#sought this nine year old

[certified-anakinfucker]

hold on cheeriverse rambling because hellir’ has been on my brain again.

idk man something about hellir’s entire world being turned upside down in the span of three (3) days. and it’s not even because of the war. it’s because he:

found the missing queen, who was being harbored by her lover. reunited with her and shared that her daughter was to become a master soon and was a stellar student

watched said queen get sniped after they spent HOURS chitchatting and smiling and laughing

was kidnapped by one of his very childhood friends who begged him to leave and become a jedi because they found out he was force sensitive (even if he was already nine or ten years old, nearly an adult to the balosar)

woke up in a strange apartment after three days in a coma, killed his captor with the lightsaber he resented carrying at all, but then realized the captor was that childhood friend he lost

got smacked into grief so hard that his crechemates, who had been worried about his absence, were able to pinpoint where he was from their different points in the galaxy to come to his aid

so he begged the zygerrian royal family (queen anna’s family, who already hated him because of the fact he brought those younglings to coruscant… like he was asked to do by queen anna herself) to let him hold a pyre for the body on coruscant, and did the same for his childhood friend

and then he almost got killed by queen anna’s betrothed and harborer because he blamed hellir’ for coming back around and getting her killed, but STILL carefully went to him and said that he would have never put his friend in danger if he had known the zygerrians still had a bounty on her for fleeing. STILL treating him with care and understanding like hellir’ wasn’t just singing the hell out of his grief and sharing it while hohcagi was outside raising hell trying to get in.

(but thats really because hohcagi blamed himself anyway, product of some ✨prior oopsies✨ that really left him and hellir’ equally responsible for her death)

something about,

I’m afraid that no amount of fame Will ever wash away the shame Of knowing not how to love your dearest friend Who will love you ‘til the end

because. he knows. anna spoke so highly of hohcagi he Knows how much she loved him even through their unyielding history. how hard she tried for him. the fact that she shed her status as a queen just to be at his side one more time and she was willing to die for it. MAN hellir’ is normal i swear. more rambling in the tags

[reasonsforhope]

Article | Paywall Free

"Maryland Gov. Wes Moore issued a mass pardon of more than 175,000 marijuana convictions Monday morning [June 17, 2024], one of the nation’s most sweeping acts of clemency involving a drug now in widespread recreational use.

The pardons forgive low-level marijuana possession charges for an estimated 100,000 people in what the Democratic governor said is a step to heal decades of social and economic injustice that disproportionately harms Black and Brown people. Moore noted criminal records have been used to deny housing, employment and education, holding people and their families back long after their sentences have been served.

[Note: If you're wondering how 175,000 convictions were pardoned but only 100,000 people are benefiting, it's because there are often multiple convictions per person.]

A Sweeping Act

“We aren’t nibbling around the edges. We are taking actions that are intentional, that are sweeping and unapologetic,” Moore said at an Annapolis event interrupted three times by standing ovations. “Policymaking is powerful. And if you look at the past, you see how policies have been intentionally deployed to hold back entire communities.”

Moore called the scope of his pardons “the most far-reaching and aggressive” executive action among officials nationwide who have sought to unwind criminal justice inequities with the growing legalization of marijuana. Nine other states and multiple cities have pardoned hundreds of thousands of old marijuana convictions in recent years, according to the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws. Legalized marijuana markets reap billions in revenue for state governments each year, and polls show public sentiment on the drug has also turned — with more people both embracing cannabis use and repudiating racial disparities exacerbated by the War on Drugs.

The pardons, timed to coincide with Wednesday’s Juneteenth holiday, a day that has come to symbolize the end of slavery in the United States, come from a rising star in the Democratic Party and the lone Black governor of a U.S. state whose ascent is built on the promise to “leave no one behind.”

The Pardons and Demographics

Derek Liggins, 57, will be among those pardoned Monday, more than 16 years after his last day in prison for possessing and dealing marijuana in the late 1990s. Despite working hard to build a new life after serving time, Liggins said he still loses out on job opportunities and potential income.

“You can’t hold people accountable for possession of marijuana when you’ve got a dispensary on almost every corner,” he said.

Nationwide, according to the ACLU, Black people were more than three times more likely than White people to be arrested for marijuana possession. President Biden in 2022 issued a mass pardon of federal marijuana convictions — a reprieve for roughly 6,500 people — and urged governors to follow suit in states, where the vast majority of marijuana prosecutions take place.

Maryland’s pardon action rivals only Massachusetts, where the governor and an executive council together issued a blanket pardon in March expected to affect hundreds of thousands of people.

But Moore’s pardons appear to stand alone in the impact to communities of color in a state known for having one of the nation’s worst records for disproportionately incarcerating Black people for any crimes. More than 70 percent of the state’s male incarcerated population is Black, according to state data, more than double their proportion in society.

In announcing the pardons, he directly addressed how policies in Maryland and nationwide have systematically held back people of color — through incarceration and restricted access to jobs and housing...

Maryland, the most diverse state on the East Coast, has a dramatically higher concentration of Black people compared with other states that have issued broad pardons for marijuana: 33 percent of Maryland’s population is Black, while the next highest is Illinois, with 15 percent...

Reducing the state’s mass incarceration disparity has been a chief goal of Moore, Brown and Maryland Public Defender Natasha Dartigue, who are all the first Black people to hold their offices in the state. Brown and Dartigue have launched a prosecutor-defender partnership to study the “the entire continuum of the criminal system,” from stops with law enforcement to reentry, trying to detect all junctures where discretion or bias could influence how justice is applied, and ultimately reform it.

How It Will Work

Maryland officials said the pardons, which would also apply to people who are dead, will not result in releasing anyone from incarceration because none are imprisoned. Misdemeanor cannabis charges yield short sentences and prosecutions for misdemeanor criminal possession have stopped, as possessing small amounts of the drug is legal statewide.

Moore’s pardon action will automatically forgive every misdemeanor marijuana possession charge the Maryland judiciary could locate in the state’s electronic court records system, along with every misdemeanor paraphernalia charge tied to use or possession of marijuana. Maryland is the only state to pardon such paraphernalia charges, state officials said...

People who benefit from the mass pardon will see the charges marked in state court records within two weeks, and they will be eliminated from criminal background check databases within 10 months."

-via The Washington Post, June 17, 2024. Headings added by me.

[lookingforariaa]

Attack On Titan: Actor AU ᝰ.ᐟ

ᯓ★ From the very first "Attack on Titan" table read, Eren Jaeger and Y/N L/N been locked in a personal war. They had hated each other, for their own personal reasons. But, now, fate (or the writers) had dealt them a cruel hand: their characters, the series' central love interests, were about to share their first intimate scene. actor!eren x actress!reader

Ensconced in the makeup chair, you flipped through the script with practiced ease. Your brow furrowed in concentration as you absorbed the scene directions and drilled the lines for today's shoot into your memory.

If 13 year old you thought it was bad enough having to share your first kiss with Eren Jaeger at the end of the season 2 finale with a bunch of camera's pointed at you, she would probably want to kill herself for this scene.

Smiles were plastered on for fans, talk show appearances, the whole nine yards. But everyone on set knew the hatred simmering beneath the surface between Eren and you. But your reasons for the animosity ran deeper than just hating him for the funsies.

You'd always bristled at entitled people like Eren Yeager. His producer father had undoubtedly greased the wheels for his leading role alongside you. He hadn't earned it like everyone in this series had, and he had gotten one of the leading roles in the series.

It wasn't fair. The rich always win.

The first table read had confirmed your worst fears. You had extended a friendly hand, introducing yourself as his love interest and the second leading role in the series.

Eren's response? A dismissive scoff and a head-to-toe sweep that spoke volumes. That self-satisfied smirk ignited a fire in your gut. People like him, who waltzed into success on silver platters, were everything you weren't. You'd clawed your way up, and his arrogance was a slap in the face to everything you'd achieve

The hatred towards Eren only intensified on the first filming day. His arrogance wasn't confined to you. He barked orders at crew members and treated his assistant like an indentured servant. Your blood pressure skyrocketed.

These were people, not props for his entitled performance.

He treated them like they weren't human.

The scene triggered a raw nerve. You knew all too well the sting of dehumanization. The humiliation. Your mother was a single parent forced into sex work to keep a roof over your head. Even if you lived in a brothel full of sex workers, you didn't ask god for anything else other than to get your mom another job.

You had watched your mom try her best to hide you from the men coming in so you wouldn't have to fall into the hands of prostitution as well. The way those men treated her - a flicker of desire followed by callous dismissal, like a discarded rag.

Like she wasn't even worthy enough to be called a human.

You had clawed your way out. Your striking features - the cascading dark blonde hair and the mesmerising hazel eyes and amazing acting skills - were your ticket to this role, a chance to give your mother a life she deserved.

Seeing Eren was like looking into a mirror of your traumatic past, seeing your mom thrashed around like an object.

Blinking back the sleep in your eyes after having drinks with Sasha the entire night, the scripts pages wavered in your hands, the words blurring at the edges.

Sasha's death still felt unreal. You'd sought solace in her company after they killed her character, clinging to the real Sasha for as long as possible.

A yawn stretched your lips into a wide, ungainly shape. The gentle hum of the hair curlers and the soft touch of the makeup brushes did little to dispel the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.

The last layer of blush being applied felt strangely cool against your warm cheeks. You lowered your heavy lashes as they started applying a gentle layer of mascara to your makeup as the finishing touch.

The problem with Attack On Titan was the fact that all the makeup had to look natural. But at the same time all the girls, especially you and Mikasa, had to look beautiful.

Which wasn't hard, because both of you were drop dead gorgeous. But both of you were too humble to ever admit it out loud.

You skimmed through the script one last time as the Matt, your gay best friend who mostly does your hair, brushes them out slightly to make them look more natural.

Perfect," he sighed dramatically, a playful smile on his face. "Ready for today's shoot?"

You rolled your eyes, a groan escaping your lips. "Absolutely not."

"Yeah, figured," Matt chuckled. "t's funny honestly. Do you actually have to ride his thigh? God, the writers hate you."

"Oh shut up!" You scoffed, slapping his arm with your script as you looked a laughing Matt through the mirror.

"Okay, come on, they're asking for you."

"Tell them I'll be right out."

The director barked out his final instructions, taking help from Isayama as his gaze flickering between you and Eren.

Both of you stood with arms crossed and brows furrowed, listening carefully to the director and Isayam. Eren, clad in his iconic faded green shirt and a the black jacket over it.

While you wore a white button-up strained slightly against your chest, the small black corset tied right beneath your chest emphasizing your hourglass figure beneath it.

"So, remember, Y/N you hate him in this scene, you despise him." The director emphasized, looking down at the script.

"Yeah, that's gonna be easy to act out." You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

Eren smirked, leaning down for his mouth to reach your ear. "Don't forget what scene we're filming." His breath tickled your ear. You didn't know what sent the chills down your spine-- his mouth being so close to your ear, or the fact that he was referring to how you had absolutely no control in this scene.

The director clapped his hands, snapping you and Eren out of your silent standoff. You cleared your throat, forcing your attention away from the infuriating green shirt and towards the man barking orders.

"Y/N," he said, pointing at you, "when you say, 'So you're going to kill billions of people for what?!' I want a reaction. Fling your arms wide, like you're trying to grasp the weight of those lives. Let your anger crackle in your eyes, burning into Eren as you demand an answer." You nodded.

His gaze shifted to Eren, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Eren, when you deliver the line, 'For you,' I want hesitation. Let out a sigh that speaks volumes. Run your hand through your hair, whatever. Turn away, build the drama. Then, do a dramatic turn around back towards Y/N, unleashing that scream with every ounce of conviction you have. Got it?"

Eren nodded understandingly, pursing his lips. "Got it."

"Great! Let's get this scene rolling!" The director boomed, clapping his hands. A flurry of activity followed as the set crew started getting the prison set ready for filming, fixing any minor misplaces in it.

You and Eren stood by, the tension crackling between you like live wires. Within minutes, the set was prepped, the harsh overhead lights casting stark shadows on the fabricated brick walls. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the emotional rollercoaster about to unfold.

"Scene 27, take 1."

"Lights," The director sighed, "Cameras." He pointed, "And.. action!"

The sterile light glinted off the metal bars, casting a harsh glow on the tense scene unfolding. You stood across from Eren, your voice laced with barely contained fury

"I know what I'm doing," you spat, the words sharp as shards of ice. "But do you, Eren? Do you have any goddamn clue what you're doing?!"

Eren was positioned before a cracked mirror, avoided your gaze. His knuckles tightened around the chipped porcelain sink, the strain evident in his posture. A sigh, heavy and laced with despair, escaped his lips as he stared down at his clenched fists.

"Yeah," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah?" you shrieked, disbelief and frustration clawing at your throat. "Because from where I'm standing, it doesn't seem like a single thought has crossed that thick skull of yours!"

Your hands flew to your hair, tugging at the strands in agitation. Frustration boiled over, and you flung your arms wide, the metal cot scraping against the wall with a jarring clang

"Eren!" you roared, your voice echoing off the cold stone walls. "You're about to make billions die at the hands of a horrifying death! And for what?!"

Eren remained silent, his back a rigid wall against your onslaught. A shaky breath escaped him, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth seemed ready to shatter. Slowly, he raised his hand, running it through his hair in a gesture of defeat. His eyes, half-lidded and shadowed, flickered towards his reflection in the mirror, a flicker of something akin to shame crossing his features.

Then, with a dramatic flourish, he spun around, his voice laced with a desperate conviction that bordered on hysteria.

"For you!" he screamed, the words echoing through the cell. But as quickly as the outburst erupted, it died down. A defeated sigh escaped his lips, and he repeated the words, this time a mere whisper, "For you..." His half lidded eyes met yours.

"Well, that's fucking stupid!" You screamed out.

"Cut!" You furrowed your eyebrows and turned your head back to the director. "Y/N! Your resolve breaks for a second, okay? You still love him deep down and when he looks at you like that your heart aches." The director says, clutching at his own heart to emphasise. "So wait for a second, show emotion, and then say the stupid line."

"Idiot." Eren muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear.

"Okay, got it. Everything else was fine?" You asked, ignoring his comment.

"Yeah." The director responded, "Let's take it again from Eren's line."

"Scene 27, take 2."

"Lights, camera.. action!"

Eren sighs once more, "For you.."

A tremor ran through your composure. Your eyelids fluttered shut for a brief moment, a shaky breath escaping your lips. When your eyes reopened, the anger had returned, but it felt brittle, tinged with a flicker of something else - confusion, maybe even a hint of pain. It was a fleeting glimpse, quickly masked by the familiar fury

"Well that's.. that's fucking stupid!" You stammered, trying to showcase your characters resolve breaking.

"Is it?! I think it's fucking stupid that you aren't understanding that Marley wants to take you so you can make pure royal blooded babies with my brother so they can take the founding titan easily!" Eren roared, turning back to you.

"Babies?" The word hung in the air, a foreign concept amidst the weight of Eren's plan. The anger you wielded began to crumble at the edges.

A shaky laugh escaped you, a humorless sound that echoed off the cold stone walls. "Is that it, Eren? All this so I don't sleep with your fucking brother?!"

Eren's jaw clenched tight. He ran his hands through his hair again, his voice laced with a desperate edge. "You aren't fucking getting it! They'll use you, Y/N! Turn you into a breeding machine for their twisted agenda and then kill you! This way, at least you're..." His voice trailed off, the defiance flickering for a moment.

"Atleast i'm what? Safe? You fucking sociopath! You're killing all these people for one person?!"

"Shut up."

"That's what you are.. a murderer, a psychopath!"

"Shut the fuck up." He growled, grabbing you by your neck and pushing you against the wall, choking you slightly. The camera followed both of you in kind.

You smiled, scoffing. "Or what? You'll kill me?"

He choked you harder, making you stretch your neck up as you whimpered slightly.

"I told you to shut the fuck up."

"Make me."

A tense silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the ragged rasp of your breath. Disgust simmered in your eyes, a mirror image of the icy loathing reflected back from Eren. The space between you crackled with unspoken hostility

He was supposed to kiss you now, but you were glad he wasn't, otherwise you might've barfed in his mouth. He looked at you with the same expression etched on his face: disgust.

"Cut!" The director yelled out and Eren rolled his eyes, sighing as he released your neck and immediately walked away from you.

The director slammed his script down, the sound echoing through the soundstage. "Alright, what's going on here? You two are supposed to be passionately making out, not glaring at each other like you're about to duel."

Eren scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe that's the point. Maybe our characters wouldn't actually kiss in this situation."

You crossed your arms, your eyes narrowing. "Oh, and why wouldn't they? Because your fragile ego can't handle kissing someone who doesn't fawn over you?"

Eren's smirk vanished, replaced by a cold stare. "Funny you should mention ego. It takes a certain level of delusion to think anyone would be interested in someone who constantly reeks of desperation."

You bristled. "Desperation? At least I earned this role on my own merit, unlike some nepo baby." You smirked. "At least I don't need a daddy with a fat wallet to buy my way into a role."

Eren's voice turned low and dangerous. "Careful. You wouldn't want to upset the golden goose who keeps this whole production afloat, would you?"

Y/N leaned forward, her voice a steely whisper. "Don't you dare pull that daddy producer stunt on me. You think your money can buy you everything? It can't buy respect, and it certainly can't buy genuine affection."

Eren's smirk faltered for a moment, his jaw clenching, much to your amusement. "Oh, touchy subject? Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

The director sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, can we focus? This scene is supposed to be about raw emotions, about their need for each other. Let's take it again, both of you are professionals, I know you can handle it."

"Scene 27, take 3."

"Lights, Camera... Action!"

The boy holding the movie clip snapper sighs, exhausted, even from a simple job as his. "Scene 27... take 23."

"Okay, guys, If it doesn't happen this time then we'll have to redo this tomorrow. And then we won't have time to film the scenes scheduled for tomorrow, hence the season 4 premiere will get delayed. So, just be professionals for once. You aren't kids anymore." The director sighs, putting his cap back on as he leans back in the chair.

Both you and Eren get back into place as the director yells action and Eren quickly slams you against the wall.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

He choked you harder, making you stretch your neck up as you whimpered slightly.

"I told you to shut the fuck up."

"Make me."

You and Eren looked at each other for a second and you almost thought he was going to chicken out once more, so did the director as he rolled his eyes and slid a hand across his face.

But he didn't.

Eren quickly brought his lips to yours, rough and full of all the hatred that's been simmering between both of you all this while. It was a frantic kiss, as the director had wanted. Both of you were breathless as his hand stopped choking you and went to the side of your neck and the other clutched at your waist, and your hands went to grasp at his hair.

It was a tangled mess of limbs as your heads moved together at the speed of light, begging to deepen the kiss, begging to explore every inch of each others mouth. The air crackled with unspoken desire, the kiss a whirlwind of exploring touches and desperate needy moans. 

Everything was a blur. Gasping breaths mingled with the frantic rhythm of your kiss, his tongue had even made an appearance. It surprised you, because when kissing a co-star the other doesn't use tongue to keep the kiss professional and to show the person respect.

But what would Eren Jaeger know about respect?

His hands gripped your waist, a possessive ache that mirrored your owns as one of your hands tugged at his hair and the other caressed his cheek. The kiss deepened, your heads moving together frantically, a battle fought on bruised lips and tangled tongues.

A whimper escaped your lips as Eren grabbed your hair and tilted your head backwards, the kiss turning urgent, so frantic. It felt like an eternity, a culmination of unspoken longing poured into this single, desperate moment.

Your hands twisted in his hair, pulling at it harshly on purpose, hoping it would hurt. With the groan that he let out into the kiss, you were sure it did.

Then, with a swift movement, Eren shoved his knee in between your legs, your surprised moan swallowed by the next searing kiss.

His hand shot out, gripping your throat as your heads whipped back and forth, a frantic chase for deepening the kiss. A tender moan left your lips as Eren's grip on your throat tightened, his tongue thrusting deeper. The sound of your kiss echoed in the room, into the mic, a desperate rhythm. You let out another soft, breathy moan and it was muffled into his mouth as he tried to get even closer to you.

And with the directors snap, which was your cue to start grinding on his thigh, you did just that. A soft moan escaped your lips and muffled into his mouth. "Eren." You sighed into the kiss, as you disconnected your lips and connected your forehead with his, grinding on his thigh.

Fuck. You didn't expect this to happen, especially not with Eren, but you could feel your pussy pulsate and throb with need. You just hoped he couldn't feel it.

"We shouldn't do this." You said in a soft moan as you threw your head back, giving Eren the chance to kiss down your neck.

"We shouldn't." He sighed into your neck.

"It's a bad idea." Your grinding intensified and his hand came to grab at your hips to help you, a sigh of pleasure escaping you, your nails digging into his shoulder.

"It is." You could feel his breath on your neck.

"I loathe you."

"The feelings mutual."

The air crackled as your eyes locked with Eren's. You guys locked eyes for a moment, as written in the script.

