see them all burn. If he had his way, they would already be at King's Landing in the Red Keep, with Rhaenyra on the throne and Aegon, Alicent and Otto on the ground, on their knees, whimpering for mercy, which he would grant with the Dark Sister.

A knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts.

A guard entered and bowed.

"Prince Daemon, you sent for me?"

Daemon swung one leg over the other. He did not turn around.

"Have you made contact with Mysaria?"

"Yes, we have, my prince."

"And her response?" Daemon looked to the man. They had not been empty words he had said to Aemond. He would kill every single one of the greens. Every one.

The guard turned to the door as if to make sure no one heard him.

"What do you think of ratcatchers, Prince Daemon?"

T̶H̶E̶ ̶B̶L̶O̶O̶D̶ ̶C̶R̶O̶W̶N̶

Rose was devastated after her conversation with Lucerys. If she was honest, she had already expected this reaction, but she had had hope. Hope that the young prince had now finally beaten Nina. She also had not known why she thought she had the power,

Lucerys, to change her mind. She had simply wanted to try. But now everything had been said. Rhaenyra's son would not bend the knee. Not even for his own life. And the Greens had made it clear that any resistance from now on would be punished by death.Maybe she should have tried harder. Maybe she should have given better arguments. Maybe she should have gotten down on her knees to beg Lucerys not to give up his life. But who was she? She was a nobody. She had no meaning for the boy.

When she entered Aemond's chambers, she had hopes of being alone. She did not want to face the prince and confess that she had failed. Aemond would probably be pleased, at her defeat. He had not wanted her to go to his nephew. Probably he could hardly wait for the day of execution. Perhaps he was also des would do. Together with his dragon. Even though she had exchanged caresses with the man in the last few days, she trusted him with these cruelties. Basically, she did not know him at all. He had changed towards her, shown a side here that she had not expected. But that didn't mean she forgot how he could be different.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized she was alone. Rose started cleaning up the room, but she didn't have much work to do. Aemond was a very tidy person. The bed had already been made by someone and someone had cleaned. The only thing she could do was to take the dirty dishes from the table and bring them to the kitchen. But just as she was about to step out the door, it opened and a sweaty Aemond stepped towards her. It was obvious that he had been working out. He looked at her in surprise, and she returned his gaze.

"You're here," Aemond stated. He closed the door behind him and regarded her. She felt uncomfortable under his gaze and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Did he see how nervous he was making her? Would he ask her about his nephews now? Would she see a happy face now? But instead of saying anything, he walked past her and put it a sword on the table.

"I wish to take a bath," he said. "Let in the water." Rose would love to tell him that she was needed elsewhere. That she would send Dyana, but she knew Aemond would not allow any excuse. So she just nodded, and set the dirty dishes aside. She went into the adjoining bathroom and prepared everything.

"I will wait in the room next door. Call for me if you wish anything," she said, her eyes fixed on the floor as Aemond entered.

"I wish you to stay here," Aemond ordered, and Rose looked up in surprise. "I need you to wash my hair. I'm too tired from training."

She didn't believe a word he said. She knew that Aemond preferred to bathe alone. Of course, she had talked beforehand with the servants who had served the prince before her. She was no fool. Rose had wanted to avoid anything that might have angered him.

"You don't look tired," she replied, and Aemond answered with a raised eyebrow. She knew she was being cheeky. Had the affection he had given her made her arrogant? Or was it the frustration that raged inside her? Did she blame him for what would happen to Lucerys?

"And yet I am," Aemond said coolly, and without a warning, he disposed of his coat. His coat slid down his naked body on the floor and before Rose could avert her gaze, it locked onto Aemond's naked member. Shock ran through her body. She tore her eyes open and tried to tear her gaze away from him. She had seen naked men before. The male private part, was nothing new to her. But Aemond's, on the other hand, was. It had a completely different effect on her.

Aemond paid her no further attention. As if it didn't bother him that she saw him like this. He swung one leg over the edge of the bathtub and lowered himself into the hot water. Rose stood there like an idiot, her eyes fixed on the back of his head. Her eyes bored into him. What was she supposed to do? A strange feeling arose inside her. It was the same feeling she had felt when he had flown with her on vhagar. His hand between her legs. That tingling in her belly, between her legs, was exactly the same thing she felt now. Some time passed, and as Aemond turned his head to the side, he signaled to her that he was waiting for her to wash his hair. Rose tried to pull herself together and went to the table with the soaps. She took a cup and dipped it in the water, pouring it over Aemond's head in the same breath. Aemond laid his head on the back of his neck. His hair was soft, unlike hers, which was always matted. She enjoyed running her fingers through his hair. She stroked his hair with the soap, wetting it with the pleasant scent.