And then you leaned down as you were slightly lifted above the ground with a surge of undeniable desire. Your lips met in a frantic kiss, a tangle of emotions that both fueled and fought against your self-control. The kiss was so rushed, such a blur. Both your heads moving so frantically to fight for dominance.

It was like you were fighting to crawl into each others skin.

A strangled sound escaped your throat, a mix of surprise and something more primal. A flicker of uncertainty crossed your mind. Fuck, why were you enjoying this?

Shame threatened to choke the rising tide of sensation, but Eren's touch, a hand gently yanking at your hair, grounded you. In that moment, you were caught in a delicious storm of confusion and exhilaration.

"Cut!"

You tore yourself away from the kiss, gasping for breath. Eren mirrored your action, his chest heaving slightly. A ghost of a smile played on his lips, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. Both of you gazed at each other with longing and confusion, almost disgust and hate for themselves because deep down they know they liked it.

''Great job! I love the intensity. We'll just need to film some POV and closeup shots for the sex scenes and we're done for the day." The director smiled, praising both of you. "Let's take 5."

You started to walk away, but before you could leave, Eren grabbed your hand. "Also, by the way." You sighed and rolled your eyes.

"What?"

"I could feel that, you know."

Shit.

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by the wonderful @chennqingg <3

Home [EoH]

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader feat. Teddy

Summary: Living in the woods in a small cabin with your family was something you thoroughly enjoyed. You knew Daryl needed this; space and time to process the loss of Rick - and of course, to search for him. But then your family gets forced to return back to your original home - and the reason couldn't be sweeter...

Warnings: TWD stuff, walkers, weapons, angst, fluff, pregnancy stuff & 'complications', throwing up, dad!Daryl

The Whisperer Era!

Word Count: 2,6k

a/n: I promised you some sweet pregnancy fluff and here it is! I hope ya'll don't mind the angst... 👀

EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Ya okay?" You nodded shakily and tried to wrap the old, rugged blanket even tighter around your body. "Yeah, jus' cold," you answered - as if it wasn't obvious that the probably harshest winter in decades raged outside the factory you, Daryl, Teddy and Dog sought shelter in. Not that you didn't know that it was kinda risky to travel in that weather. Both, you and Daryl knew that a snowstorm was most likely approaching and yet the archer took the risk and led you away from the cosy small hut, hidden in the woods your little family called home for over two years. Not anymore. But you could understand your man's kinda headless act...

Daryl clenched his jaw; worried eyes scanning your whole body, before he quickly slid the black, greyish poncho he wore over his head and went to wrap it around you as well. But you shook immediately your head and reached out your hand to hold him back. "No, Daryl... Keep it. You'll get cold. I-I don't want you to freeze to death." "I ain't freezin' to death, don worry," he said and draped the poncho over your body. "Gotta keep ma family warm and safe..." The archer's eyes darted shortly to his nine-year-old son, laying snugly bundled up in a warm sleeping bag you had found quite some time ago; Dog nestled against the boy's side. Teddy had draped an arm over the faithful canine; both sleeping soundly.

"All of ya," he stated firmly and pressed his palm against your presumably three-month baby bump.

You swallowed hard, but nodded; knew exactly what was on the line.

Unlike your pregnancy with Teddy, was your second one anything but easy - so far. Nausea, circulation problems, agonising back pain. Not to mention that the world around you was different ten years ago... It caused uneasiness, especially upon Daryl. He was worried... You could tell. And when you started to have bleedings now and then, he totally lost it and intended to take you back to Alexandria immediately; let Siddiq have a look.

The archer knew how to stitch up a wound or how to treat a cold - but not how to check on a unborn baby.

Daryl gave you another nod and pressed a sweet kiss, mixed with fear and worry against your lips. "Try ta sleep, sunshine. I'll check the doors 'n look after the fire. Can't let it burn out..." "I'll try, but..." You responded and freed one arm from the cocoon of blankets to grab his gloved hand. "... what about you? You should sleep, too, sweetie."

Daryl squeezed your hand gently, "'M fine." and carefully tucked you in once again, before he grabbed his torchlight and went to check for the doors.

You knew that arguing with him would be most likely in vain anyways, so you didn't even start.

Letting your eyes wander to Teddy and Dog for a long moment to check on them, you smiled and felt how your eyelids got heavier with each passing second. It didn't take you long to fall asleep.

Unfortunately, lasted the heavenly state you were in not very long. Your churning stomach ripped you out of your peaceful sleep. You immediately felt uneasiness and the first wave of nausea creeping up on you. You sighed.

Not again... Not another sleepless night...

You swallowed; tried to get rid of the lump in your throat, but it was no help. Shifting around in discomfort, you knew that you had to get up and search for a - wow, that sounded so wrong and weird - fitting place to most likely vomit your guts out.

Rubbing your eyes frustrated, you slowly slipped out of the warm cocoon; feeling the cold hit you immediately. You shivered; draped at least one blanket back around you, over the already thick woollen poncho you wore. Then you scanned your surroundings; saw Teddy and Dog a few meters away from you still sleeping soundly and heard the peaceful crackling of the fire. But then...

"Y/N..." Daryl - of course. You heard footsteps approaching you; causing you to turn into the right direction. "Why 'r ya awake?" Your long-term boyfriend asked; noticing immediately the uneasy look on your face.

"Everythin' alright?" His palms cupped your waist. You shook your head; swallowing hard once more - and Daryl knew. It wasn't the first time. "Nausea?" "Y-Yeah..." The archer nodded, "C'mere." and slowly guided you out of what once probably was the main production hall and into a little side room, which looked like a former office. A more or less completely destroyed office. Files, folders, other papers and usual office stuff laid every which way around the room. Several cupboards were moved or thrown over - just like two of the three desks.

Daryl quickly freed an office chair, while you steadied yourself against the last remaining intact desk and helped you sit down. Then his eyes scanned the quite spacious room; torchlight in hand. Once he found the object he desired, the archer made sure you weren't threatening to fall off the chair and climbed above some 'obstacles' to retrieve an old trash can he had spotted. Whatever was left inside said trash can landed on the ground, before he placed it on the floor in reach for you.

Kneeling down in front of you, Daryl took one of your hands in his; blue-greyish eyes meeting yours. You smiled through your uneasiness and lifted your free hand to tuck a loose, stray curl of chestnut brown hair behind his ear. "T-Thank you," you whispered.

Daryl just gave you one of those sweet smiles of his. You took deep breaths; eyes falling shut to focus on not losing your balance. Dizziness had joined the game.

Feeling the bile rise in your throat, you weakly gestured for the trash can. "D-Daryl, h-have to-" Before you were able to finish your sentence, your man had swiftly moved over and helped you holding the makeshift vomit bag. Not a second too early.

While you indeed puked your guts out, Daryl's other hand switched between steadying you and rubbing soothing circles in your back.

Once your nausea calmed down again, you wiped your mouth with a rug Daryl gave you; taking again deep breaths. "Feelin' better?" You nodded. "Y-Yeah... Jus' still a bit dizzy." Your boyfriend helped you to get back to the main hall, of course, where he sat down; leaning against one of the walls and gesturing for you to get comfortable as well - something you didn't let yourself tell twice. After all, it was a long, cold, hard day of walking and you were tired. Plus, you had just emptied your stomach entirely.

You sat down on the blanket between Daryl's legs and leaned against his chest; cuddling close. He helped you draping the two old blankets around you (and him); trying to give you as much warmth as possible.

"Ya warm enough, sunshine?" You nodded; smiling softly. "With you cuddling me? Yes." Daryl's arms gave you a gentle squeeze in response.

Silence settled over the both of you - until the archer broke it; ripping you away from the entrance of dreamland.

"M sorry." You blinked; trying to focus again. "Sorry? For wha'?" You could tell that he was either swallowing hard or chewing on his bottom lip. Probably both. "Tis. You feelin' like shit." You frowned, "Why would you be sorry for that?" and turned your head; trying to look at him. He was chewing on his bottom lip. "Well... 'S kinda my fault. If... If I wouldn't have got ya pregnant..." You raised an eyebrow at him and couldn't help the giggle, which slipped past your lips. "Sweetie..." You started; nuzzling your head against his chest. "Don't pretend it isn't a welcome accident. And once we're back in Alexandria, Siddiq can help me. So, stop being sorry."

You felt Daryl's hold tightening around you. "M trying, sunshine. 'S just... I want ya 'n the baby ta be okay." "We will be."

The storm had subsided through the night - luckily. The roads were completely covered in snow; making it for the whole family difficult to move fast - and it kept on snowing... Especially Dog and Teddy were struggling, since they had the shortest legs.

Daryl was at the front; trying to pave a way, but he couldn't do it the entire way to Alexandria. He was strong - but not that strong.

"Dad!" Teddy called out to Daryl, causing the archer to immediately stop in his tracks and turn around. His son pointed across a field on a group of walkers. Ten. Probably even twenty. "Sickos!" Daryl narrowed his eyes; watching them for a long moment, before addressing his son again. "Let 'em be, buddy! They can't move. Least not fast. Snow's too high. Even for them." The nine-year-old gave him a nod; almost causing the blueish beanie on his head to slip into his face.

You had watched the scene, being 'squashed' between your two 'men', while Dog was glued to your side; not leaving you out of his sight. You scratched the faithful canine's head in a loving manner. "C'mon, sunshine. We have ta keep goin'." You nodded and kept on following your man; always making sure to look over your shoulder to not lose your son. Although you knew that you wouldn't. After all was Daryl Dixon his father. He had taught his boy well. That was the reason why he trusted him to walk at the end of the line. To make sure you were safe. And Teddy did his 'job' perfectly. All of you arrived cold and freezing, but safely at the gates of Alexandria.

Michonne was on guard duty this cold December afternoon. She narrowed her eyes when she saw a small group approaching her home. Taking the binoculars on the wooden ground beneath her, the leader took a quick look through it - and smiled. Probably the brightest smile she smiled since RJ's birth. "Open the gates!"

"Who is it?" Aaron called back up to her from the ground; slightly worried. Michonne turned to face her friend. "Family."

The doors got immediately opened for you and your family to enter your old home. A place you loved and held so many beautiful memories of.

Aaron was already greeting everyone, when Michonne had climbed down the guard tower. "Daryl, Y/N, Teddy! How long has it been?" She asked; still smiling brightly and immediately went to hug Daryl. "Two years," answered the archer. "Way too long if you ask me," Michonne answered and gave him a playful nudge with her shoulder. Then she looked over the archer's shoulder; spotting the not so little boy anymore, who started to look more and more like a spitting image of his father. "Teddy?" Michonne stepped forward to squat down and hug him. "Look at how big you got since I lastly saw you!" Teddy just giggled shyly; hugging the woman back. "Hello, Michonne," he then whispered. Well, he was his father's son... "Jude will be happy to see you."

Then Michonne stood up to face you. Last but not least. "Y/N..." You grinned at her and quickly ran to hug your friend. "Hey, Mich. It's so good to see you." She squeezed you against her body. "Likewise..."

After inviting you all inside, since it was really getting cold by now and welcoming little RJ as well, you all sat by the fireplace in the living room with a cup of tea in hands.

Teddy and Judith sat at the kitchen table, drawing and RJ had slept in on Michonne's lap. Dog had curled up beside Daryl, who sat on the floor and leaned against the sofa; getting head scratches from his master. You sat beside Michonne; still wrapped up in Daryl's poncho and cup in hands.

"So... Why are you here? Just to visit, or...?" Your friend asked; clearly curious, but also kinda hopefully.

You exchanged a short look with Daryl; his lips curling into the soft, sweet smile you loved so much. "Y/N needs ta pay Siddiq a visit." Michonne frowned; was immediately alerted and not noticing the subtle smile on both your faces. "Is everything alright?!" "Well..." You started; pulling Daryl's poncho over your head. Michonne's eyes widened to the size of plates as you cupped your small, yet clearly visible baby bump. "You... You're pregnant?!" You nodded; smiling and reached for Daryl's hand, who happily accepted the offer. He enveloped your smaller hand and gave it a gentle squeeze; all the while exchanging another loving gaze with you.

A happy laugh escaped your friend's lips. "That's wonderful, you two! Congrats!" You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear; smiling bashfully. "Thanks, Mich. It was a beautiful surprise, but..." You swallowed; remembering that this pregnancy wasn't remotely comparable to the one with Teddy. "Being pregnant now is a whole other thing than ten years back..."

You felt how Michonne's hand landing on your free hand. "I know, Y/N, but I made it, too. You, Daryl, Teddy and Dog are more than welcome to stay here. You know that. And Siddiq will be at your side, too."

You nodded. "I-I know, but... I don't just mean that the whole circumstances changed. I mean the pregnancy itself as well..." "She's been havin' bleedings lately. 'S why we're here," Daryl jumped in. "That's why we packed our stuff and left our other home." Your man nodded. "Worried the shit outta me the last days..."

Michonne swallowed as well and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. "This doesn't have to mean anything, you know that. But Siddiq should definitely check. Go to him. Now. I'll stay with the kids and Dog."

You exchanged another look with Daryl. He gave you a nod. "Michonne's right. Better do it righ' away."

So that's what you did.

Siddiq welcomed you, of course, back with open arms and went immediately to work. Especially after you told him about the pregnancy and bleedings.

Luckily was your baby alright and healthy - as far as the doctor could tell.

"But... What caused the bleedings then?" You asked; sitting up and straightening your sweater. "I unfortunately can't tell. This just happens sometimes, but I'd like to keep an eye on this. As for you... You should rest a few days and do as little as you can. And-" He reached over to a little shelf and grabbed a small bottle with pills. "Take these prenatal vitamins." You nodded and took the vitamins. "Alright, doc. Thank you." Siddiq smiled, "Of course." then looked at Daryl. "Make sure she takes them and rests." "Oh, definitely. Ya ain't have ta worry 'bout that." "Good."

Since the news of your arrival spread quickly, was the rest of the day spent with meeting and reconnecting with old friends and family members. It was wonderful and you couldn't be happier; the difficulties of the pregnancy forgotten for a while.

It was already quite late when Daryl slipped underneath the warm sheets to join you; wrapping both his arms around your body and pressing his bare chest against your back; accompanied by a kiss on your neck.

"Daryl?" You whispered into the darkness; searching for his hand which was resting on your little baby bump. "Yeah?" He answered immediately; instinctively pulling you even tighter against him. "I'm happy to be back here. Don't get me wrong, please. I love to be out there with you and our boys, but... I have to admit that I love being here as well. Alexandria is home... Always will be."

There was a short moment of silence, before Daryl spoke up as well. "I get what ya mean, sunshine," he started. "Me too. 'S all about you 'n the baby now. Yer all safe... 'N that what matters most."

You smiled; gazing out of the window and slipped your fingers through Daryl's. "Yeah..."

Tags: @suniloli @stitchintimefan @in-this-minute @loz-3 @fictive-sl0th @fuseburner @mandywholock1980 @celtic-crossbow @mischief-dream @lou12346789 @km-ffluv @crimson25 @buttercupcookies-blog @salvinaa @javagirl328 @sweetz1919 @erebus-et-eigengrau

[satorulovebot]

CURSED SEAS CHAPTER ONE | the rouge captain.

↳ satoru gojou x reader

genre. heavy angst, pirate au, 18+ 

tags/warnings. alcohol, religious themes, death, themes of depression, and criminal activity, it's a pretty tame chapter tbh.

notes. 6.2k wc. yeah we’re back baby with another series because i can’t sit still. i saw fan art (image 1) and (image 2) of pirate gojo and said yk what i’m gonna do a pirates of the caribbean inspired series. idk enjoy some brain rot. also know just like my introductory paragraphs my first chapters are ass and fast-paced.

next. HELP WANTED!

general masterlist -> series masterlist

Captain Satoru Gojou.

You had heard whispers of the infamous Captain Gojou for years. His name was spoken with fear in every port town along the coast. Some say he is invincible, that his ship, the Infinity, is the fastest to ever sail the seas. Others claimed he was dangerous, ruthless, and cunning—a man who showed no mercy to those he deemed too weak to survive in his world.

A few years back, a body washed up on the shore of Saltstone Port. The man, who was no older than twenty-five, had his eyes gouged out of his skull, and the number six was carved into the pale skin of his back. 

The discovery shocked the quiet little town, but it would not be the last time a mutilated body washed up on the shores of Saltstone Port.

You don’t miss the stagnant air at Saltstone Port. The salty breeze, tinged with the scent of rotting fish and seaweed, clung to everything it touched. It was a place where tales of Captain Gojou’s cruelty were whispered in darkened alleys and over dimly lit tavern tables, the memory of that unfortunate soul with the number six forever haunting the minds of those who dared to speak of it.

As you stood at the edge of the small dock in Elysport, you stared out at the vast ocean. You had always wondered if there was something more beyond the horizon at Saltsone and Elysport. You had only moved to Elysport in the last few years; your father claimed that it was God’s will for you to move after the death of your beloved mother.

You were just ten years old when your mother vanished without a trace, disappearing one night after her shift at the tavern. It was as if the earth had swallowed her whole, leaving no sign of where she had gone or what might have happened. The days that followed were a blur of confusion and fear, the house feeling emptier than ever without her warm presence.

Your father was a broken man during the weeks your mother was missing. Each night, he would fall to his knees, clasping his hands in desperate prayer. His voice, once strong and filled with faith, now trembled as he pleaded with whatever higher power might be listening to bring his beloved wife back to him and his young daughter. He prayed until his voice was hoarse, until tears stained his cheeks until the candles had burned down to their wicks. He sought solace in his faith, but with each passing day, the weight of uncertainty grew heavier, casting a shadow over your home.

He searched tirelessly for answers, combing the streets and questioning anyone who might have seen her. But no matter how hard he looked or how many prayers he whispered, the silence was deafening. Your mother, the heart of your small family, had simply vanished, leaving behind only questions and a growing sense of dread.

Nine agonizing weeks later, your mother’s body was discovered in a small, rotting, long-abandoned boat that had been stranded on the beach for years. You only caught a brief, heart-wrenching glimpse of her before the smallfolk, who had loved her dearly, carried her away. The once beautiful features of her face had decayed beyond recognition, maggots crawling across what little flesh remained.

Your father was utterly broken by the loss. He couldn’t understand why God would allow such cruelty to befall his family. The woman he had vowed to cherish and grow old with was gone, leaving him consumed by grief and bitterness. He became distant, his once-steady faith shaken to its core. He could not understand who would do this to his wife—a kind-hearted tavern worker known for offering a warm meal to anyone in need. The only conclusion that made sense to him was that pirates were to blame. In his mind, they were the only people capable of such barbarism, convinced that only they would commit such a gruesome act against the mother of his child.

Your father has always been a devout Christian. He was a pastor at the local church when you lived in Saltstone Port. His sermons were filled with messages of mercy and compassion. He always insisted that no one was beyond salvation, preaching that even pirates can be redeemed in the eyes of God.

But after your mother’s death, everything changed. His grief and anger warped his perspective, changing his view of life and love. The man who once preached forgiveness now called for the public execution of pirates, believing their crimes deserved the worst punishment hell could offer. An obsession now consumed him—a kind man who once spoke of compassion whose life was forever darkened by the loss of the woman he loved.

You now found yourself in Elysport, a bustling coastal city where the line between law and lawlessness begins to blur. The city's horizon is filled with the estates of wealthy merchants and the Governor’s home, a stark contrast to the docks below. The docks are always crowded, constantly filled with ships from all around the world, their sails billowing in the wind as they unload goods from distant lands. The scent of exotic spices and the sounds of vibrant marketplaces fill the air, mingling with the salty tang of the nearby sea.

In Elysport, you worked as a clerk for a small merchant. Your days were spent tallying registries, managing shipments, and handling mundane trade details. But your nights were different. They were filled with dreams of adventure, of sailing beyond the horizon where the sea meets the sky. Stories of legendary pirates and hidden treasures had always fascinated you, sparking a curiosity you kept hidden behind your daily life. Yet, you never imagined that those stories might come crashing into your own life one day.

One evening, as you were closing up shop, an old man stumbled into the store. His appearance was startling, to say the least—his clothes were tattered, his face weathered, and his hair a tangled mess. 

“Hello? Can I help you?” you called out from behind the counter, your voice slightly muffled by the shelves that obstructed you from view.

The man didn’t answer your question. Instead, his gaze darted around the shop, as if he was searching for anything suspicious that could get him in trouble. 

“You there!” he rasped, his voice rough. “I need a place to hide this.”

Your curiosity piqued at his words, you stepped out from behind the counter and faced the strange man who had entered just before closing. You assumed he was another last-minute customer, probably looking to buy something or bargain for a better price, knowing how tired workers down by the docks could be at this hour. 

You were curious but hesitant as you took the box from him. To your surprise, It was heavy for its size. The surface was adorned with intricate carvings, worn in places over time.

“What is this?” you asked, turning the box over to examine it more closely. The craftsmanship was remarkable, but there was something about it—something almost sinister.

The man watched you closely, his eyes never leaving your face. "It’s a map.” he said, "But not just any map. This map leads to something... powerful. Something that has been lost for centuries, tales of it told through generations of pirates, hidden away from those who would abuse its power."

You looked up at him, eyes wide and filled with curiosity. Why are you giving this to me?" you asked again, your voice trembling.

The man’s expression softened, a look of something almost like pity crossing his face. "Because you’re the one meant to find it," he said simply. "You’re the one who has been chosen."

"Chosen?" you whispered. "Chosen by whom? For what?"

The man smiled faintly, but there was a sadness in his eyes that made you uneasy. "You’ll understand in time," he said. "But know this: you must keep the map safe. Others would do anything to get their hands on it—dangerous people who won’t hesitate to kill for it."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. You had always dreamed of sailing the seas looking for adeventure, but this... this… this was something else entirely. This was real, and it was dangerous.

You stared at him blankly, your mind racing as you tried to process the words the strange man had been saying. This was no ordinary treasure map. This was something that was hidden away for a reason.

"Why me?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Why would you trust me with something like this?"

The man’s eyes softened again, and he reached out to place a hand on your shoulder. "Because you’re different," he said quietly. "You have a strength in you that others don’t. You have a heart that won’t be easily swayed by greed or power. And most importantly... you have a destiny to fulfill."

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning that you couldn’t fully grasp. You wanted to ask the strange man more, to demand answers to the questions swirling in your mind, but something in the man’s eyes told you that he had already said all he could.

"Keep the map safe," he repeated, his voice firm. "And trust your instincts."

Before you could say anything else, the man turned and walked out the door, disappearing into the darkness of the night. You stood there for a pregnant moment, the map clutched in your hands, your mind reeling from everything that had just happened.

You looked down at the map again, the tips of your fingers trace the markings, as if trying to unlock the secrets they hold. This was it. This was what you had always dreamed of, but it was also something far more dangerous, something that could get you killed.

You knew you couldn’t do this alone. You needed help, and there was only one place you could think of where you might find it.

The merchant’s ball.

It was an event you had never been invited to before—a grand affair where the city’s most powerful and influential figures gathered. But now, with the map, you knew you had to find a way in. You needed to find someone who could help you decipher it, someone who had the knowledge and connections to help you.

As the night of the ball approached, you found yourself growing more and more restless with each passing day. The very idea of the map’s existence gnawed at the back of your mind, its mysteries out of reach. The old man’s warning lingered in your mind, too—a treasure beyond your wildest dreams, but cursed. It was a puzzle you couldn’t solve on your own, and it only fueled your determination to get an invitation to the Merchant’s Ball.

But getting an invitation was easier said than done. The ball was exclusive, and the guest list was closely guarded. You knew you couldn’t simply walk in off the street, no matter how determined you were. You needed connections, and though you had some, they were weak connections at best. Your mind raced as you considered your options, running through the names of merchants and traders you had helped over the years. Some owed you favors, but whether those favors were enough to get you into the ball was another matter entirely.

You decided to start with a merchant you knew well—a grizzly man named Marcus, who had been in Elysport for decades. You had helped him with his inventory more than once, making sure that certain shipments went unnoticed by the authorities, and he had always been grateful for your help. You found him in his usual place, a small tavern near the docks.

“Marcus!” you greeted him with a smile as you approached his table.

He looked up, his weathered face breaking into a grin. “Ah, it’s you. Come to save me from my spending again?”

“Not this time,” you replied, taking a seat across from him. “I need a favor.”

His smile faded slightly, and he set down his flagon of ale. “A favor, eh? What kind of favor?”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I need an invitation to the Merchant’s Ball.”

Marcus leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows raised. “The ball? That’s a big favor, lass. Those invitations are hard to come by.”

“I know,” you admitted. “But I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes searching your face. “What’s this about? You’re not one for fancy parties.”

You looked around the tavern, ensuring no one was listening, then leaned in closer. “I’ve come across something… valuable. But I need help deciphering it. The ball is my best chance to find someone who can.”

Marcus’s expression turned serious. “Something valuable, you say? What kind of valuable?”

“I can’t say too much,” you said, lowering your voice. “But it’s big, Marcus. If I can figure it out, it could change everything.”

He was silent for a moment, considering your words. Finally, he nodded. “All right. I can get you in. But you’ll owe me for this, understand?”

You nodded, a smile present on your face. “Thank you, Marcus. I won’t forget it.”

True to his word, Marcus got you an invitation, and the day of the ball soon arrived. You spent hours preparing, trying to calm the nervous flutter in your stomach. The dress you chose was simple yet elegant, a deep blue silk that flowed like water as you moved. You had never worn anything so fine before, and as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you barely recognized the woman staring back at you. But tonight wasn’t about appearances—it was about seizing an opportunity, about finding answers to the questions that had been plaguing your mind since that fateful night in the shop.

When the carriage finally arrived to take you to the Governor’s Palace, you felt a mixture of excitement and fear. The city seemed more alive than usual as you made your way through the cobblestone streets, the sounds of laughter and music drifting on the night air. As the palace came into view, its tall columns were bathed in the warm glow of hundreds of lanterns. The grandeur of it all was overwhelming and it was a far cry from the rough and weathered streets of Elysport that you were used to.

You clutched your invitation tight as you approached the entrance, the doorman barely glancing at it before stepping aside to let you pass. The moment you stepped inside, you were encompassed in a world of luxury, unlike anything you had ever seen. The foyer was vast with marble floors gleaming under the light of large crystal chandeliers. Ornate tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of grand battles and lavish feasts. Servants moved about with precision, carrying trays of champagne and delicate hors d'oeuvres, while the guests—dressed in their finest silks and satins—murmuring amongst themselves, their laughter filling the air.

You followed the flow of people into the main ballroom, your heart pounding as you took in the sight before you. The room was massive, with tall, arched windows that offered a view of the moonlit gardens outside. The walls were painted in rich, warm tones, and the floor was a mosaic of polished marble that reflected the golden light of the chandeliers. Musicians played soft melodies in one corner, their music blending in seamlessly with the murmur of conversation.

For a moment, you hesitated, feeling out of place. You had never been in a setting like this, surrounded by wealth and power. But you squared your shoulders, reminding yourself of the reason you were here. You weren’t just a simple clerk from the docks anymore; tonight, you were a woman with a purpose, a secret map, and a mission.

The ballroom was extravagant, to say the least. It made you feel sick that only a select few could enjoy things like this without worrying when their next meal would be or if they would be able to afford basic necessities. But were you any better than these people? After all the only reason you’re here is because you have good connections, just like the people in this room.

As you look to your left, you notice the couples dancing around the floor, their conversations blending in with the soft music. It was all very odd, like a dream you didn't want to wake up from.

“Enjoying the festivities?” A smooth and confident voice interrupted your thoughts. You turned to see a tall figure standing just a few feet away, his face obscured by a mask similar to yours.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, though you couldn’t quite figure out why. There was something about him, something unsettling in the way he carried himself, in the way he seemed to command the space around him. His mask was pale, almost ghostly, with intricate blue patterns that drew your gaze.

“I suppose,” you replied, keeping your voice light, though the unease you felt was seeping into your words. “These sorts of events are always a bit... overwhelming.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and smooth, “Yes, they can be,” he agreed, taking a step closer, his eyes—bright and unnervingly blue—locked onto yours through the slits in his mask. “But they can also be... enlightening if you know where to look.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, your mind racing as you tried to understand his words. Was he just making conversation, or was there something more to his statement? You couldn’t tell, and that made you more on edge.

“Is that so?” you asked, forcing a smile as you took another sip of your champagne, trying to calm your nerves.

He nodded, his gaze never wavering. “Indeed. You’d be surprised what you can learn at a gathering like this, especially if you keep your eyes and ears open.”

There was something in the tone of his voice, something that made you think he wasn’t just talking about useless gossip or civil conversation, at something deeper, something more dangerous, and it set you on edge.

The two of you sat in silence for a brief moment.

“Do you come to these kinds of events often?” you asked, trying to change the topic of conversation, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that this man was anything but safe.

“From time to time,” he said with a shrug. “But tonight is special. Tonight, I’m here for something—someone—quite specific.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you felt a chill run down your spine. It was the way he said it, the way his eyes seemed to pierce through you like daggers, it was as if he knew exactly who you were and what you were here for.

But, that was impossible, you thought to yourself. You were just a clerk, a regular person caught up in something far beyond your understanding. There was no way he could know about the map, about the treasure. No one knew. No one except—

“Do I know you?” you asked, the question slipping out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

His smile widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps,” he said vaguely, his voice a low murmur that sent another shiver down your spine. “Or perhaps you’ll get to know me soon enough.”

Before you could respond, before you could even process his words, the doors to the ballroom burst open with a deafening boom. The music stopped abruptly, the room falling into shocked silence as everyone turned to see what happened.

A group of masked men stormed into the room, their swords drawn as they advanced on the crowd. Panic erupted, the guests screaming and scrambling to get away as the intruders began tearing through the ballroom, overturning tables, smashing glass, and sending the wealthy world of the Elysport elite into chaos.

You barely had time to react before you felt the man’s hand on your arm, pulling you toward the nearest exit. His grip was firm, his expression unreadable beneath the mask as he guided you through the panicked crowd, dodging the chaos that surrounded you.

“Stay close,” he ordered, his voice calm despite the madness. “We’re not done yet.”

And with that, you were swept away into the night, the sound of the destruction behind you fading as the mysterious man led you away from the scene, leaving you to wonder who he really was—and what he wanted with you.

The cool night air hit your face as you were pulled out of the grand ballroom and into the dimly lit streets of Elysport. The contrast between the noise and chaos of the ball and the quiet moonlit streets was jarring. You were still reeling from the events that had unfolded, your heart pounding in your chest, and your mind racing with questions.

The man holding your hand was strong, his grip firm but not painful, leading you through the labyrinth of narrow alleyways that twisted and turned through the dark city like a maze. The commotion of the party faded into the background, replaced by the distant sounds of the sea and the occasional creak of a ship down at the docks. The city was alive with the whispers of its nightlife, but you felt completely alone, alone with this stranger who seemed to know everything about you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he slowed his pace and came to a stop in a small and secluded courtyard. The stone walls of the surrounding buildings loom above you and the walls cast deep shadows that obscured your surroundings. The man released your hand, leaving you standing in the center of the courtyard.

As you took a moment to catch your breath, thoughts reeled through your mind. Who was this man? What did he want with you? And why had he chosen to rescue you from the ball? You looked around, trying to get a sense of where you were, but the courtyard was unfamiliar, and the darkness made it almost impossible to see anything.

Before you could gather your thoughts, the man stepped forward again, more calculated and more predatory. His movements were fluid as if he were completely at ease in the darkness. He reached up, and with a swift motion, removed the mask that had concealed his face.

You gasped, taking a step back as the light of the moon revealed his features. The man standing before you was impossibly handsome, his striking blue eyes piercing through the shadows with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. His white hair, which had been partially hidden beneath the mask, now fell loosely around his face, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. But it was the look in his eyes that truly unsettled you—as if he could see right through you.

"You're a difficult person to track down," he said, his voice smooth and confident, with a hint of amusement.

You took another step back, your mind racing. "Who are you?" you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady.

He tilted his head slightly, a small, almost playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Who I am isn't important," he replied his tone light, almost amused. "What matters is what I know."

A chill ran down your spine at his words. You felt like a cornered animal, trapped with no way out. "W-what do you want from me?" you stuttered, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.

His smile widened slightly, but his eyes remained cold and calculating. "You know what I want," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You have something that belongs to me."

Your heart skipped a beat, and your thoughts immediately jumped to the map. How did he know about that? The old man had warned you that it was cursed, that it would bring you nothing but trouble, but you didn't think it would be anything like this.

The man's smile faded, and his expression grew more serious. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. "Don't play games with me," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "I know you have the map. And I know you've been looking into it."

"I don't have it," you insisted. "I got rid of it."

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing you. "Is that so?" he took a step forward, "Because from what I've heard, you've been asking around about certain landmarks. Places that just so happen to match the ones on the map."

Your heart sank. He knew too much. There was no point in lying anymore. But you couldn't just hand the map over to him—not without knowing who he was and what he planned to do with it.

"Why do you want it?" you asked, trying to buy yourself some time. "What's so important about this treasure?"

The man studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. "That's none of your concern," he said finally, his tone dismissive. "All you need to know is that it's mine. And I intend to get it back."

"And if I don't give it to you?" you challenged.

He smiled again, but this time there was no warmth in it. "Then I'll take it from you," he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You stared at him, trying to gauge his intentions. There was something about him—something dangerous and unpredictable—that made you believe he wasn't bluffing. But at the same time, you couldn't just give up the map. Not without knowing what it was all about, and what it could lead to.

"I need more time," you said finally, hoping to stall him. "Let me think about it."

The man studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he nodded. "Very well," he said. "But don't take too long. I'm not a patient man."

He turned to leave, but then paused mid-way, glancing back at you over his shoulder. "Oh, and one more thing," he added, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Don't try to run. I'll find you. No matter where you go."

With that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving you alone in the courtyard. You stood there for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Who was this man? How did he know so much about you? And what was he planning to do with the map?

You knew you had to be careful. Whatever this treasure was, it was clearly important enough for someone like him to go to great lengths to get it. But at the same time, you couldn't just hand it over without knowing more. You had to find out what this was about—before it was too late.

You quickly made your way back to your small house, your mind racing with thoughts of what to do next. You weren't going to let anyone intimidate you—not even someone as dangerous as him.

As you reached your door, you paused, glancing around nervously. The man's warning echoed in your mind—he would find you, no matter where you went. But you couldn't let that stop you. You had to find out the truth, no matter the cost.

With a deep breath, you unlocked the door and stepped inside. The map was hidden in a small, secret compartment in the floorboards—a place you thought no one would think to look. You retrieved it, carefully unfolding the worn parchment and studying the markings on it.

You had to figure out what this map was leading to, and why it was so important. As you stared at the map, a new plan began to form in your mind. You would find someone new who could help you decipher it—someone who knew the legends of the sea better than anyone else. And then, you would find the treasure before anyone else could.

But even as you made your plans, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched. The man's piercing blue eyes seemed to haunt your every thought, his warning lingering in the back of your mind.

You knew you were playing a dangerous game. But you had no choice.

And so, with the map clutched tightly in your hands, you made your decision. You would find the treasure—no matter what it took.

The city was bustling when you stepped out onto the streets, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone road. You knew where you needed to go—there was a tavern on the edge of the city, where sailors and pirates would gather to share stories. It was a risky move, venturing into such a place, but you were running out of options.

As you made your way through the streets, you kept an eye out for any sign of the man from the night before. You couldn’t afford to be caught off guard again.

Finally, you reached the tavern, it was a weathered building with a creaky old sign hanging above the door. The scent of salt and ale greeted you as you stepped inside, the dimly lit interior filled with the low hum of conversation. You spotted a few rough-looking sailors at the bar, their eyes looking toward you with curiosity as you made your way to a secluded corner.

You ordered a drink as you tried to blend in, waiting for the right moment. You needed to be careful about who you approached—trust was a rare occurrence in a place like this.

As the minutes ticked by, you watched the patrons of the tavern by studying their movements and listening to parts of their conversations. You were looking for someone who seemed knowledgeable, someone who might have heard of the map or the treasure it led to.

Finally, your patience was rewarded. An old sailor whose face had been weathered by years at sea, sat down at the table next to yours. He wore a tattered grey coat and a wide-brimmed hat. He seemed like the kind of man who had seen his fair share of the world, the kind of man who might know more than he let on.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage, and leaned toward him. "Excuse me," you said quietly, your voice steady. "I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something."

The sailor turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. "Depends on what you’re asking.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal to the man before you. But you had to take a chance. "I’m looking for information about a map," choosing your words with care. "A map that leads to a treasure. But I don’t know where to start."

The sailor’s eyes flickered with a hint of interest, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "A treasure map, you say?" he repeated, leaning back in his chair. "Well, now, that’s a dangerous thing to be looking for, especially in a place like this."

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "I know it’s risky," you admitted. "But I need to find out what this map leads to. And I was hoping you might know something about it."

The sailor stroked his chin thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving yours. "There’s a lot of talk about treasures and maps in these parts," he said slowly. "Most of it’s just nonsense, stories made up to entertain drunk sailors. But every now and then, you hear about something real—something worth risking your life for."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If you’ve got a map, and it’s real, you’d better be careful who you share it with. There are people out there who would do anything to get their hands on a treasure like that."

You swallowed hard with the weight of his words sinking in. "I understand," you said quietly. "That’s why I’m being careful. But I need to know more about what I’m dealing with."

The sailor nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. "Alright," he said finally. "I’ll tell you what I know. But it won’t come cheap."

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small pouch of coins. It wasn’t much, but it was all you had. "Will this be enough?" you asked, hoping it would suffice.

The sailor took the pouch, weighing it in his hand before nodding in approval. "It’ll do," he said, tucking the pouch into his coat. "Now, let me see that map of yours."

You hesitated for a moment before reaching into your bag and pulling out the map. You unfolded it carefully, laying it out on the table between you. The sailor leaned over, his eyes scanning the markings and symbols.

After a few moments, he let out a low whistle. "Well, I’ll be damned," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "This is the real deal."

You leaned forward eagerly, your heart racing. "What does it say?"

The sailor glanced up at you, his expression serious. "This map," he said slowly, "leads to a place that’s been whispered about for generations. A place where a great pirate captain supposedly buried his most valuable treasures. But it’s not just gold and jewels we’re talking about. There are stories of powerful artifacts."

"But it’s not going to be easy," the sailor continued. "The path to that treasure is full of danger. There are traps, curses, and worse things that guard it. And if you’re not careful, you’ll end up just like the others who’ve tried and failed to find it."

You felt a chill run down your spine at his words. "What do you mean, 'the others'?" your voice barely above a whisper.

The sailor’s expression darkened. "There have been others before you," he said quietly. "People who thought they could outsmart the dangers and claim the treasure for themselves. But none of them ever made it back. Their ships were found wrecked, their crews dead or missing. And those who survived were driven mad by what they found."

You swallowed hard, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "So, what do I do?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

The sailor looked at you for a long moment before speaking. "If you’re serious about this, you’ll need to prepare yourself," he said. "Find a crew you can trust, people who know how to handle themselves in a fight. And most importantly, keep that map close. There are others who would kill to get their hands on it."

You nodded, "I’ll do whatever it takes."

The sailor nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that," he said. "Just be careful. This world is full of dangers, and not all of them are as obvious as a pirate’s blade."

With that, he stood up, tipping his hat to you before turning to leave. "Good luck, lass," he said over his shoulder. "You’re going to need it."

You watched him go, your mind racing with everything he had told you. The treasure was real, and it was more dangerous than you could have ever imagined. But you were determined to find it, no matter what it took.

You took the map and carefully folded it and tucked it back into your bag. With a deep breath, you stood up and left the tavern, your heart pounding in your chest. You had a lot of work to do, and there was no time to waste.

As you walked back through the city streets, the weight of the map seemed heavier than ever. You knew you were about to embark on a journey that would change your life forever, one that would test your courage, your resolve, and your very soul.

But despite the fear that lingered in the back of your mind, there was also a sense of excitement—a thrill at the thought of uncovering something that had been hidden away for centuries that not even the best pirates could find.

You had the map and you had the determination, now all you needed was the right people. And once you had that, there would be nothing stopping you from finding the treasure and claiming it for yourself.

The night was still young as you made your way back to your small home. You were ready to face whatever challenges came your way, to risk everything for the chance to uncover the secrets of the map.

And as you reached your door, the words of the mysterious man from the ball echoed in your mind: "I’ll find you, no matter where you go."

You knew he was out there, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. But you weren’t afraid. You were ready for whatever came next.

series masterlist -> chapter 2

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Meaningful Highlights from Kakashi Retsuden:

Minato catching Kakashi before he falls, the same way Kakashi always does for his students. And Kakashi, even at eight or nine years old, straight out of his father's funeral and before being his student, immediately relaxing when he runs into Minato: His feet tangled beneath him and he pitched forward. Into someone’s back. “You were really strong back there,” a voice told him, and he suddenly saw bright golden hair. He felt his breathing become a little easier. The Yellow Flash of Konoha. Namikaze Minato.

Kakashi describing his current feelings about his father: Now he felt proud from the bottom of his heart to have been born the child of the White Fang of Konoha.

Kakashi wanting to help the people of Redaku in a way that they can sustain themselves, even as he actually is providing a great deal of support through the process: The people of this country had to learn how to stand up and walk under their own strength. Give a starving person bread or teach them how to grow wheat. As Hokage, Kakashi had always chosen the latter.