"Was your conversation with my nephew successful?," Aemond interrupted the silence, and Rose closed her eyes. There it was, the question she hadn't wanted to hear. It was unmistakable, but still she had hoped it would be spared.

"The prince still refuses, I'm afraid," Rose admitted. "I have failed."

"Have you?"

Rose gave him an irritated look. "What else would you call it?"

"As something to be expected," he replied. His voice did not reveal his emotions. "Lucerys is not aware of the seriousness of the situation."

"I am sorry, my prince. But I disagree. I think he does know what he is doing, and what to expect. He will not betray his mother."

"Aemond."

"What?" retorted Rose.

"I told you that when we were alone, you could call me by my name." Then he immediately turned to her. "I want you to address me by my name."

His gaze was intense. She couldn't meet his gaze. She dipped the cup in the water again, but before she could lift it out, he grabbed her by the wrist and held her tight.

"It's not your fault," Aemond said seriously. Rose looked at him in surprise. "The bastard made his decision. You did everything you could do."

"I'm a bastard, too," Rose replied. "He's always insulting him as a bastard, but I get the feeling you're forgetting that I'm one, too."

"I haven't. I only insult him as a bastard because he says otherwise. There is no shame in being a bastard. It's a shame to take something that rightfully belongs to someone."

For a moment, Rose thought she was foolish enough to say the words that were on the tip of her tongue. Wasn't that exactly what the Greens had done to his mother? Rhaenyra had been the heir. Rose doubted that the king had a sudden change of heart at the moment of his death. She had sworn allegiance to Aegon, but that didn't mean she didn't have a head to think. She believed that many were thinking what she was thinking. Only most didn't care who they were led by. As the firstborn son, Aegon had a claim to the throne. It was easy to look past the fact that he had probably stolen from Rhaenyra.

"I don't look down on you for being a bastard. On the contrary, I think you've had a hard life, and I'm impressed by your strength."

Aemond's words hit her right in the heart. It was like warmth wrapped around it. Holding it tightly, not giving it back. She didn't know what it was, whether it was his words or his gaze that seemed to look deep into her soul. But before she could stop it, she felt her eyes fill with tears. Her lower lip trembled, and she felt a tear roll down her cheek. It left a hot trail, a revelation of how much the prince, hit her in the heart. Aemond's gaze softened, the hardness receding from his face to make way for gentleness. Suddenly he stood up. Rose drew in her breath in surprise as his strong hands grabbed her by the waist and a short moment later she was standing in the water with him. Rose stared at him with her mouth open. He had lifted her into the bathtub fully clothed. The water pressed her clothes against her body and nestled against them. Now she stood in the bathtub with him, she fully clothed and he completely naked. Before she could say anything, Aemond grabbed her face and pulled her close to him. He pressed his lips, on hers. His kiss was gentle and tender. I had an unexpected restraint. Rose did not hesitate long, and returned his kiss, confirming him in kissing her more passionately. One hand settled in her neck, the other stroked over her body, back to her hip, towards her bottom. His hand felt good there. He began to knead her bottom, and Rose felt the arousal in her body increase. She moaned into the kiss, and pressed herself into his body, knowing that only the thin fabric separated them. He wanted her, and she wanted him. There was no doubt about that. But if she gave herself to him, she would lose what was most important to a woman at this time. But was it also good to her most important? She doubted that she would ever marry. She was a servant, and a bastard at that. She had no value at all. But Aemond made her feel differently at the moment. She felt desired. She didn't care what anyone else said. This man made her feel like the only woman for him. And at that moment, she wanted to be the only one for him too. Therefore, she raised her hand and gently and carefully stroked his member. Aemond drew in a hissing breath, and dissolved the kiss. He looked at her in surprise. She saw him searching for an answer in her face. He was looking for the shyness in her face, but at that moment she felt feminine and strong. Full of confidence. She knew what she wanted, and her look showed it.

"Are you sure?" asked Aemond seriously and she saw, the desire in his eye. Rose nodded, and reached for his manhood again. This time he was hard. Aemond groaned. The corners of his mouth pulled up slightly.

"I do," Rose confirmed, and as if it was all Aemond needed to hear, he pressed his body against hers, and opened her dress. She watched him undo the strings of her dress with elegant movements. She ignored the question in the back of her mind if he had done this before. She wanted to enjoy this moment. She helped him pull the dress over her head. Although she was now completely naked as well, and he was the first man to see her like this, she strangely felt no shame. It felt right. She watched him let his gaze glide over her body. There was nothing but desire in his gaze. Placing his hand on her bare breast, Rose moaned.

"You are beautiful," he breathed, suddenly gripping her neck. Wrapped his long fingers around it. "And you're mine. You are mine."

"I am yours," she repeated.

He kissed her neck. She felt tears on her cheeks. Why was she still crying ?

"You want me?" His hand clasped her neck tighter.

"I do. Give yourself to me, Rose," Aemond whispered. "And I will make you mine." wasn't she already his?

She nodded, and a smile came to his lips. He should smile more often. It looked very good on him.

Something suddenly snapped inside Aemond and he lifted her up. Their naked wet bodies pressed together. He lifted her out of the bathtub and took her to his bedroom, laying her in the sheets of his soft bed. Rose barely had time to comprehend what was happening when he parted their legs and dove down between them without a warning. He licked a strip into her cunt and Rose threw her head back. She moaned, no she almost screamed, and her hands gripped his wet hair. By the gods. What was he doing to her? His tongue was making circles, dipping in and out, working its way to her tip, the point that made her forget everything, and sucking her in. It was like an explosion. Her pleasure painted stars on her eyelids.

"Aemond," she called out.

He moaned into her cunt, his tongue sliding inside her. Rose felt something rising inside her. She didn't know what it was, but she was about to climax. But just before she felt herself being flooded, he rose up and looked at her. She looked at him, completely dazed.

Her gaze slid to his bulging member and she felt herself getting even wetter. He had grown even bigger. She wanted to feel him inside her.

Aemond clasped her cheeks, his gaze shining intensely.

"You are mine," he repeated his words.

He kissed her again and pressed her more firmly into the bed. He covered her with his body, his cock nudging at her entrance. Rose heard her heart in her ears and felt the fire between them. She wanted him. She wanted him. She wanted him.

"Now," she breathed into his mouth, her kiss desperate. How could he possibly cause this boundless desire in her? His hwang slid slowly inside her. It hurt slightly as he entered her, but it felt wonderful in the same moment. She gasped for air. He was so big. She felt him pressing against her walls and opening her up from the inside.

"Shit," he gasped, "you feel so good." Her eyes were closed, her body stretching for him. He gave one last thrust of his and filled Rose. She knew why people couldn't wait until marriage and begat bastards. This feeling was breathtaking.

Aemond waited for her to get used to him inside her, but he didn't have to wait long. Rose couldn't help but rub against him, desperate to feel his heat burning inside her. He pulled back slightly, a hissing breath leaving his lips. He pushed forward slowly, burying himself to the hilt inside her. He moved slowly again and Aemma needs more. He was taking care of her, but that was not what she needed.

"Aemond," she whispered, "I need you deeper." And with that, Aemond's control faded. His body, lean and tense, withdrew in a rapid rhythm. And then he thrust forward again. Faster, deeper. Rose felt like she couldn't breathe. A pressure was building inside her that was almost driving her crazy.

"You're taking me so well," he praised her, his breath on her neck as he tongued her flesh. He fucked her without restraint. She screamed as his thrusts pressed hard into her womb, and when his fingers slid to the tip of her cunt, she lost control. She wrapped her legs around him and met his thrusts. Rose was burning alive and she never wanted to get rid of the flames.

Rose held on to his shoulders as his next thrusts went out of rhythm. It was frantic, fast, and uncontrolled. His moans hit her ears, and she felt him tense.

"Ameond," she cried out, and she came. She felt a wave slide over her and she leaned into the sensation. Never in her life had she felt anything like it. She pressed against him and Aemond found his release shortly after as well, filling her with his hot seed. He let himself fall on top of her, burying her under his weight, under his body, and Rose felt like she wanted to spend eternity like that.

It was the middle of the night when Rose woke up. She had fallen asleep with Aemond in his bed after he had bathed her. He had not let her go, and together they harrowed their eyes closed. He had pressed her against him, wrapping his strong arms around her, and she had fallen asleep into him from exhaustion.

When she woke up, it was dark. She didn't know what had woken her, but as she turned her gaze to the fireplace, still burning slightly, she couldn't avert her eyes. A strange feeling can him yes on. What was it? She was exhausted from what she and Aemond had been doing together, her eyes looking to be closed, but she couldn't stop looking at the fire.

Rose stared into the fire. It was calling to her. For a moment she thought she was dreaming, but then she saw it dancing. It opened and suddenly showed her a face. The face of a boy. Not just any boy. It was King Aegon's son. The oldest. And then she saw two men and a crying Helaena before it repeated itself over and over. What was that? What did that mean?

Edit: Nope, guys. She's not Alys Rivers. But maybe they have something in common.

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