Kakashi reflecting on his time as Sixth Hokage he eschewed tradition to build something that developed beyond shinobi: A never-ending peace. That was what Kakashi had sought as the Sixth Hokage. An orderly society that would go on and on even when he was not the Hokage, even when the day came when the role of Hokage disappeared. To create a framework so that they would never again fall into the quagmire of war.

The way Kakashi shows that he still views all of the former students taught by him and his friends in a parental and protective way: They had long since reached adulthood, and some were now parents while others were active on the front lines as shinobi. Even so, no matter how many years passed, to Kakashi, they were his precious students and the next generation who needed to be protected. Seeing them having so much fun was enough to ease his heart.

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

HEIRESS OF FIRE AND BLOOD

Pt.1

I hope you like it

In 131 AC, a bloody war was fought between the divided Targaryen house, at the end of the war, the daughter of the previous queen Rheanyra took the throne, the girl tried to return the whole kingdom to peace and tranquility. Unfortunately, the peace that the new queen tried to establish did not last long, as the greedy eyes of a powerful man focused on this very planet. And Harkonnen always got what he wanted.

The kingdom was recovering from a bloody dragon war, and all eyes were on the new dragon queen, Learys Targaryen. The young, barely nine and ten -year-old girl has already proven herself as a strong leader of armies, but also as a protector of the innocent in the cities, which were attacked by the green armies. Although she was a beloved ruler and wanted queen, she did not smile unless she was in the presence of the rest of her family. She kept her brother and cousin close by her side, refusing to let them out of her sight. Many servants recall how the young Prince Aegon sought comfort in her arms when the night terrors seemed all too real, or when the queen was found braiding little Jeaheara's hair into an intricate hairdo which she then decorated with flowers, it was also a rare case, when even the little princess smiled. Although many advisors recommended that Jeaheara be taken away from Kingslanding, the queen retorted firmly that the house of the dragon would no longer be divided according to the past war and that she would not send a daughter to suffer for the sins of her father.,, Jeaheara is of my blood and will therefore remain by my side where she will be granted shelter and welcome.” announced the queen to settle the issue once and for all.

 The peace that the kingdom needed was disturbed by the arrival of three harkonnen warships, which like shooting stars fell to the surface of the planet, which the ruthless na-baron was tasked to conquering and adding to his uncle's empire.

"My queen," the guard rushed into the gardens and called for the queen, who was trying to convince her little listeners that she had really flown to the sun on her dragon. "What's the rush?" asked the queen with tension in her voice.,, Three harkonnen warships are approaching, lord hand wishes to discuss strategy in the throne room.",,Take the children to one of their rooms and keep them inside." she ordered in a commanding tone as she made her way to the throne room with her guards.

 Once seated on her throne, the Queen was presented with information that Harkonnens are about to land near Storms End, and that from the equipment they were carrying, it looked like they were ready for war.,, When will they land Grandsire” she asked her grandfather and the lord hand, Corlys Velaryon.,, Over the next three hours." the girl just nodded and then shouted at the guard.,, "Prepare my dragon." The guard just bowed down and rushed to fulfill his order.,, Your Grace you can't be serious, you can't..” began one of the lords but was immediately silenced.,,I am the queen, and as queen I will protect this kingdom with my life. My dragon is the fastest and strongest in the kingdom. We will end it with the Harkonnen as quickly as possible so that they do the least amount of damage and there is no one to change that because if they try to take this planet they will meet nothing but fire and blood.” the queen finished her battle speech.,, Now if excuse me my lords, I must go prepare for battle.” All the men in unison bowed to the departing woman and lowered their eyes to the floor in respect to her.

Learysa was fitting the last piece of her war riding armor when there was a knock on her chamber door. Thinking that it is her servant, the queen gives permission to come inside. What she didn't expect, however, was her brother with tears in his eyes. "What happened my sweet boy?" his sister asked him. Instead of words the young prince ran into her arms where he nestled like a little bird. "I don't want you to go, I don't want to lose you like the rest of our family ." Aegon cried. Learysa gently stroked his hair and whispered to him,, You will never lose me my little dragon, I will always come back to you, but right now I really need you to stay with Jeaheara and take care of her, would, you do this for me my brave knight.” The prince just snorts and nods. The siblings share a last moment before a servant comes in to say the dragon is ready.

 Feyd-rautha had just been informed that contact would be made with the planet's surface in ten minutes. He couldn't wait for his new blade to taste new blood. He looked forward to the conquest, war and bloodshed as he planned. There was no way the little princess who called herself queen would manage to get an army together. This planet was theirs. Just as his planning was peaking the ship landed and the na-baron rushed forward to start the whole thing. However, he did not expect that when the door of the ship opened, that the only one figure would be waiting for him. He didn't even count on the fact that he wouldn't be fighting against a princess or a queen, but against a fucking dragon.

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

Do you think that book!Alicent was a one dimensional evil stepmother and the show has fixed her by making her a sad victim of the men around her? I don't agree with this take but i see so many people argue in favour of stripping her of her agency in the show in that book!Alicent was nothing but a misogynistic caricature made by the sexist maesters.

Thanks for this question anon! I had actually been meaning to write something about the "evil stepmother" accusations that get thrown at book!Alicent because having recently re-read F&B, I just don't see it.

First of all, and I think most notably, Alicent's relationship with Rhaenyra doesn't really deteriorate completely until Daemon returns to court. Before that, we don't really have much information about the first few years of Viserys' marriage. The fandom likes to claim that Alicent was beefing with a 9 year old but that isn't really backed up with much evidence. After the account that nine year old Rhaenyra poured for her new stepmother at Alicent and Viserys' wedding (and on a seriously wtf note, helped undress her father for the bedding, but that's another topic), the next words we have about Alicent and Rhaenyra are when Alicent quips, about Rhaenyra's relationship with Criston Cole, "Ser Criston protects the princess from her enemies, but who protects the princess from Ser Criston?" And y'all? This is not beefing or bullying. Alicent is pointing out that Rhaenyra, now about 13-ish, is in a vulnerable position as an unmarried young woman. Is she also possibly picking up on some weird predatory vibes with Criston? Perhaps (which is also also interesting, considering Criston later defects to Alicent's camp)! Remember, book!Criston is only a year younger than Daemon, so anything between them would not only be completely off limits because Criston is a kingsguard, but also extremely inappropriate just based on their ages alone. Regardless, Rhaenyra is at this point surrounded by a lot of men ("many lords and knights sought her favor") and Alicent alone seems cognizant of the danger this poses.

After this, the relationship between Alicent and Rhaenyra evidently deteriorates, but we're not told precisely how, only that the "amity between Her Grace and her stepdaughter had proved short lived, for both Rhaenyra and Alicent aspired to be the first lady of the realm..." Keep in mind, this is Gyldayn editorializing without a source, and as for being "first lady of the realm," it's just as likely that Rhaenyra was jealous of her stepmother's position as queen as it was that Alicent had any particular animosity towards Rhaenyra. In any case, the book does not suggest that either of them are at fault for the breakdown.

This is also around the time that Otto gets sent home for bugging Viserys about the succession, so that probably had something to do with it, although this still does not amount to Alicent beefing with a child, as it's doubtful she brought up the situation to Rhaenyra herself, but rather she and Otto brought the issue to Viserys. And although I don't really want to get into the succession weeds here, I do want to make it clear that the expectation that Viserys would make his firstborn son his heir was an entirely reasonable one. Everywhere except for Dorne, sons inherit before daughters, and if Viserys had made it clear before he married Alicent that he had no intention of replacing Rhaenyra as heir, Otto might not have married Alicent to Viserys in the first place. There are multiple examples of men with daughters but no sons remarrying in order to get a male heir. It's the only reason Corlys offered Laena as a bride to Viserys (and, arguably, Corlys would have had the leverage to force the issue, which is perhaps one reason why he did not choose Laena). And it wasn't just Otto and Alicent-- people asked "what of the ruling of the Great Council in 101?" But Viserys basically told naysayers to shut up and stop asking. Okay.

Then we have the dress incident, and at this point Rhaenyra is 14, Daemon is back in town, and there's a tourney on. Alicent wears a green dress, Rhaenyra wears a black and red one. It's interesting that in this chapter, no additional context is given to this event. Much earlier in F&B, we do learn that the High Tower is lit green to call its banners against Maegor the Cruel. The show makes this association clear, but Gyldayn does not say that Alicent did this as a declaration of war on Rhaenyra, only that "the queen wore a green gown, whilst the princess dressed dramatically in Targaryen red and black." If you've read F&B, you know that Gyldayn loves editorializing, so the fact that the association made by the show is completely omitted here suggest that Gyldayn lacked this context, or people at the time of the event simply thought it was a green dress with no additional meaning, or perhaps he expected in-world readers to draw their own conclusions (although it's kind of unlike Gyldayn to resist showing off his knowledge when he can). Regardless, after that, the people gave them the nickname the blacks and the greens, and it stuck.

Anyway, it's clear Alicent and Rhaenyra aren't getting along at this point, and they probably resent each other, but there is no mention of Alicent actually doing anything whatsoever to harm Rhaenyra, much less "bullying a child who has just lost her mother" or "beefing with a nine year old." This seems to be a complete invention. Given that book!Rhaenyra is a spoiled only child, by this point a teenager, accustomed to having her father's undivided attention, and now he has a new wife and at this point three new children in his life, it's equally likely that Rhaenyra was feeling displaced and acting out. However, instead of giving her any helpful guidance or correcting her, the trusted adults in her life reinforce her negative feelings, and as we'll see, even use those insecurities to manipulate her. As for Alicent "poisoning her children against Rhaenyra," there's simply zero evidence to back this up. In fact, what eventually happens would seem to suggest that Alicent was at least somewhat concerned about the hostility between her children and Rhaenyra. And here is when things really break down, because this is where Daemon really starts to stir the pot.

Before the tourney, Daemon had been fighting in the stepstones. He returns to King's Landing a hero, and immediately latches onto Rhaenyra. As for Alicent, "although he treated her with all the courtesy due her station, there was no warmth between them, and men said that the prince was notably cool towards her children, especially his nephews, Aegon and Aemond, whose birth had pushed him still lower in the order of succession." So who is, in fact beefing with children? Daemon Targaryen. At the same time, Daemon starts cozying up to Rhaenyra, giving her extravagant gifts, telling her stories, and doing the one thing that is absolutely sure to win over a teenager, being a hater. Daemon hones in on Rhaenyra's issues with Alicent and together they have a great deal of fun openly mocking Alicent and her children, and what Daemon called the "lickspittles" who were in Alicent's camp. This works very well on Rhaenyra because of course it does! Daemon is the cool dragonriding uncle, the handsome Rogue Prince, and Rhaenyra is eating up the attention. She and Daemon have dragonraces and he tells her she's much prettier than Alicent and strokes that teenage ego. It's also at this point that the rumors about Daemon and Rhaenyra having a sexual relationship begin, and Daemon supposedly asks for Rhaenyra's hand in marriage because "who else would take her now?" Keep in mind, she's fourteen. And whether it's true or not, Viserys exiles Daemon again. He goes back to the Stepstones, and things settle down in King's Landing.

Of course the relationship between between Rhaenyra and her stepmother is bad by this point. Her and Daemon have just spent six months mocking her and her children and their supporters. Aegon is only about four or five years old, so the beef has got to be pretty one sided, although even little kids can tell when they're being given the cold shoulder or laughed at. Rhaenyra even makes a point of always referring to them as her half-brothers, rather than simply as her brothers. Still, a few years pass, Rhaenyra is now sixteen, and it's time for her to get married. Alicent proposes she marry Aegon, and one of the reasons she gives is that they don't get along well. "All the more reason to bind them together in marriage," Alicent says, acknowledging that Rhaenyra hating her now six year old younger brother is in fact a big fucking problem. If Alicent hoped for Rhaenyra and Aegon to marry, why on earth would she poison her children against Rhaenyra? But Viserys shoots this idea down, saying "the boy is Alicent's own blood. She wants him on the throne." And yes, of course she does, but she probably also wants him to stay alive.

So, Rhaenyra marries Laenor, and after that there's really no point in trying to maintain any sort of stepmother relationship, is there? Rhaenyra is now an adult, she's married, and she's made her feelings about Alicent and her siblings very clear. At this point, Alicent has to look out for the safety of her children, who are going to be Rhaenyra's biggest rivals. And if they dislike their older half-sister, who can blame them? Again, this is a girl who spent the better half of six months laughing at them. Rhaenyra did nothing but sabotage that relationship. And if Alicent decides she's going to fight for Aegon's inheritance, she's only doing what any mother in her position would do. There's no evidence she does it for power or greed, she simply does it because she doesn't owe Rhaenyra anything and letting someone who is actively hostile to her children take the throne unchallenged, especially when that person's claim is untraditional to say the least, and seen by many as being weaker than that of her sons, would be taking a huge risk with their lives. There's nothing "evil" in Alicent's actions. Book!Alicent did not bully Rhaenyra, did not "beef with a nine year old," or "poison her children against Rhaenyra," in fact, she did what she could to bind them together, but Rhaenyra, (at least in part taking her cues from Viserys and Daemon), was simply not interested. And you know, that's fine too, Rhaenyra doesn't have to love her stepmother or care about her half-brothers. They're much younger and it's natural that she wouldn't be much interested in them. But as heir to the throne? It sure would have been a much smarter idea to cultivate those relationships.

Book!Alicent isn't an "evil stepmother" though either, after a certain point she she simply prioritizes her own children over someone who has made it abundantly clear she has no use for any of them.

[sailor-aviator]

Fool's Fare: Chapter Nine

Fool's Fare: Chapter Nine

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Content Warning: Cursing, Sirens, Supernatural elements, Swords, Death, Guilt, Grief, Mentions of suicide, Broken hearts, Misplaced anger, Angst galore. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed somethign!

Word Count: 4.4k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes locking on to Jake’s hunched over form across the room. He took several steadying breaths before opening his eyes to glare at the woman, straightening up as he did so.

“That wasn’t my fault,” he murmured, swallowing thickly as he watched her. The woman chuckled, lips pulled back in that unnatural looking smile as she offered the captain a sympathetic look.

“Of course it wasn’t, dear,” she hummed, looking out the window, “love makes people do unspeakable things. My own son forfeited his life to avenge the one he loved, you know. Sought vengeance despite my warning him not to.”

“No, I don’t know,” Jake snapped, fingers curling into fists, “and I don’t care to know.”

“I begged him not to go,” she sighed, sadness clouding her eyes, and an uneasy feeling began to overwhelm you. “I begged him to wait until I returned with armor forged by the gods themselves, but he would not listen to me, his grief became too much. Struck by an arrow in the one place where he could be hurt.”

“Jake.”

All eyes of the crew flickered towards Javy, the quarter master having silently crept his way up to stand next to the captain. The blond in question arched a brow at him, bidding him to continue.

“The sun is setting,” Javy whispered, eyes watching the old woman suspisciouly as she continued on with her story. Your eyes darted towards the window, noticing for the first time how the surrounding mist seemed darker than earlier.

“We should go while there’s still some light,” he continued, head gesturing towards the door. The woman let out a hiss, whirling around to slam her hands down on the old table as she glared at the two men.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” she screeched, lips curled back into a viscious snarl. You gripped onto Bradley’s hand with both of yours, feeling your heart lurch in your chest as you watched her. A strange energy filled the room, something unlike anything you had ever experienced before, even in the clearing earlier that day.

“You have something that belongs to me,” she purred, her anger dissolving into an unsettling smile as she leaned forward on the table, long, dark hair falling over her shoulder. Fingers twitched on the wooden surface as her dress fell enough to expose her cleavage, a sultry smile overtaking her features as she looked up at the captain in front of her.

“I’ve taken nothing from you,” Jake answered evenly, eyes hard set as he watched her. She giggled, batting her lashes at him as she slowly stood up straight to round the table.

“Not you, no,” she agreed, each step slow and deliberate. “Did you know that Davy Jones was a man once?”

“What?” Jake asked, brow furrowing in confusion as he took a hesitant step back. The woman nodded enthusiastically, taking another slow step.

“He was such a handsome man,” she sighed wistfully, “nothing like the monster he’s become. Although, I suppose deep down he was always that way. His face matches his insides now, don’t you agree?”

Not a word was spoken by those in the room, and the woman chuckled.

“I was so desperate for love back then,” she continued, taking another step. “I wanted to fall into a man’s embrace, and Davy was more than happy to provide that for me, of course. I loved him so very much, I thought my heart might burst right out of my chest.”

She pressed her chest forward to mimic the action, her dress slipping further down her chest in the process, a wicked smile on her face as she dropped back down.

“Of course, I didn’t know it at the time,” she sighed, a pout on her lips as she took another step forward, “but he never loved me. He was only using me for my power. Do you know what he asked me? He asked me to pluck a star straight from the sky for him, trapping it in a tiny, little stone. I told him that I couldn’t do such a thing, that the stars were meant to stay in the sky where they belonged, but he told me, ‘Thetis, I’ll never leave you if you do this one thing for me.’”

Her eyes fell closed, wistful smile slowly morphing in to fury as she opened her eyes to glare at the captain and the quarter master.

“Of course I know now that he’s a liar,” she spat. “All men do is think of themselves, giving no regard to the ones they hurt along the way. I plucked that star out of the sky, sealing its soul within the gem, and what did he do? He left. Left without so much as a look back. He left me stranded here without a heart while he sailed off to conquer the seas.”

Another smile crept across her face as her intense, dark eyes peered up at the two men in front of her, her chest heaving with glee.

“But I had the last laugh, didn’t I?” She cackled. “I cursed him with the power he wanted, the immortality he wanted. Rule the seven seas he shall, but no glory to his name, only fear and disbelief follows him everywhere he goes. And now I’ll have what’s mine. I’ll take back the soul of Polaris, and he’ll be doomed to his wretched existence!”

She lunged for Jake, long, white fingers outstretched towards his chest where he kept the jewel hidden. He and Javy shouted as they dove out of the way, everyone scrambling to move out of the way as she crashed to the floor.

“Everyone out!” Jake shouted, shoving Javy forward as everyone sprinted for the door, Bradley practically hauling you out the door in his arms as you all stumbled down the stairs, Jake bringing up the rear.

“Get to the boats, now!” He hollered, casting a look over his shoulder. The men who stayed behind didn’t need to be told twice as they launched themselves through the trees, followed closely by the rest of your party. The foliage scratched at your hands and face, a pained hiss leaving your lips as the beach came into view. A few of the men began tossing the stones out of the boats, Bradley and Mickey already working to push them back towards the water. You stumbled as the brush behind you began to tremble and shake, Thetis slinking into view with a murderous look on her face as she watched everyone around her. The sleeves of her dress had fallen down to expose more of her chest, and you let out a gasp, your hands flying to your face at what you saw.

In the spot where her heart should be, a gaping, black hole sat instead. Her eyes landed on you, and a wicked smile pulled on her lips.

“Do you know the price one has to pay to steal a star from the sky?” She asked, voice sickly sweet as she walked closer towards you. “The price one has to pay is their own heart, and I paid it for him. I will get that gem back, and then I’ll trade it for my heart.”

The same overwhelming energy from the jungle beginning to pulsate around you. A wave of ice rushed through you, your hands clawing at your throat as you fought to gain control of your breathing. The men shouted behind you, and you were only vaguely aware of the sound of your name being called. Everything was too bright, too loud again, and your eyes darted around the beach, trying to find some way to calm the frantic beating of your heart as Thetis drew closer to where you stood. A curious expression crossed her face as she watched you, her head tilting to the side with a frown.

“What a strange little thing you are,” she muttered, eyes narrowing at you as she continued to study you. A jolt ran through you, and her eyes widened with a low hiss. “What are you?”

A hand wrapped around your bicep, pulling you backwards, and the sensations stopped as quickly as they started. You turned to see Jake hauling you towards the rowboats, still shouting orders at the men as he glanced over his shoulder at Thetis. A shudder ran through you that filled you with a sense of dread just before a keen filled the air, causing all movement to stop.

The air was so still, that for a moment you wondered if time itself had stopped. The sound of the water lapped at the shore, waves crashing against the calves of the two men who stood in the shallows, hands gripped tight onto the sides of the boats. All eyes scanned the area, but yours remained locked onto Thetis, whose eyes flashed wildly at you as her signature smile crept onto her face. Her lips were pulled so far back, you were surprised the skin didn’t rip to pieces. Her eyes flitted to the water, and it was then that you broke your trance, turning to see a monstrous fin peek out of the water behind one of the men. Another baleful keen sounded, breaking the silence, and you watched the man take a shuddering breath as his eyes landed on yours, just before he was ripped beneath the surface of the water, not a sound heard except for the rippling of displaced water where he once stood.

Your heart hammered in your chest, watching as the too still water now refused to move. The man beside the other boat stared, horrified, at where his companion once stood, his chest rising and falling more and more rapidly as panic seized him. Movement caught your eye, and you watched as the smooth surface of the water rippled leading up to the man just before he too was dragged beneath the surface. A third cry rang out, a song that caused a few of the men’s eyes to glaze over, one starting to walk towards the water in a trance-like state.

“Cover your ears!” Javy shouted, tearing off some of his shirt to quickly plug his ears before sprinting towards the water to try and grab the two row boats that were now slowly drifting away. You watched as the man waded into the water, a dreamy look on his face before he disappeared beneath the surface with a short cry. Several different songs filled the air now, all beautiful and tempting in their ways. Your eyes scanned the small beach, stopping as they rested on the forms of the different women.

They were all beautiful, eyes calculating as they took in the small party around them, their tails floating and swinging in the water as they lay on the rocks. A redhead with upturned, emerald eyes locked sight on Mickey, a sinister smile inching onto her lips as she cooed at him. Her song filled the air, and the curly haired sailor stopped his movements, the same hazy look on his face as the others as he turned to look at her. She smiled at him, reaching her arms out as if to embrace him, and a small smile inched its way onto his lips as he took a small step towards her.

“No!” You shouted, pulling out of Jake’s hold and launching yourself across the sand. Mickey took another step just as you reached him, colliding with him hard enough to almost knock him off his feet. You steadied him as he blinked down at you, confusion warping his features. The siren hissed, her tail splashing the water in anger as she fixed her glare on you.

“What…” He mumbled, brows furrowing down at you. You ripped two pieces off his shirt, shoving them into his ear canals as he balked.

“Don’t take those out!” You shouted at him, eyeing the siren warily. “We need to get everyone out of here. Go!”

Mickey glanced at the siren before looking back at you with a determined nod, turning on his heels to go and help Javy with the boats. You looked around, watching as several of the men slashed their swords through the water, trying desperately to keep the creatures at bay as Javy, Mickey, and Bradley wrestled with the boats. Bradley reached his hand out to help one of the men onto the boat, the vessel rocking violently for a moment before the men managed to steady it.

Your gaze turned to look further up the shore, stopping when they landed on Jake. His back was to you, facing Thetis as she smirked at him.

“Why don’t you just give it to me?” She crooned, head tilted mockingly. “If you give it here, I’ll call them off, and then you can all be on your merry, little way.”

“Even if I believed that,” Jake scoffed, taking a step back, “I wouldn’t give it to you anyway. This treasure is mine for the taking.”

“Jake! Guppy! Let’s go!”

You and Jake both turned to see Javy watching the two of you, distress coloring his handsome features. Your heart dropped at how few of you were left, and you turned back to lock eyes with Jake.

“Let’s go,” you echoed, eyes wide and imploring. He pressed his lips together, casting one last glance at Thetis before backing away towards you. She watched him, dark eyes intense as he reached where you stood. A wave of unease crawled up your spine. There was no way she was letting you leave that easily. Your suspicion was confirmed when a cry reached your ears, a slow smirk pulling on Thetis’s lips.

You turned to see one of the sirens perched on the rocks closest to your group, her tail half submerged in the water. Dark waves of chestnut rolled down her back, matching eyes set against sharp cheekbones and full lips that turned captivated on the man stood behind you. You heard Jake’s breath hitch, and you turned to see the color drain from his face as he stared at the siren with a look of horror. Looking back, you saw her lips pull into a sultry smile, her lips opening as her hand reached out to him.

“My heart is pierced by Cupid,

I disdain all glittering gold.

There is nothing that can console me,

but my jolly sailor bold.”

Her voice sounded of smooth honey, each word dripping from her lips with a promise of satisfaction, and your eyes widened in horror as you felt Jake grow lax, a far away look in his green eyes as he watched her.

“Come all you pretty, fair maids,

whoever you may be.

Who love a jolly sailor bold

who ploughs the raging sea.”

Jake stepped past you slowly, eyes trained on the woman ahead. Her smile grew triumphant as he began to cross the distance, and you lunged after him, grabbing his hand to stop him.

“Jake, stop,” you said firmly, frowning at him. He pulled away from you, too transfixed by the woman in front of him. You followed after him as he continued his pace, the woman coaxing him forward with small cries. You tugged on his shirt, trying to stop him as the crew shouted from the boat, but nothing broke his trance.

“My heart is pierced by Cupid,

I disdain all glittering gold.

There is nothing that can console me

but my jolly sailor bold.”

You whirled forward, putting your body in between the siren and Jake, your hands pressed against his chest as you looked up at him.

“Jake, snap out of it,” you pleaded, tears stinging behind your eyes as you looked up at him. His gaze remained forward, but you saw a muscle in his jaw twitch as his brow furrowed slightly. He moved to keep walking forward, but you pressed back against him, burying your face in his chest as you cried out.

“Jake, come on!” You pleaded, fingers curling tightly into his shirt as you pressed back, stopping him from moving any further. The siren snarled behind you, letting out an impatient cry, and you pinched your eyes closed as an unexpected sob tore through you.

“Please,” you muttered, tears now streaming freely down your face. “Please stop. Stay with me.”

A gentle breeze blew past you, the only thing keeping you grounded in the waking nightmare. It cooled the tears that streamed down your face, and the sensation had you burrowing further into Jake. You inhaled, taking in the smell of the leather he wore mixed with the salt of the air that always clung to him.

“You can’t leave me,” you told him. “Please don’t leave me, Jake. I’m begging you. I need you here with me, you idiot.”

You took a steadying breath.

“I didn’t expect to care about you as much as I do, you know. Didn’t think I’d warm up to someone like you. I thought you were a scoundrel and a rake, but that’s just what you want people to think, isn’t it? Really, you’re smart, funny, and you care about the people who love you. I don’t know why you insist on acting like an asshole so often.”

You let out a light chuckle.

“Maybe it’s because you and I are a lot alike, huh? Birds of a feather or something like that. I cling to people so they never leave, and you? You push them away so they never get close enough to hurt you, but I see you, Captain Jake Seresin. I see the man that you are, and I know I’m mad at you right now, but that doesn’t mean I want you to get hurt, so snap out of it and get your pretty, dumb head out of your ass!”

A moment of silence passed before a hand came up to rest on the top of your head. You pulled back just enough to look up at where Jake smiled softly back down at you, a joyful cry falling from your lips.

“You think I’m pretty?” He teased. You rolled your eyes, a new wave of tears streaming down your face as you smiled up at him.

“I believe I said ‘pretty dumb,’” you shot back.

“This is all very touching,” Mickey hollered, and the two of you turned to look at where the others waited, “but if you two don’t mind, I’d like to get the hell out of here right about now.”

You grimaced as Jake snorted, the two of you moving to make a run for the boat. Jake paused, casting one last hesitant look back at the siren who watched him with rage brewing in her eyes. His lips pressed firmly together before he turned his back on her, eyes locking on where you stood just before him, your hand outstretched to him. He slid his hand into yours, allowing you to guide him towards the boat.

The two of you clambered in, wary of the surrounding water where several sirens still circled dangerously below, the only thing keeping them at bay being the swords drawn and ready to attack whatever may poke above the surface.

A strange feeling overcame you, a sense of warning, and you drew your sword, whirling around to point it at Thetis, whose throat now sat just at the tip of your sword, her chin turned up to avoid the blade. Her eyes danced with humor as she regarded you, your face twisted into a snarl.

“My, aren’t you just full of surprises?” She chortled. “You’ll be a fine addition to our little family one day.”

“That’s never going to happen,” you sneered, earning a chuckle.

“We’ll see about that,” she smiled, eyes flickering to look behind you. “That gem will be mine one day, you know. I’ll get it back one way or another.”

“One day, maybe,” Jake conceded from behind you, “but not today.”

Something dangerous flashed in her eyes, but Thetis took a step back away from the tip of your blade.

“We’ll be taking our leave now, if you don’t mind,” you said evenly, sword still pointed in her direction. She raised a brow at you, but dipped her head in surrender. Bradley and Mickey each used their oar to push off from the shallows, letting the boat float into open water and away from the isle, the siren songs following you all the way back to the ship.

“What happened?” Nat asked as what was left of your exploring party set foot on deck. Jake’s shoulders were slumped as the adrenaline wore off, weariness gripping him like a vice as he made his way towards the cabins with you close behind.

“Not now, Nat. Please,” he sighed. She looked like she wanted to argue, but stopped as Javy placed a gentle hand on her shoulder with a shake of his head. You placed a reassuring hand on Jake’s back as the two of you passed through the door and into the hallway, quickly making it into Jake’s quarters. You sat down on the bed, scooting back until your back hit the wall behind you. Jake collapsed beside you, and you opened your arms for him to make a home if he wanted. He gave you a grateful smile as he collapsed onto the bed, arranging himself so that his head rested on your chest, faced pressed into your neck. You wove your hands through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp as the two of you sat in silence.

“It was her, wasn’t it? The siren that sang to you?” You asked him, voice barely above a whisper. He stiffened in your hold before relaxing with a tired sigh.

“Yes,” he nodded, not pulling away from you. You nodded in understanding, feeling the exhaustion from the day start to settle in your bones. You hesitated for a moment before swallowing around the lump in your throat.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

Jake didn’t say anything for a long moment, and for a second you wondered if he had fallen asleep.

“Her name was Kate,” he murmured into your neck, so quiet that you almost didn’t hear him. “She was the daughter of a blacksmith and a housemaid in Georgia. I met her just after I was given control of the Hangman by the previous captain. I thought she was so beautiful, but I was nineteen when we met, and I wasn’t looking to settle down, especially not after having just become a captain of my own ship. I wanted to explore the world first, and I told her that from the beginning. We had our fun, and she became a dear friend to me.”

He took a shuddering breath before continuing.

“I only knew her the one year, Guppy. She was funny, smart, and kind. I counted her as one of my closest friends for what it was worth. I only saw her a handful of times in that year, but I guess something changed for her. On my last visit, she confessed that she had fallen in love with me, and wanted me to stay with her to start a life together.”

You waited with bated breath for him to continue as his hold on you tightened slightly, like you might run away.

“I told her that I didn’t love her the same way, that she was just a friend in my heart. I was twenty years old, Guppy, I didn’t know that-”

A sob wracked through him, and you felt his tears dampen the material of your shirt as his shoulders shook. You held him a little tighter, still running your fingers through his hair as he cried. Finally, he calmed enough to continue.

“I knew she was upset, and I tried to comfort her, but she told me she needed time alone, needed time to think. I thought that was the least I could do for her seeing as I had just turned down a life with her. And then two night later she-”

Silence filled the cabin, the only sound to be heard was the crashing of the waves against the ship as it rocked side to side.

“You know the rest,” he muttered. “I understand if you hate me for it, hell, I hate me for it, and that’s why I didn’t tell you in the first place. I couldn’t bear the thought of you not being able to look at me or looking at me like I’m some kind of monster. If I had just stayed with her, she’d still be alive and none of this would be happening, and-”

You pushed him back, bringing your hands down to cup his face as he looked at you with sorrowful, red-rimmed eyes. He looked like a kicked puppy, eyes glossy with unshed tears and lips pressed tight like he was barely holding himself together. Your thumb stroked his cheek as you sighed, pressing your own lips into a thin line.

“Jake,” you cooed, “that wasn’t your fault. We can’t expect people to love us in the way that we want and then get upset when they don’t. Love isn’t transactional, it’s just freely given. You can’t force yourself to feel in a way that you don’t.”

A tear ran down his cheek and you leaned forward to kiss it away, his eyes falling shut as you did so.

“Kate made her choices,” you sighed, “however misguided they were. You have to learn to forgive yourself.”

Jake opened his eyes to look at you, lips parting as if he were going to say something before closing them once more. You offered him a sympathetic smile before hugging him closer to you.

Grief and guilt often went hand in hand, dancing together in a waltz of what-ifs and I-should-haves. Both were almost always illogical in how they made one feel or what they made one do. They didn’t care about what they consumed, only concerned with taking and overwhelming.

Forgiveness was the light at the end of the tunnel that promised salvation, and by forgiving Jake, perhaps you could start to forgive yourself for the things that happened. You sighed, once again running your fingers through Jake’s hair as exhaustion pulled him into the depths of sleep. Forgiveness was almost never easy, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.

A/N: Oof! What a chapter, huh? Anyway, I'll be putting a pin in this series for a second while I work on a writing challenge, but hopefully that won't take me too long to finish, and I can start updating this again! Also, gentle reminder that I no longer do tag lists! If you would like to receive notifications on when I post, please follow my sideblog: @sailoraviator-library and turn on post notifications! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! You can also find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator. Until next time!

[thatesqcrush]

Beautiful Sinner (Priest! Barba AU), Prologue & Ch. 1

Priest! Barba x f! reader | SVU au

Rating: NSFW for language, graphic smut, basic desecration of religious upbringing.

WC: 8.6K

AN: I am so going to hell. One way ticket for lil old me.

AN2: Big thanks to @beccabarba for reviewing and being my soundboard.

Prologue:

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been, It's been too long since my last confession.”

“Go ahead,” the voice behind the screen began. “Tell me your sins.”

You shivered at the tambor of the words spoken. And you know that your sins were also their sins.

“I'm not seeking penance for what I've done, Father. I'm asking forgiveness for what I'm about to do,” you clarified. Your voice was soft.

“That’s not how this works,” the familiar voice replied. “What exactly are you going to do?”

You let out a shaky breath and heat flushed your cheeks. You began to unbutton your blouse. “I think you already know, Father.”

— Ch. 1—

*six months earlier*

It was a blistering summer day in Manhattan, the sun beating down relentlessly, casting sharp shadows on towering skyscrapers. The pavement radiated intense heat, mirages shimmering above the asphalt street. The air was thick with a suffocating blend of exhaust fumes, unpicked garbage bags and urban heat. City dwellers sought refuge in shaded pockets, and the city seemed to pulsate with the collective desire for relief from the oppressive heat.

It also happened to be your first weekend in your new home-a nine-story walk up in Hudson Heights.

You received your pink slip and had to make the hard decision to move. Your aunt was subletting her apartment while she traveled across the Borneo rainforests. Transitioning to a more modest apartment was a challenging shift. You had to adapt to a different community vibe and recalibrate your lifestyle expectations. You had introverted tendencies but you tried to remain resilient, focusing on navigating this life change as a time to reset.

You opened the window and stuck your head out. Spanish music played outside loudly and the normally traffic filled street was closed, with people milling about. It was the annual block party for the neighborhood, with vendors and entertainment alike. The food smelled wonderful and your stomach growled in response. The sound of a knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. You ducked your head, making sure to avoid giving yourself a concussion. “Coming!” You called out as your bare feet padded the floor. You knew who it was - Maria, your next door neighbor who you met on move-in day. Maria was friendly with your aunt and you knew that she had promised your aunt that she’d keep an eye on you. She was close in age to you and immediately offered you a helping hand, helping you bring up boxes. You thanked her with pizza and beer and the two of you were on your way to becoming fast friends.

When Maria had texted you earlier in the week,” ‘Block party! Want to come with?’ it was an easy yes.

You opened the door and let Maria in. “Just need shoes and my bag. Help yourself if you want anything,” you called out, heading back towards your bedroom.

You heard your fridge open, the cacophonous sounds of beverages clanking together followed by the click and hiss of a can opening. Soon enough, you were both on your way.

–

Time flew and you found yourself really enjoying yourself. Eventually Maria had to leave - she was meeting her boyfriend and his sister to head into Queens to catch the Mets game.

You were still beyond hot, the humidity was thick, almost choking you. You pulled out a claw clip from your bag and pinned your hair up. Just even having the damp strands off the nape of your neck provided some, albeit, minimal relief. In that moment, you missed your pixie cut from years prior.

The local fire department had opened the fire hydrant and there was a gaggle of kids playing in the water. You looked at the water longingly before you internally said ‘fuck it,’ and ran through the open fire hydrant. The force of the water was stronger - and colder - than you had anticipated and you let out a shriek. You ran through it once more - this time not as close to the hydrant - enjoying the water washing over your overheated skin. Sufficiently cooled off, you continued on your way through the neighborhood.

There was a generalized area with a tent set up for community outreach. Curiosity piqued, you moseyed on over. You picked up a pamphlet - St. Blaise Church. You were religious as a child, it was as how your parents raised you. As an adult, you found yourself straying away, not agreeing with the church’s ideals which contradicted your more liberal beliefs. Sometimes, though, you found yourself missing it - especially during Christmas and Easter, when the congregation would meet up together in mass throngs. There was something about community that made you wistful.

“Interested in the Church?” a voice questioned. You looked up and you locked eyes with a handsome man. That was an understatement. He was obscenely good looking. Almost as if it hurt to look at him straight on. You felt a jolt straight to your core. No one should look as good as he did.

He took your breath away with his green eyes and thick, fitted build. His hair was dark with flecks of gray at the temples. His salt and pepper beard neatly framed his jawline. The man gave you a smile, his eyes crinkling. Crow's feet gracefully fanned out from the corners of his eyes, evidence of a life rich in laughter and stories. Dressed in comfortable yet stylish summer attire, he exuded a casual sophistication. He wore a fitted polo with fitted shorts that were borderline criminal. The polo was slightly unbuttoned, which allowed for a hint of chest hair along sun-kissed skin to peek through. Immediately your brain went to the gutter.

“Miss?”

You blinked. It was as if your brain broke and you had no idea as to how to respond. He raised a brow and inwardly you melted, feeling warmth bloom through you.

“Uh, sorry. The heat is just getting to me,” Nervous laughter accompanied your lame excuse.

“No worries, it happens to the best of us. I’m Rafael Barba.” He offered his hand and you took it. As you shook his hand, warmth bloomed through you.

He offered you a beer from a cooler and you happily accepted. And over beer, you find yourself enamored with every word from his lips. You suspected Rafael was involved with the church with how passionately he spoke about it. And when he invited you to attend the Adult Fellowship group after Sunday’s mass, you found yourself agreeing.

“...the fellowship hour following the Liturgy provides opportunities to develop friendships, meet parishioners or simply exchange information of mutual interest. There are monthly birthday celebrations and seasonal events, such as Christmas and Easter parties, as well as a spring picnic. We are always looking for more—”

Rafael’s cell rang and he apologized before excusing himself. You nodded and rocked on your heels, once again taking in the scene before you as you finished your beer.

This new neighborhood was already looking up.

—

As Rafael took the call, he couldn’t help but turn around to look at you once more. His eyes raked over your form, fully drinking you in. He swallowed hard, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He could feel a slight stirring in his pants, and furiously shook his head.

‘No,’ his brain argued. ‘No.’

He was not being turned on right now. Rafael tried to push the thought away and turned his attention back to the phone.

After the Householder case and resigning from the D.A.’s office, Rafael decided he needed to get away from it all. He spent the next three months holed up in his apartment, avoiding anyone and everyone.

Even if he didn’t want to - there was no one who would understand what he did. His mother was horrified and stopped talking to him. He received more than one gloating, sneering call from the recidivist he should have blocked — Alex Muños. Even Yelina spurned him.

He was truly alone.

So what was an acquitted, former ADA to do?

He prayed.

He had lapsed from religion. After working in the DA’s office and seeing all the especially heinous, depraved, evil out there - he was convinced there was no God.

He couldn’t explain why he did what he did - he did what he had to. Something called him to do it.

Was it God? Was it the Devil?

He wasn’t sure. So he prayed some more.

And then one night it came to him. The calling from God.

After a lengthy period of hemming and hawing, weighing the pros and cons, he contacted the local diocesan vocational director and began the requisite training. That training looked like pre-theology for 2 years followed by a tenure at a major seminary where he studied languages—some of which he already knew -Latin, Spanish, Greek. He also took graduate level studies in theology, including Doctrine, Canon Law, Church History, Scripture, and Liturgy.

He called St. Blaise’s home for three years. He found joy in community and spreading the Gospel. He gave to the community as much as he could possibly give. He thought it would be weird - that people would recognize him and call him a baby killer. And if they did - they never did it to his face. Rather, the community embraced him.

He was still busy as ever - mass was everyday, there were funerals, baptisms and weddings. He did outreach with the youth and began a fellowship for parishioners who were in a similar age cohort. Having saved quite a penny as an ADA, he lived off his savings. A priest’s salary was meager and he still had to pay taxes. So his salary sat in another account which went towards that.

The summer block party was an annual event, but very nubile - only in its third year. It’s where he felt he could give most back and the community could truly come together.

He hadn’t felt an attraction to any form of secular life in ages.

Until you just now.

He could use the excuse that he was a man after all. A man who used to be sexually active with both men and women alike. But before you, he was able to steer his thoughts away and put that energy into something else for the betterment of the church and community.

And then you came along, soaking yourself as you sprinted through a pump before going back for more.

His eyes traveled over you again. You were soaked, the material of your clothing sticking to you. Your tank top - now sheer - showing off your nipples which were diamond hard due to the combination of the cold water and air.

‘Fucking hell, get a grip.’

But he turned around to get yet another look, while yes’ing the person on the phone. His eyes trailed over the shorts you wore, perfectly molded to your ass and thighs. The rest of your legs were equally toned and for a split second, he could imagine them wrapped around his hips.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’

He wanted to talk to you more but this phone call ate up his time. Finally after what seemed like forever, he was free again. He decided at that moment, he needed to clear his head, so he sat back down and willed his cock to deflate. He closed his eyes and was about to cover his face with a hat when you interrupted him again.

“So what’s a lapsed Catholic to do if she wants to rejoin the church?”

Rafael lifted the hat off his face and sat fully. He cocked a brow. “Well, you can start by coming to mass tomorrow.”

“I suppose,” you sighed. “It’s been awhile.”

“How long is a while?” Rafael inquired gently. He gave you a kind smile. You looked away, embarrassed. Heat flooded your cheeks.

“Years,” you supplied.

Rafael nodded and then cocked his head. “Are you familiar with the parable about Jesus and the lost sheep?”

You nodded. “I’m the one that Jesus is looking for?”

Rafael nodded. “Maybe. But what about coming to mass first and checking it out before making any commitments?”

You nodded again. “I’ll think about it.”

“Hey stranger! Long time no see!” a familiar voice called out, interrupting the conversation.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to see Maria, now accompanied by her boyfriend.

“I thought you were going to the city,” you asked, chucking your beer in the garbage can next to you.

“Changed our minds. Plus Robbie’s sister is being a little bitch.”

That earned a ‘hey!’ from Robbie before he acquiesced. “Yeah, she is being a little bitch.”

You turned back around but Rafael was nowhere to be seen. You looked at the pamphlet once more before folding it and tucking it away for later.

“I cannot believe you spoke to Fr. Barba like that,” Maria continued.

“Wait - what? He’s a priest?”

Maria nodded. She then pointed to your still soaked appearance. “You can see your tits through your tanktop. Wrong day to not wear a bra. You look like you could win a wet-tshirt contest.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment as you looked down and realized Maria was in fact correct.

“Probably thanked God - that celibate life must be rough,” Robbie laughed. “He’s been a priest for how long? I can’t imagine not having sex.”

You weren’t listening though, too consumed in your embarrassment and attraction. Of course the hottest man on the planet is a fucking priest. ‘And of course I would basically flash him.’

Later that evening at home, you poured some kibble in a bowl for your cat and heated up a quick meal. As you waited for your food to finish, you rifled through your closet for something to wear to church. Your eyes landed on a sundress that you knew was probably much too short for church. You frowned and kept looking until you found the perfect outfit.

You told Maria that you were going to attend mass. You had already promised the hot priest you’d come to the fellowship group. If you didn’t show, then you would be a liar, and you couldn’t lie to a priest - right?

—

The following morning you found yourself at church with Maria.

“I want to sit up in the front,” you whined as the both of you shuffled into the pew.

“I’m too hungover to sit in the front,” Maria grumbled. “You think I can get away with leaving my sunglasses on?”

You rolled your eyes. “This is probably the one mass you can get away with that shit,” you replied before slapping your mouth with your palm. “I didn’t mean to curse, shit, oh no, God damnit!”

Maria laughed at your foul mouthed word salad. “You can confess to Fr. Barba after.”

The organ began to play and you stood. You motioned to Maria to stand and she ignored you, instead choosing to rest her head on the back of the bench of the pew in front of her. You watched as the altar servers carried in the items needed for mass - Cross, the processional candles, incense and Bible. Your eyes followed as Fr. Barba walked behind. He wore green vestments and you vaguely recalled that the color of the robes indicated where you were along in the church calendar.

Mass went as typically as you remembered. You sang from the hymnal, prayed along the congregation, and actually listened to the homily instead of daydreaming about being anywhere else. Fr. Barba was straightforward, discussing Jesus’ anger.

“Paul commands us in Ephesians 4:26, be angry and do not sin; don’t let the sun set on your anger. I’ve heard a lot of sermons on the “but do not sin” part: anger can give opportunity to the devil and birth all manner of hell in relationships. I’ve also heard a lot of sermons on the “do not let the sun go down on your anger.” But I haven’t heard any sermons on these two words: be angry.”

Fr. Barba paused before continuing. “Be angry. As we look upon a world of injustice and abuse, even in the church, we can learn how to be angry in love together. And we learn this the way Paul did: from Jesus. Jesus got angry. Regularly. And we see a pattern in his anger: whenever someone vulnerable or powerless suffered injustice at the hands of the strong and powerful, Jesus opposed this injustice with loving anger.”

The Liturgy of Word concluded and then transitioned into the Liturgy of the Eucharist. You watched intently as he performed prayers and rites in Latin that had existed for thousands of years.

It was time for Communion but you didn’t feel up to receiving. So instead, you just watched. As you scanned the church, your eyes locked with Rafael’s. He was watching you, a frown on his face. You felt your cheeks grow hot once more and you turned away out of embarrassment.

Mass concluded shortly after. The fellowship hour was immediately afterwards, held in the basement of the church. Maria had zero interest in attending so you parted ways before heading down. The smell of incense and something very “churchly” permeated in the air as you walked down the dimly lit stairs.

The basement was as expected, acoustic tile ceiling, fluorescent lights, that unique slight churchy smell, boxes of various items, beige metal folding chairs, long tables, pillars in the middle of the room holding up the sanctuary one floor up. There was a life-size nativity in the back, with a Joseph whose hand was broken and an unfortunate beheaded sheep statue. Someone was setting up a coffee maker and someone else was plating store-bought cupcakes.

You chit-chatted with some congregants, majority of whom you met at the block party.

As you made a cup of coffee, you were unaware of Fr. Barba entering the room. It was only when you heard his voice and the sound of people shuffling to sit. You turned, sipping your coffee as you did so. No, Fr. Barba was no longer in those ceremonial robes that hid away everything. Instead, he wore fitted dark denim with a black shirt and his collar.

Your eyes tracked him as you continued to speak with others. You made sure to glance back to the folks you were speaking with - implying you were listening when you really weren’t. You watched as he moved easily through the room, greeting people, making jokes. What a waste of good looks.

People began to slowly sit, the chatting quietly winding down. Eventually, you took a seat. Everyone sat in a circle and you felt as if you were in an AA meeting.

“Welcome,” Fr. Barba began. “Thank you all for taking the time to come today.” He turned his gaze to you and stretched his arm in your direction. “We have a newcomer.” He gave you a small smile, his eyes crinkling in the corner.

You gave a small smile and waved, before introducing yourself.

There was a more in depth discussion of the readings from the mass. You hung onto every word Rafael said. Fr. Barba, Fr. Barba, Fr. Barba you chanted in your mind as if you were trying to ensure that stayed in your mind.

He’s a priest you told yourself. He’s Father - not Daddy.

—

You became a regular at church and also at the afternoon fellowship. You were usually quiet, opting to listen more so than anything. Today was different.

Fr. Barba asked the group to share their most favorite parts of scripture; he had anticipated the majority of responses - Genesis, one of the Gospels, Proverbs. Your comment made his stomach flip.

“I personally enjoy Song of Songs,” you offered. “It celebrates sexual love.”

“Jewish tradition reads it as an allegory of the relationship between God and Israel,” Fr. Barba offered.

“In Christianity, it is read as an allegory of Christand his bride, the Church,” you countered.

“I am my beloved’s, and his desire is for me,” Fr. Barba responded.

You flushed. “His mouth is sweetness itself; he is altogether lovely. It is an unabashedly sensuous, even at times quite erotic, paean to love,” you continued as you leafed through the Bible you held.

“No matter what interpretation you choose to believe, the book is a powerful and profound reminder of the beauty and depth of God’s love for us. It is a beautiful book that has been celebrated for centuries and one that can still bring joy and comfort to believers today.”

There was a pause and then Rafael clapped his hands. “I think that’s enough to stop for now. Thank you all for coming. I’ll see you all next week.”

You hung back, helping to clean up. Slowly the group dissipated, leaving you and Fr. Barba alone.

“You’re still here.” Fr. Barba’s voice was thick and dark. You shivered in response.

“I really enjoyed myself today,” you replied softly as you approached him. You closed the gap between you and him. You could press your hands to his chest if you wanted to.

Oh how you wanted to.

Your nipples strained against the confines of your top. You wanted to drop to your knees and show your worth - take another type of communion.

‘Behave,’ you told yourself.

“Did you now?”

His expressive, bright green eyes are now dark and stormy. His jaw is tight. You swallow hard.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I won’t have it,” he continues. His voice is clipped and you shivered in response.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not playing at anything Father. I’ll see you next week.”

Rafael didn’t reply. He watched as you turned about and walked away with a deliberate sway of your hips. His eyes were focused on your ass. All he wanted to do in that moment was to haul you over a pew and spank your ass for your insolence. His cock ached and twitched in his pants.

You turned back towards him, a full smile gracing your face. “I’m really looking forward to being a member of this congregation.”

Once you were gone, Rafael sat down on a folded chair dismayed.

He was so screwed.

God almighty help him.

—

It was a delicate dance. There was a part of you that enjoyed toeing the line with Fr. Barba. And part of you felt a smidge guilty. But fuck, he was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him.

As Fr. Barba. Well, you weren’t alone in the desperate want and lust you were feeling.

He played with you in his fantasies. He knew what he was getting into when he became a priest. He swore to God to not know another’s body. It was the least he could do considering he killed baby Drew.

He wasn’t supposed to have these kind of thoughts.

It had been so long and he was under your spell.

After the group meeting, he had to hustle back to his home - a small home attached to the rectory. He made quick work of removing his clothes. He hissed as grasped his aching cock. Stroke, stroke, stroke.

Self pleasure was also a no-no.

Masturbation involved lust. It’s to use another person for your own selfish pleasure. The person becomes an object and it denigrates their dignity as a human being.

When he was around you, he wanted to throw everything into the wind. The image of your soaked tits haunted him. He threw his head back as he continued to jerk himself. Desire. You made him fucking feral.

He imagined kissing you after the meeting the second you and him were alone.

His lips crushed against yours. He pressed your back against the wall, his knee parting your legs.

One hand tangled in your hair, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot of your skin.

It was as if you released a part of him that he had kept tucked away for so long.

He stripped away your top, before mouthing your tits before dropping to his knees. Your hand moved through his hair.

“Taste me,” you’d beg. You’d beg so nicely and who was he to deny his lamb?

He imagined grabbing your ass, pulling your dripping pussy to his mouth. You would drape a leg over his shoulder, grounding yourself hard against his mouth.

“Fuck, right there. Just like that.”

He would put his thumb on your clit, rubbing circles as he pushed his tongue inside, tasting, licking, and sucking.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” you’d moan. “Don’t stop. Oh God, I am going to come. Please, fuck me.”

He would undo his belt and drop his pants, grasping his cock in his hand. He’d rub the head of his cock along your folds, teasing you until neither one of you could stand it before burying himself deep inside of you.

“I want everything you’ve got. I want to feel it all.”

“Is that what my little lamb wants? To be fucked hard like a whore?”

“Yes,” you’d beg. “Please.”

“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“Come for me little lamb,” he’d encourage. You’d fall apart at his words. He could imagine how your wet, soft, pussy would suck his cock in, deeper and deeper. He would imagine thrusting deep and hard, his cock dragging against your sweet spot. He’d come hard, deep inside of you, his come painting your walls.

In reality he grunted and groaned as his cock kicked. He came all over his hand and belly. He panted, waiting for his breath to even out.

‘Shit.’

—

It was a gloomy Tuesday morning as Rafael worked in his office. Homilies were a lot like closing arguments. Instead of trying to sway the jury, he had to connect with his congregants. Instead of evidence, it was the gospel.

He was distracted. His mind kept wandering to you. Were you some kind of a test for him?

You were under his skin. An itch that couldn’t be scratched. Or stroked. You had consumed his thoughts.

He tore the yellow sheet off the pad before crumpling it.

Rafael tried very hard to live a holy life, especially as he had known what life was like, could be like, outside of the church.

And until now, through God’s grace, he had done very well.

He looked at the time. Confession was to start soon. Confession wasn’t popular. Usually before the bigger high holidays, people would come in droves. But a regular, run of the mill Tuesday? Not a chance.

He had his regulars though, who would come without fail. They were long standing members of the community. Being bilingual was a big boost for the church.

Rafael put on his collar, and changed into dark slacks from jeans and then headed out.

—-

You peeked into the booth. Seeing that it was empty, you made your way in and sat down.

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It’s been… um, years since my last confession.”

Rafael was stunned. It was you.

‘Focus.’

You began with some menial, ordinary sins. Rafael focused on what you were saying, ignoring the throb of his cock.

“And, of course, this… all leads to the most wicked one.”

Rafael swallowed hard. “Go on.”

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Me?” Rafael questioned. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ “What do you mean?”

“You’re so kind and thoughtful. I probably shouldn’t say this because it’s so inappropriate, but you’re so fucking handsome. And it’s resulted in some wicked behavior.”

“Wicked how?” His hands ball into fists before he grabs the tops of his thighs hard, trying to steel his thoughts.

“I— I’m sorry. I need to go.” You’re stammering over your words, your heart racing.

Rafael heard the panic in your voice and he frowned. The confessional creaked as you stood. Rafael was filled with an overwhelming need to get you to stay. “We all sin. Including myself. God made us imperfect and can he really get to be disappointed in us when we do imperfect things?”

“I— I’ve never felt the way I do about you with anyone else. And I am filled with despair about wanting what I can’t have,” you reply softly. “What can I do about this? Can I say 10 Hail Mary’s or something?”

You continue. “And can I be absolved if I don’t feel bad about what I’ve done or said in the past? They’re all things I wanted to do.”

Rafael wracked his mind on what to say.

And before he could, he heard you open the door and leave. He stood quickly and pushed open the curtain. But it was too late. You were already gone.

—

Sunday mass came like clockwork.

As Rafael led mass, he scanned the pews for you. He was disappointed when he didn’t see you. He saw your friend and he made a mental note to talk with her afterwards.

“Fr. Barba, great service,” Maria commented as she shook Fr. Barba’s hand.

“Thank you. I- I am glad you came. You had been coming with your friend—“

“Oh! You mean — yeah, she couldn’t come today. She had some stuff to take care of. She’s new to the area and I know she could really use the community support,” Maria replied. She looked past Rafael and smiled brightly. “Oh there she is!”

Maria called your name. Rafael turned around and he saw you across the street. You were dressed more conservatively and he felt a wave of disappointment.

You half jogged across the street and before Rafael knew it, you had materialized in front of him.

“Hi,” you greeted as you tucked your hair behind your ear. “Sorry to have missed mass.”

“It’s okay,” Rafael laughed. “It’s not like God is keeping tabs.”

You smiled. Maria turned to you. “Was just telling Fr. Barba how you could use some community.”

“Uh,” you blanched. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, help is always needed at the community center or food pantry,” Rafael offered. “Meet plenty of people that way.”

“Yeah, sure. I - I saw in the bulletin you were looking for someone to go over your books.”

Rafael shifted. “Um, I was looking more for a CPA—“

“Well you are in luck!” Maria hit your arm. “You’ve got your own CPA here.”

“I-I am not a CPA. I was treasurer of my sorority years ago,” you explained. “But I lost my job and I need money,” you shrugged. “That’s all.”

Rafael sighed and rubbed his neck. As much as Olivia was a bleeding heart, he was too, especially with his roots. “Um, stop by the rectory sometime next week and we can talk it through.”

You smiled brightly. “Oh that would be great! Really! Thank you.”

Rafael nodded. You turned to Maria. “We have to go. Reservations?”

Other congregants had started to line up to speak with Rafael. He turned towards the line, but not without glancing back, watching you walk away.

Rafael admired you from behind, appreciating how your jeans hugged you in all of the right places. A flash of heat coursed through him.

‘God damnit, what are you doing?’

—

You never came by. Or to mass. Rafael thought you might have had a change of heart. Perhaps your flirtation with religion had flamed out. He found himself longing to see you but also increasingly frustrated with himself. He busied himself as much as possible so that he couldn’t even think of you. You were the absolute last thing on his mind.

When you rapped on his door two and a half weeks later, Rafael was more than surprised. He was downright startled, like a horse with thunder. He had been knee deep in the church’s financial books.

“I’m sorry, I hope I am not intruding. I know it’s late.”

Rafael relaxed. “No, not at all. Please, come in, sit.”

You slunk in the chair with ease and eyed Rafael’s outfit. “You don’t look like a priest.”

Rafael arched a thick brow. “And what do I look like?”

“Like a regular guy. Someone I would meet at a bar,” you shrugged as you waved your arm as if to make a point. Rafael was wearing dark jeans with a button down, sleeves rolled up and brown brogues.

Rafael laughed. “Well, there was a point in my life where you would have found me there. Speaking of bars, would you care for a drink?”

“I thought priests could only drink church wine.”

Rafael laughed again. “No, no, we can drink more than church wine.” You heard the clatter of glass and the sound of liquid pouring. “Here,” Rafael turned to you, his arm outstretched, holding a lowball glass with amber liquid. “Macallan 18.”

You took it from him and swirled the liquid before sniffing. You closed your eyes as you took a sip. You hummed, pleased. “This is good. Dangerously good.” You took another sip. “Oh this goes down way too easy.”

‘I bet my cock will go down easy.’

Rafael coughed and shook his head. “Uh, yeah, it does.” He took a large swallow of his glass and then poured himself another glass.

“You’re wondering why I’m here now. Instead of two weeks ago.”

Rafael perched himself on the corner of his desk. “I am.”

“I wish I had a reason that made sense, but I don’t. The truth is…” you glanced around the office and it became very apparent that the room was decorated more like a legal office than what you assumed an office in a church would be like.

“The truth is?” Rafael prodded.

You stood and started walking around the room. Your hand trailed the spines of the stacks of books lined up. It was then when you spotted the law degree in the corner.

“Wait - you are a lawyer? And a priest? How does that work?”

“Was,” Rafael clarified, before taking a long sip of his drink. “Was a lawyer.”

“You don’t practice anymore?”

“No,” Rafael shook his head. “Not anymore.”

You walked up to the bar cart and poured yourself another drink. You took the chair and pulled it until you were sitting directly in front of Rafael. “Tell me.”

Hours passed. Rafael unloaded everything on you - his time at SVU, baby Drew, the why to choose a life of faith.

And that bottle of Macallan?

You stood very close to Rafael. Your hands pressed on his chest. You swayed slightly and Rafael placed his hands on your hips, steadying you.

“Hire me. I’m really good with numbers.”

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. “We aren’t going to have sex.”

You scoffed, before almost losing your footing. Rafael’s hands gripped your hips tightly. “Who said anything about us having sex?”

“Do you think I don’t realize what game you’re playing?”

“Game? I’m not playing a game. I need a job.”

“Don’t play dumb.”

You rolled your eyes. “I am not. Besides, do you even know how?”

Rafael pushed you away slightly. “Did you not just hear the story of my life?”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Father.”

“The how?”

You walked back and closed the gap between you and him. “Yeah. The how. To fuck.”

Rafael’s eyes darken. He cupped your face and you leaned into his palm. He slowly walked around and behind you. He dropped his mouth to your ear. “I know how to fuck. I’ve fucked plenty. Men. Women. I know how to make someone come.”

A rumble emanated from Rafael’s chest. You spun on your heels and looked up at him. Rafael loomed over you, your eyes growing wide. Your breath hitched. “Is that so?”

Your faces were inches apart. You were breathing each other's air, growing dizzy over the shared breath. Your heart was thumping and you were so needy in that moment you thought you were going to burst.

“Little lamb, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

You let out a whine. “Please.”

Rafael lifted your chin with his finger. Your eyes searched his before settling on his lips. His beautiful pink lips that you knew they knew how to kiss. And lick. And fuck. And make someone come.

“You’re a good priest Father Barba,” you whispered. “But you’re also a good man. And doesn’t a good man deserve a little indulgence every now and then?”

The tension in the room was thick, the air electric. You almost felt moved to tears in the desperate way you wanted him. And he wanted you.

The sound of sirens blaring broke the spell. You both jumped apart. You both stared at each other. Rafael couldn’t help but notice that you were flushed, and that flush was making its way down. You worried your bottom lip.

“It’s late,” you rushed. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time.”

You spun on your heels and was about to dash out the door when Rafael gripped your wrist, pausing you in the middle of the door.

You looked back up at him with wide eyes.

“You start Monday,” Rafael gruffed. You nodded, unable to say anything.

You managed to squeak out an ‘okay.’ And before you realized it, the door was shut in your face.

—

Your first week was completely uneventful. As is the next. And the week after. You’re the epitome of well behaved and professional much to Rafael’s relief.

That still didn’t mean he didn’t imagine kissing you and then some. Or how when you leaned over his desk, he didn’t imagine lifting up your skirt and plowing into you. Or that when you chewed on your pen cap, he didn’t imagine his cock between your plump, soft lips.

Under the collar, he still was very much a man.

And you didn’t let him forget it. He lost track of the amount of times he had to get himself off. And still it didn’t nothing to quell the ache for you.

You threw yourself into the work and you actually found it quite fulfilling. You made plenty of friends and found yourself volunteering in other parts of the church - like working at the food pantry or singing as part of the church choir.

Summer ebbed into Fall. The air grew cooler. The days started to grow shorter and the leaves, once a vibrant green, were now tinged with yellow and orange, painting the city in a fiery palette.

You were working in the rectory that morning. When Myra, the arthritic receptionist, ended up in the hospital with pneumonia, you eagerly took over the job. You were busy enough with church duties as it was but it made sense for you to take over.

Utilizing your skills from past work experience, you ended up bringing St. Blaise into the 21st century thanks to Intuit and Microsoft.

Since you started, the more Rafael was able to get to know you. In turn, the more he wanted you. He did everything in his power to not even look at you for too long, at least when you were not not looking. It was hard - but Rafael was a glutton for punishment. Being around you made Rafael addicted.

It did seem as if you heeded his words - you were the utmost professional. You did such a good job that Rafael wondered if maybe he had misread the signals altogether and that one night was just the booze.

Then one particular evening, Rafael saw you walking with Maria, her boyfriend, and another gentleman. He didn’t want to stop and say hi - if anything he wanted to avoid it altogether and cross the street but you and him made eye contact. It would have been too awkward to avoid you by that point. It ended with the five of you at the local watering hole - where this gentleman who had his arm wrapped around you. Rafael didn’t enjoy how jealousy washed over him - he knew he did not have any right to you, or your body. And he would never be - you were never together like that.

You were waiting at the bar, ordering another round when Rafael joined you. You looked over at him and gave a small smile.

“So you’re on date then?”

You looked at him incredulously. “Rafael—“

“You live here, you can go on any dates and with whom.”

“He’s just— you and I— we never…

The bartender arrived with your drinks. You went to pay, but Rafael stopped you. “I got it.”

“Don’t you have to take a vow of poverty?” you asked as you grabbed some of the drinks. Rafael grabbed the remainder and the two of you walked back to the booth.

“One of the most common misconceptions about the Catholic priesthood is that all priests take a vow of poverty. In fact, most do not. Diocesan priests do not even make vows, they make “promises” of obedience to their bishop: chastity and to pray the Liturgy of the Hours. Vows, on the other hand, are typically made by members of religious orders, such as Franciscans, Benedictines, Dominicans, etc.”

You nodded. “Got it.”

You walked ahead of Rafael, a sway in your hips as you did so. Rafael’s eyes narrowed and he sucked in a breath as he followed, exhaling slowly.

When your date - Eric - as he later learned - began mouthing off about theology and religion, Rafael rolled his eyes. Still, he wasn’t going to let himself get bested and using the skills he acquired from all the cross examinations he had ever done, basically annihilated the other guy. You snickered behind the glass of your drink but Rafael saw it and felt his chest puff.

At one point - Eric whispered something in your ear. Whatever he said was enough to make you blush and shift in your seat, smiling to yourself like you had a secret. Rafael didn’t miss it at all and he felt himself stiffen and his jaw tighten. Your eyes met once more, and you witnessed the visceral reaction he was having, saw that little flex of his jaw and the way his eyes glittered with something primal and possessive. You could see that part of him would gladly punch Eric, and even as Rafael’s eyes locked with yours, he didn't hide it. Briefly, the kind and generous priest was all gone. Even the smart and sassy lawyer was superseded: you saw the man, capable of lust and jealousy. Over you. The thought of inspiring those feelings in him made heat pool in your body, and you squeezed your thighs together. His eyes registered your expression: you were certain he knew how you felt.

By end of the night, you went to hug him good night but Rafael dodged you. You frowned and bid him adieu as he dipped his head in acknowledgement. Rafael continued to head home - and had he turned around, he would have seen you still standing, watching him.

Another week went by.

The pounding on the door stirred Rafael awake. He looked over at the clock - it was a little after midnight. A breeze blew through, causing a chill to run through his body.

He tugged a t-shirt on and groused that he was on his way.

Rafael was not expecting to see you.

“Father,” you greeted. There was a very large bottle of Macallan in your hand. Your eyes trailed over the very sleepy priest in front of you. His hair was askew and he looked adorable. You swallowed at his tight white shirt and low slung gray sweats.

“What is going on?” Rafael asked. He reached in his pocket for his glasses.

“Fancy a chat about my existential crisis?” You thrusted the bottle of scotch into his arms and walked in, pushing slightly past him.

Rafael got a whiff of your shampoo and it sent all blood straight immediately to his cock. He looks back outside and satisfied not seeing anyone else, closes the door behind him. “Existential crisis?”

“Do you have any glasses?” You ask, ignoring his question, as you look around. You hadn’t ever been inside a priest’s dwelling and you were surprised at how normal it appeared.

“Wow.” You stopped misstep and looked around. “This is not what I expected.”

Rafael rubbed his neck. “Huh? Oh, what did you expect it to look like?”

“I don’t know. More holy? Crosses everywhere. Stacks of bibles? Not something out of an architectural digest - with a kitchen island!”

Rafael laughed. He took the bottle from your hand and walked over to the island where he placed the glasses. “A lot of this is from…” he waved his arm around. “Before.”

“Pre-priest Rafael.” You clarified as you walked over to where he was and took an amber filled glass.

“Yeah,” Rafael replied before taking a long drag of his drink.

You nodded and hummed before taking another sip. “When you were just a man. Who had sex. A lot.”

“I’m still a man.”

“Come on, you know it’s not the same.”

You knew better. You knew you shouldn’t.

What would your friends say, what would they do if they ever find out? What about the congregation and surrounding community?

This was bigger than you, bigger than him. What were you thinking?

But it’s Rafael. Fr. Rafael Barba. Not that it matters - he’s not actually yours. He belongs to God.

But now when he’s staring down at you the way he is right now, teeth catching his full bottom lip, sleep-tousled hair and stormy, smoldering eyes, you can’t help but fall from grace.

“Kiss me.”

“You know we can’t.”

“So? Kiss me anyway.”

“I’m a priest.”

“Kiss me anyway.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Rafael swallowed the remainder of his drink and let out a huff. He pointed a finger toward you. “You…you’re trouble.”

You closed the gap between you and him. The room felt electric. You pressed your hands onto his chest. “So? Kiss me anyway.”

Rafael sucked in a breath. You press yourself even closer, your hips automatically seeking his. Rafael pushed you away gently. “I told you we can’t. I told you I can’t.”

“Why are you denying what’s between us?” Your hands shook as you poured yourself another glass. You turned and leaned against the island. “God made us to be sexual creatures. It’s his design. It’s his idea, his gift to us.”

Rafael sighed in irritation. “Our sexual desires are no surprise to God. He made us, and He gave us a strong sexual desire to enjoy within the proper context.” He pointed to you and then to himself. “This is not the proper context. If I wasn’t a priest, then it would be different. This is real life. What we do has real consequences.”

“If you weren’t a priest,” you murmured. You swallowed the remainder of your drink and slammed it on the island. Warmth flooded your body and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or him or a combination of both. Likely the latter. “Tell me you want me. Tell me I was never imagining things.”

Rafael remained silent.

“You have the right to lose control. I know you think—”

“You don’t know what I think,” Rafael acerbically spat. “And no, I don’t have the right.” He began to pace. “You don’t know the misery I live in when you’re not around.”

“And you think I am not?” you questioned. Your voice wavered and your eyes welled with unshed tears. “It’s never been like this with anyone. Never. I want you. I can’t have you. But please - let me live in the solace that you want me too. That I was never imagining any of it. I am going crazy.”

Rafael paused mid-stride and looked at you. He took a deep breath.

“What’s it gonna be? I am begging you.”

It was like something in him snapped when you said that. Rafael slammed his own drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He walked over and pressed you against the island. You let out a squeak in response. You could feel how hard he was against your belly. He brushed some of your hair back. Your breath hitched and a flush spread along your skin.

“Say it again.”

“Tell me you want me.”

“No - repeat what you said at the end,” he all but growled. You chewed your bottom lip and nodded.

“I beg you.”

“God help me. You beg so prettily,” Rafael murmured. He pulled at you, hands grabbing at hips, lips crashing into yours in a bruising kiss. It was over before you could register and you pulled back to look into his eyes. You wrapped your hands on his face and then dove back in, returning the kiss, equally as hard.

The momentum was desperate, frenzied, hands everywhere. You let out a gasp as Rafael backed you against the kitchen island. The scruff of his beard dragged against your skin, his lips working your jaw, your ear, moving down your neck, and you let out a strained moan. You pressed your hips upwards into his, feeling his erection. Rafael had to stop and inhale sharply before resuming his attack on your skin. The tips of his fingers find skin under your shirt, and dig into your flesh. One of your hands is twisted in his shirt, the other grasping the waistband of his sweats as he felt a leg curve around his; it was as if your body functioned in tune to keep him as close as possible.

Rafael’s lips found purchase on the hollow of your neck. You let out a groan as you sagged against him, melting into his embrace. The want was overwhelming.

His hands made way to the front of your jeans and he nimbly undid the button and fly before shoving his large hand down your panties. “So wet for me.”

And you are. You’re so fucking wet, it’s obscene.

The tips of his fingers drag through your slit.

“Fuck,” his teeth scraped along your jaw. “You’re soaking.”

He slid two fingers deep inside of you. You keened wordlessly into his shoulder, biting down on his shoulder to suppress a moan.

“No, no, pretty lamb. Look at me,” Rafael husked, his voice laced with an edge of dominance.

You pulled back and met his gaze. His fingers drove deep up into you, pumping, long and needy. His thumb rubbed against your clit. Your blood is boiling, your body vibrating. You’re close. You know it. He knows it. His fingers continue their momentum, finding that spongey spot inside of you that most folks couldn’t ever find.

The walls of your pussy ripple against his fingers. “Be a good little lamb and come for me.” It was Rafael’s turn to beg. “Be my good girl and give it to me.”

You chanted his name as if it were prayer as you come around his fingers. Your body is abuzz, vibrating. You whine out his name in three syllables as you coat his hand with your arousal. Rafael swallowed your cries as he covered your mouth with his. The kiss, which was initially passionate, slowed in intensity, to just soft, slow licks that almost felt reverent, worshipful. Eventually he pressed his forehead to yours and you both drank in each other’s air, breathing heavily. You whimpered as Rafael removed his fingers from your cunt. You watched him with wide eyes as he slipped his fingers into his mouth. His eyes fluttered close as he let out an appreciative sound.

“Do I taste good, Father?” Your voice was laced with lust.

“My sweet, decadent little lamb,” Rafael complimented. “But we cannot do that again.”

“Do what?” You asked as you pushed him off slightly to give yourself room to drop to the floor. You palmed his cock through his pants, pleased with yourself as he groaned with want and need.

A car backfired and the sound caused you both to startle, effectively ending the spell. Rafael helped you up from the ground. “This cannot happen again.” His voice was firm. And before you could protest any more, you found yourself back outside, the door shutting in your face.

Rafael leaned against the door, his head pounding, his cock aching.

‘You idiot! You shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have given in to your melodic voice and sparkling eyes. You had no business being in his life.

But the crack he left open for you made him believe that he had more to lose now than when he met you at the block party all those moons ago.

He rubbed his face, tired and frustrated. And he went back to bed to once again to take matters in his own hands again. ‘Fuck.’

TBC.

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part twelve

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven

-

Sephiroth is the best swordsman in SOLDIER. It's what the entirety of the SOLDIER program has been built upon - that superhuman excellence that Sephiroth brings to the table, blowing the curve for everyone who came before and everyone who would come after.

The program had technically existed before Sephiroth, but it wasn't the same. The early SOLDIERs used Materia, and they were enhanced with Mako, but the treatments hadn't quite reached their full potential. Not just because of the fact that the program was in its infancy and the practicalities of Mako-enhanced strength hadn't yet been worked out - but because of… attitude.

They were still stuck in the old ways of thinking about combat.

Early SOLDIERs used firearms, for one - the heavier the better. They wore armour and carried heavy loads of equipment. They were walking tanks. The use of melee weapons wasn't really common, outside very specialised circumstances. The most a SOLDIER might use was a combat knife.

Then healing Materia research got better. Potions were developed. Barrier Materia became more commonplace. SOLDIERs got tougher… and bullets became less lethal and more an annoyance.

Still, it wasn't until the start of the Wutai War that the use of swords started really spreading among SOLDIERs. Wutai warriors did it first, in the opposite direction - they added firearms to their blades. And then Sephiroth, fourteen years old at the time, entered the field, and changed everything.

He picked up a Wutai blade - and ravaged the enemy forces with it. He's favoured folded steel and curved Wutai swords ever since - and by doing so he changed the SOLDIER program for good.

Angeal has studied the start of the war and the progress that had been made during it thoroughly - like most everyone in the program who had ever had aspirations of becoming First, he'd studied Sephiroth's career. Hell, he'd been doing it even before he joined the program, before he even left his hometown Banora for Midgar. His research is part of the reason why his father ended up working himself to death over the Buster Sword.

Sephiroth, like all SOLDIERs, is strong. He's fast. He has magic floating in his veins. And that's usually enough. Even the weakest SOLDIER is faster and stronger than the most dedicated martial artist, that's how Shinra made them, and that's what most of their training still focuses on. 

But that wasn't enough for Sephiroth. From the very first time he picked up the blade, he strove to master it. Among the SOLDIER program, Sephiroth is the most learned when it comes to swordsmanship. He actually sought out teachers in Wutai, challenging their best to duels and learning everything he could from them, paying for that tutelage in blood if he had to. Now he can not only swing his sword faster and harder than anybody else - he also knows how and never relies just on his enhancements to do the work for him. 

Unbeknownst to most, the entirety of SOLDIER melee and swordsmanship training is based on Sephiroth. He'd taught all of them everything they know, either through recordings of his practice sessions or in duels. There were even rumours that they were making an AI model of Sephiroth to teach newer SOLDIERs in virtual training.

A single duel with Sephiroth is worth a dozen training sessions with anyone else, when it comes to swordsmanship. Even a virtual mockup would be better than the next best swordsman in the company.

And if Sephiroth has lost even a fraction of that mastery…

Angeal folds his arms, watching worriedly as Sephiroth unsheathes his sword. It looks… clumsy. Like he doesn't know even how to do it right. The over-long blade and the equally lengthy sheath actually give him trouble, and he looks frustrated with them

The sinking feeling in Angeal's gut develops to actual nausea, and he glances to his side, where Genesis is leaning back against the training room wall. He'd seen it too - Genesis' gloves creak as he squeezes his sword hilt, his face tight with unease.

"Let's… start easy, okay?" Angeal says, turning back to Sephiroth. "With some warmups."

"Warmups," Genesis echoes like it's a foreign language. 

Angeal elbows him. They usually never bother warming up, they don't really need it, but just launching right into it like they usually do would be a… bad idea. "Sephiroth," Angeal nods, motioning to the centre of the room, "How about some target practice?"

Sephiroth is slowly swinging his sword, trying to get used to Masamune's length. "Depends on what you mean by target practice," he says, frowning at the sword and the Materia in the hilt.

In answer, Angeal takes out his PHS and activates the training room, summoning up a handful of hard-light targets - in the style of Wutai troops. They stand in loose formation near the middle of the room, three faceless armoured figures in a line.

"Oh?" Sephiroth hums, quiet and tense.

"No combat settings," Angeal assures him. "They're only there as training dummies. Just have a swing at them."

"... Right,"Sephiroth says and slowly approaches the holograms.

"This is so utterly bizarre," Genesis mutters under his breath as Sephiroth turns to face the holograms. "I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe we might actually have to teach Sephiroth how to swing a sword."

"Shhh," Angeal hisses. "Maybe it's like riding a chocobo."

"Or maybe we're all utterly screwed," Genesis hisses back. "If Sephiroth can't fight…"

… Yeah. 

Sephiroth makes a few idle test swings with Masamune as he faces the hard-light targets, looking a little awkward and self-conscious. Then he takes a stand. It looks halfhearted at best.

"Oh, Goddess. I know I always said I wanted to be a greater hero than Sephiroth, but not like this," Genesis bemoans, running a hand down his face. "This is a disaster. The secondhand embarrassment alone -"

Sephiroth tilts his head towards them. "You know I can hear you, right?" he asks, his tone acidic.

Angeal wraps his arm around Genesis' shoulder and quickly covers his mouth. "Just ignore him," he said. "Go right ahead, pretend we're not even here."

Sephiroth straightens up again, looking irritated and embarrassed, turning his face away. He fiddles with Masamune's handle for a moment, and Angeal has to actually put some effort in holding Genesis quiet, all but taking him into a full headlock - and his friend is still letting out loud, outraged noises behind his palm.

Finally, Sephiroth lets out a sigh and swings Masamune once. It's too fast to follow.

The holograms shatter like glass.

Well… that looked familiar?

"Oh?" Sephiroth murmurs, curious, and looks at the sword in his hands. Then he swings the sword again, differently, testing it. And then again, moving from one swing to another smoothly and almost too fast to follow, shifting his grip as he does.

Genesis goes quiet and Angeal holds his breath.

"Oh, well now," Sephiroth murmurs interestedly, his expression lighting up as he takes Masamune in a one-handed grip, making a little jab with it. "I wonder…"

Genesis wrings himself free of Angeal's hold. "So you do remember how to use a sword!" he says and draws his own sword. "Shall we see how well?"

"Genesis," Angeal objects, but Genesis is already skipping ahead.

Sephiroth pauses, running a hand down Masamune's blade. Then he swings the sword down sharply, confidently. "Alright," he says with a whole new gleam in his eyes. He looks almost excited. He looks like himself. "Let's do it."

Angeal sighs, half troubled, halt heartened. Sephiroth looks a little more self-assured now, at least. That's something. Maybe his memory loss isn't so -

And then Sephiroth holds his sword up in front of him and bows and Genesis almost trips over his feet in shock.

Ah. Well. 

Baby steps.

-

Would you look at all them chickens headcanons.

[hubristicassholefight]

Hubristic Asshole Fight: Round 1 Part 1b

Anakin Skywalker (Star Wars) vs Feanor (The Silmarillion)

Propaganda below cut

Anakin

Decided that he would become stronger than death to stop those he cares about from dying after failing to accept his mother's death. When he begins getting visions/nightmares like he had before losing his mother of his wife dying in childbirth, he decides to team up with an evil sorcerer and mastermind to learn the secret to stopping death. The price he willingly paid was leading the slaughter of the community of peacekeeping monks who had raised him from nine years old, feeling guilt about his heinous betrayal even as he unflichingly continued the massacre (sunk cost fallacy to a very extreme degree). The unintended price he paid was the loss of his limbs and independence after his injuries during a fight with his mentor and brother figure, his wife dying on childbirth due to the great stress of his heinous actions, and being separated from his children until they were adults firmly opposed to the imperial regime he became the attack dog for (only knowing of their survival until after he had personally attacked them both); He literally did not have to do any of that. his wife Padmè very very very very much did not want him to do any of that. He was completely absorbed in his own inability to deal with loss that he deadlock refused to consider losing family again and then he went and killed what amounted to his extended family, his wife and the man who raised and guided him from age 9. And his own kids unknowingly. In terms of accomplishing your goals there really really wasn't much more he could have fucked up. And when it comes down to key moments, all he had to do was not cut off mentor and co-worker Mace Windu's hand with a laser sword and everything would have been fine. He's a nominee for Fail King of All Time to me

He thinks he's hot shit which, he is, but like cool it dude you don't have to mass murder maim mutilate your way through life to prove you're the extra most specialest bestest psychic space wizard;

Hubrised so hard he 1) lost his limbs and his skin 2) became what he hated 3) caused the very death he sought to prevent, betraying and destroying himself for nothing; So soaking wet and self aware that he cried committing atrocities. If he knew what hubris was, he'd agree he has a lot of it

Feanor

The definition of hubris. Created the silmarils who were so perfect even the gods praised them. Got them stolen by the gods evil brother (so essentially fantasy satan). Then decided to go fight the evil god to get the silmarils back and swore an oath binding him and his sons to get them back no matter who would stand in their way. This drastically backfired when some other elves stood in his way so he murdered them. Got cursed by the gods for this (together with his entire family and everyone who followed them). Told the gods that they were of the same kind as fantasy satan and that they would end up following him

Morgoth (a god) shows up at his house and Feanor (professional hater of gods) tells him to get fucked* and slams the door in his face. *”Get thee gone from my gate thou jail-crow of Mandos!”; He has never spent anything wrong ever aside from all the war crimes.

The Valar (gods) asked Feanor for help in saving the world from being in total darkness and he said “no, figure it out yourselves”. Repeatedly and intentionally goes against their orders leading to war and chaos; I know it’s left open ended to what really happened to him after he died, but I hope he never repents. I hope he stays an antagonistic and egotistical bastard after being reimbodied (brought back to life) and continues to make it everyone else’s problem. I love him.

I’m gonna have to try to do this without a sing Tolkien scholarship words so bear with me. Basically my dude is one of the smartest and most talented elves in the world. Unfortunately he has a lot of daddy issues AND mommy issues largely due to the fact that his mom died when he was a kid and decided not to come back (as elves can do). No one else has this problem. He invented a ton of important stuff and had seven sons. His most prized creation was three gems called the Silmarils, which contained the light of the Two Trees, which gave light to the world before they were destroyed. When the Valar (the gods of Tolkien’s world) asked if they could use the Silmarils to potentially create another light source, he emphatically refused and in fact became so jealous of them that he and his sons swore an oath that anyone who so much as touched them would die by their swords. Sauron’s boss steals the gems and Feanor decides that he will lead his people on a crusade to retrieve and avenge them. This results in the death of him, most of his people, and almost his entire family minus one of his sons, Galadriel, and Elrond; He once yelled at the devil to get off his lawn

went to war with morgoth (satan basically) against the will of the gods and made a whole speech to said gods about how they were gonna feel really silly when he killed morgoth and saved the whole world. he never actually did battle with morgoth because he died on like day 1 of getting to middle earth (he left like 2/3 of his forces behind because he didn’t trust them) and spontaneously combusted upon his death; he’s a huge asshole and a mad scientist and linguist and prince with daddy issues and also mommy issues

Dude thought he could win a fight with the devil, tried to just walk into Angband (Mordor before Mordor actually existed), made an oath to kill everyone that tries to take his creations even the Valar (angelic like beings) and ends up causing his death, his sons deaths and a bunch of other deaths; His name is quite literally spirit of fire Is basically regarded as THE greastest elf Is in fact THE best smith of the elves and crafts their most precious jewels (that end up causing so much death) Is THE linguist to the point of creating the alfabet every one uses even after The Crimes, creates a bunch of things that are used even after The Crimes actually Loves his dad more than the things he made Is the only recorded elf with seven kids Is married to a sculpter that is so good that people confuse her statues as actual people (a propaganda because he had to be good to actually bag her you know) Manages to create jewelry so good even the the angelics beings sent by god are surprised he managed to do it So good at making speeches that it leads to a rebellion against said angelic beings and a lot of people to leave paradise with him His mother died because his spirit was too powerful Invented kinslaying after trying to steal some boats for said rebellion Swears an oath that destroys his whole family (but adds a great flavour to the rest of the story) Tells the devil to fuck off and slams his house door on said devils face Dies via auto combustion because his spirit was just too powerful for a normal death Gets stuck in the afterlife (that elves can usually just return from) for spiting the Valar Is said he will have an important role in Tolkien’s version of Ragnarok by letting the jewels he previously promised to kill for be destroyed to defeat the devil

Because of his pride, he went against the gods because the evil god Morgoth stole his life's work (the Silmarils, 3 shiny gems that radiated the light of the two trees that a huge evil spider had sapped dry). Swore (with his 7 sons) an oath to hunt Morgoth and retrieve his shiny gems. Commited kinslaying, burned some boats, combusted to ashes after suffering mortal wounds at the hands of corrupted demi-gods. Consequences of his actions could be seen long long after his death: the oath was passed on to his sons to hopelessly fulfill (failure after failure, including two more kinslayings, one of them casting himself into a fiery volcano, another wandering the shores for eternity);

[sadcoms]

“the doctor didn’t tell rose anything about gallifrey/the time war/his previous companions/his family etc” i do not actually believe he never mentioned his home planet to rose and i think she had to know at least a bit about the time war after everything with the daleks but

sometimes you need someone who doesn’t ask about your past, especially when it is dark and difficult. and i think that is part of why the doctor and rose had this instant recognition and understanding of and about each other. i assume the doctor knew about jimmy stone (though not the actual details for quite a while) but not the way mickey and shareen and jackie did. yes they still loved her but they also knew all of her mistakes; they knew her when she was a sobbing, robbed sixteen year old and a lot of people just would have known her as “rose from the powell estate” or “rose, jimmy’s ex” and i think she felt trapped by that just as much as she felt trapped by feeling purposeless or powerless.

so of course rose isn’t going to push him for more about the time war, she knows enough. she clearly recognises that he’s trying to move forward and just reminds him that he has her beside him. and that’s what they give each other, not just a future but a future they actually think is worth living. when they first meet they’re both living on autopilot because they don’t really know what to do, and then suddenly there it is. something to genuinely move towards.

and i think the transition from nine to ten is kind of like when you’re daydreaming because you’ve had a really nice day and you’re like “oh the world isn’t actual hell” and then you wake up the next day to apply for that dream job or paint your bedroom yourself or bake cinnamon scrolls from scratch even though you only ever make packet brownies. and actually it’s hard: you don’t have the practise and you need to buy a shit ton of paint/brushes/ladders, or you don’t actually want to sit through 7 rounds of interviews, and rose is still going to die someday. but god, you still want it. and for the first time in forever you can actually tell her something about that life before you met her, when you were a dad once, and it’s the first time you’ve been able to say something like that without feeling like the floor has collapsed under you. rose has loved you without knowing all of your past, so maybe it can’t hurt to tell her more.

and then of course he loses her anyway and spends all of s3 being unable to go anywhere without being confronted with some reminder of the past, both rose-related (which, based on gridlock, he on some level sought out) and not. and it’s so much darker and unsafer than it was with rose, so much more hopeless. he no longer wants to talk about the future or even particularly on the present, and it hurts to talk about the past too, especially the past with rose (which he describes in utopia as “a lifetime ago” and “the olden days”, never mind that it can’t have been more than a few years between s1 and s3. he just feels so distanced from it all, that level of contentment he had as nine). no wonder he’s stuck.

and he stays that way until he finally gets everything he wants with rose, that future where they get to grow old together and he gets to truly have a family. or, until he becomes the past itself, regenerating into a new person

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (29) Hero

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 29)

Summary: Rosie lets us get one more glimpse of the wedding, before the tale of new beginnings for all of them are revealed.

Twenty-Nine Years Old

Papa had of course composed a waltz for our wedding, and after I’d danced with my husband, still strange to call him that, it was Dad’s turn. Papa still played but had switched to the waltz from Dad’s and his wedding now, and the waltz I’d danced to with Dad all those years ago. It was such a precious moment, and when it was played again, by the string quartet this time, I found myself in Papa’s arms.

“Thank you for making us a new waltz,” I said and looked up at him.

“You’re welcome, Bee. It was my pleasure.”

His smile was the one I called “the Bee and Dad smile”. It was warm, genuine and radiated love and affection. 

***

Timothy had been the first speaker and had used most of it to praise The Fab Four for raising me in the most unusual fashion. He avoided any “government secrets”, which I deduced was due to uncle Myc’s meddling. 

“He’s a fucking hero, your Timothy,” uncle Greg told me later that evening, not entirely sober. 

“Language, Gregory,” uncle Myc scolded him, which earned him a swat on his…yeah, well, I guess you can deduce the rest.

Dad’s speech was as incoherent and rambling as expected, bringing back anecdotes of Ted the bear’s last real meal, my theatrical announcement regarding Dad and Papa’s love for each other in the train carriage, how proud he was of me, and in the same sentence also thanking uncle Myc for being the best uncle.

“Sorry, Greg. That was before you and…” Dad said with an embarrassed grimace.

The uncle in question just waved it off, while looking adoringly at uncle Myc.

And of course there was praising of Papa for being the best thing that had ever happened to either of us. By the time he finished, there were tissues, sniffles and stifled sobs all around.

***

I had looked forward to Papa’s speech, having heard his encomium of Dad at their wedding, but it became instantly clear that his speech to me would surpass my wildest expectations. He started it with addressing me with words no one but me and Dad had ever heard, and I sought out Timothy’s hand and held on for dear life, lest I’d be transformed into a puddle of tears.

“My precious girl, my heart. I couldn’t believe my luck the day John brought you home to Baker Street. To be given the privilege of raising you, is the greatest honour I could ever receive. From that very first day you trusted me to take care of you as well as your father did. You gave your love freely, without any hesitation, and even if I wasn’t your legal parent from the beginning, it didn’t matter to you. But it mattered to me. The first time you called me Papa…”

He closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself, clearly overwhelmed by the memories. Dad took his hand and squeezed it soothingly. Before he continued the speech, he looked down at Dad and a silent conversation took place. Releasing his hand from Dad’s, Papa straightened and started to speak once more.

The anecdotes Papa told, differed from Dad’s. My first trip, to Barts of all places, were described in detail. How Molly had scolded him for bringing a seven-month-old toddler to the morgue, his pride when he witnessed my first graduation in the dojo, getting my yellow belt, how stunned he was that I got along so well with his brother, (I still can’t believe he mentioned him), and his certainty that Timothy was my soul mate just like Dad was his.

All this sentiment elicited another round of sniffles, which a decade ago, would’ve made my Papa roll his eyes, but he’d softened over the years, I realised. Not that he would ever admit to it, mind you.

***

One year later, things had changed considerably. Dad and Papa had retired and moved to Sussex, and Timothy and I got the best Christmas present, the deed to 221 Baker Street with the clause that Dee could inhabit 221A for as long as she liked.

I’d missed my childhood home and I never thrived in that other part of the city. Timothy couldn’t believe our luck and made plans for creating his own writing den in 221C. Papa’s lab had been stripped bare, so it really was a blank canvas to do with as we pleased.

And then it was the biggest thing of all. A new life was growing inside me. The ultrasound showed a healthy foetus, but the sex was impossible to discern because of the position. We didn’t want to know anyway. The important thing was that everything was alright. Being a doctor’s daughter, I knew quite a lot about how bad things could get.

When we got home, after I’d texted my parents that everything was going well inside my womb, I rummaged around for my mother’s book with all the children’s names in it. She had made no notes in it, neither had Papa in his quest for alternative names for uncle Greg. I wouldn’t have minded seeing his scribbles, but now that I was going to be a mother myself, I felt conflicted thinking about the mother I never knew. Come to think of it, I’d never even seen her handwriting.

***

Timothy had asked me about my childhood a few days after I discovered that I was pregnant.

“If you can sum it up in one word, image, or a sentence, what will it be?”

I didn’t have to think twice before answering.

“My parents and their love for me and for each other.”

Timothy just nodded, not the least bit surprised by this.

“I would like to name the baby after them,” I said, which Timothy fully agreed to.

His sister had named two of her four children after their parents, and Timothy was rather fond of my family, despite his bickering with them.

“I consider it a love language,” he told me.

“Don’t you dare tell them! The consequences might be…something sinister,” I said.

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @raina-at

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[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with Interview Magazine (2024)

Before he was known as the dashing Lord Anthony Bridgerton or Tim Laughlin, the character in Fellow Travelers for which he won a Critics Choice Award earlier this month, Jonathan Bailey caught the attention of Phoebe Waller-Bridge with his confident, self-possessed audition for her show Crashing nearly a decade ago. “You came in like a fireball,” said the Fleabag star on Zoom with Bailey, recounting how, while reading for the role of the sex-obsessed Sam, Bailey asked permission to lay his script out on the floor in front of him like a rainbow. “You had no embarrassment. You didn’t actually refer to it again, but you took those few seconds to just completely set up what you exactly needed for that audition, and then you were so free.” In the years since, with roles in Bridgerton, the Showtime drama Fellow Travelers, and the upcoming Wicked movie adaptation, Bailey has become one of the most sought-after actors in the business, capable of generating sparks with whoever’s on screen with him. Waller-Bridge attributes this to the 35-year-old’s distinct understanding of tension. “You’re like a chemistry machine,” she gushed. “There’s this incredible erotic energy that people are so excited about.” Last week, from a hotel room at Claridge’s in London, Bailey talked to Waller-Bridge about longing, orgasms, frosted tips, nostalgia, Shakespeare, and his very first role: playing a raindrop in a stage production of Noah’s Ark.

PHOEBE WALLER-BRIDGE: Hi.

JONATHAN BAILEY: Hi.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I’m taking my glasses off. Now I can be real.

BAILEY: I’ve just had a gin and tonic, actually. I had a meeting and he really wanted a glass of Whispering Angel, so I was like, “Well, I’ve got to dive in.”

WALLER-BRIDGE: What’s the time there?

BAILEY: Oh, I’m literally around the corner from you. Literally, I’ve come into Claridge’s Hotel and checked in for an hour just to have a Zoom.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Oh, god. That’s so chic. Jonny, I want all of your secrets.

BAILEY: I feel like you’ve got quite a few of them already.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I do, actually. And we’re not going to talk about any of those. But I did also get to do a little bit of research on you.

BAILEY: Oh, god. What have you got?

WALLER-BRIDGE: Jonathan Stewart Bailey, I’d like to jump straight in with the fact that the first professional job you had was playing a teardrop, or a raindrop?

BAILEY: There were teardrops, but yeah, I was playing a raindrop.

WALLER-BRIDGE: You were a crying raindrop.

BAILEY: A crying raindrop in Noah’s Ark.

WALLER-BRIDGE: And how old were you then?

BAILEY: I think I was about 5 going on 29. I was really upset because it didn’t rain. The bitch that played Noah, she forgot the cue for the rain to come. So my dance didn’t make it, but at the end of the show they allowed me to do it once everyone had applauded.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I asked you that specifically because you’ve also said that your grandmother took you to see a production of Oliver in London and that’s what changed everything.

BAILEY: Yes.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So was the raindrop before or after that? I am getting to something, I promise.

BAILEY: I think it was probably afterwards. I was really young when I went to see Oliver.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I’m interested because I read that seeing it made you decide you wanted to perform. Can you tell me the specific thing that made it click?

BAILEY: I’ll tell you, the most bizarre thing is that I had three seasons at the RSC under my belt by the age of nine. There was a moment where I played Prince Arthur, the kid in Shakespeare who gets his eyes gouged out and has to escape a turret. I remember doing that production and thinking I was aware of the power of words, if that makes sense. You’re so porous at that age, I think. It is such a gift, isn’t it, to be shown what iambic pentameter is.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you still feel passionate about Shakespeare now?

BAILEY: I do, actually. It’s my dirty, filthy habit.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Your dirty little habit. I know what you mean, though, how if you come to it quite raw, and it’s not something that you’ve had shoved down your throat at school, there is nothing more epic and spectacular.

BAILEY: And being around people who are just so committed to their vocation, whether they’re writing or creating. The smell backstage at the RSC at the Barbican was like cigarettes, stage makeup, Joe Fiennes, and hope.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s a lot of beautiful smells you’ve got going on there.

BAILEY: I know. Talk about top notes and bottom notes. I was like, “These men, these titans of theater!”

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s extraordinary that you were exposed to that kind of level of professionalism. Because you are consummately professional, and I remember that. You have this incredible ability to be completely live and spontaneous and wild at the same time as being so incredibly professional, and that’s why working with you felt totally safe. I know that I’ve got a professional actor coming today, but I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen because you still managed to keep that spontaneity and danger.

BAILEY: I suppose it’s sometimes dangerous. Today I had to do an interview. Crashing came up and I described working with you as being on the constant edge of an orgasm and also hysteria.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It did have a kind of wild, beautiful energy.

BAILEY: There’s a chemical alchemy when you get the right group of people led by the right people.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I haven’t had that in quite the same way since, where everyone has equal importance in the story. That’s the thing that feels quite rare, actually, there’s like six of you and they’re all as fucked up as each other. I remember your audition. You came in like a fireball and you already felt like you had a Sam energy. You sat in your chair, took out your script from your bag, and then you were like, “Give me a second,” and you laid out your script around you on the floor. You had no embarrassment about what you needed or in front of you. You didn’t actually refer to it again, but you took those few seconds to just completely set up what you exactly needed for that audition, and then you were so free. And I just wonder if you’ve felt that particular type of confidence your whole life?

BAILEY: That’s a really good question. I’ve got three older sisters and I wonder if they are a structure. I’ve definitely been in environments where I don’t feel free, and then you give the worst performance of your life. What I’ve found in the last few years is that, of course, you have to adapt so quickly to work out what you need in order to be able to be free. I think if I don’t have the equivalent of that on the floor, I panic or get really scared.

WALLER-BRIDGE: There’s something about that, which is being able to play dangerously in a safe environment. I feel like that’s got so much to do with an understanding of tension, which I think you have. You’re like a chemistry machine. Obviously, with Bridgerton and then in Fellow Travelers, there’s this incredible erotic energy that people are so excited about.

BAILEY: I really think it comes from Crashing.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It doesn’t come from Crashing, it comes from you. I think you’re the king of tension. I think you understand what that is.

BAILEY: I think you can give yourself butterflies, can’t you?

WALLER-BRIDGE: Is that what you’re looking for, the butterfly all the time?

BAILEY: Yeah, I’m always looking for my butterfly farm. The misty, slightly smelly greenhouse full of butterflies.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s your tummy?

BAILEY: Yeah, that’s my tummy.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Did you always dream of playing leading man roles growing up?

BAILEY: Not at all, no. I never thought I would be able to.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Why?

BAILEY: I’ve realized that I’m completely in awe of other people and performances and creative endeavors. I go to the theater and I love a performance and I’m like, “How do they do that? I can’t see the seams.” So therefore, I feel like I must be driven by that. And when something comes my way, there’s a fear that it won’t work.

WALLER-BRIDGE: What’s really exciting to me is when I see palpable dynamics between characters, which you have done multiple times, like the relationship between Tim and Hawk. There’s so much opportunity for intimacy and that kind of danger. And when you get to play those sorts of roles, when you know that you can stand in front of each other and you don’t really need to do anything because it’s giving you something, it must’ve just been a joy walking into this world because it’s like a banquet of stuff to play with, right?

BAILEY: Totally, and it feels sort of vital and sexy. I do remember this one memory, which I guess I’ll share with you now. I did play and there was a tiled wall,at eye level with a mirrored border around. And there was a guy, we were into each other, and I remember just looking up in the middle of a conversation and he was looking at me in a reflection. And I was like, “This is what life is about.” Anyway, I think that it must have something to do with feeling the most alive in that.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you know Esther Perel?

BAILEY: Yeah, I love Esther Perel.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So she’s written about how she believes that your next orgasm begins at the very end of your last one, which is basically our whole life just building up to our next orgasm.

BAILEY: That’s just fantastic. It’s just so positive and hopeful—

WALLER-BRIDGE: And so beautiful, isn’t it?

BAILEY: It is.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Everything that you encounter in your life, every conversation that you have, is in some way building up to the next euphoric physical experience. Every single character has to have that inside them one way or another, because every human does. And I think with Fellow Travelers, because you long for them so much as an audience and you want them to have everything that they want from each other, but they’re also brutal to themselves and to each other, there is something so extraordinary seeing characters in that time portrayed in the way that you guys have portrayed them.

BAILEY: One thing that we’re all born with is the sense of longing. Longing comes before anything else, doesn’t it? Whoever you put on the wall, laminate the poster or whatever, it’s there. And actually, if you long for someone, more often than not you don’t think you are worthy of it. And that, to me, is a way into characters.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you remember your laminated poster longing person?

BAILEY: I think I had the Simpsons, which was obviously me trying to disguise myself as much as possible. Lucy Liu was a big one for me, too.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Well, I can see that.

BAILEY: I suppose there’s the laminated wall in my literal bedroom and then there’s the laminated wall in my gay—

WALLER-BRIDGE: Mind.

BAILEY: Who was yours?

WALLER-BRIDGE: You know what? It’s really interesting, because I was the eagle in the Rescuers Down Under. That wasn’t necessarily a sexual longing, but it was a romantic idea, that overwhelming sense of watching the Rescuers Down Under and being able to run out of the back of my house on my own, age 10, and jump onto the back of a giant eagle and he’ll fly me around. But in terms of just a hottie that I really fancied, I think it was probably Leo [DiCaprio].

BAILEY: Oh, yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Are you a nostalgic person?

BAILEY: Yes, I think so. I think a lot about my younger self. I’m always like, “Guys, remember this?” It’s slightly annoying, but I’m always drawing a line between the past and now for sure.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s how you measure your life, by remembering the time that’s gone by or what 11-year-old you would think of what you were doing?

BAILEY: I think I’m probably more romantic than nostalgic, if that makes sense.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Go on.

BAILEY: Well, I just think I’ve fully committed to the idea of everything being brilliant and then I work backwards from there.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Well, having starred in two hit period dramas and also being a huge part of the fact that they are a hit, that’s why I wondered about what your relationship is with the past and history, and how much you actually knew about McCarthy America?

BAILEY: Oh, no. Have you got a quiz?

WALLER-BRIDGE: I actually don’t. Do you want one?

BAILEY: No, that would be the worst.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you enjoy historical novels? Do you live in the past in any way in your mind? Or you are kind of like, “We’re here and we’re moving forward?”

BAILEY: I do think I’m here and moving forward. I really struggled with history at school, I could not take in information about the past. When it came to exams, I would remember the page where things were written but I couldn’t stitch together epochs and eras and kings.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It crashes my brain, too. I have a friend, and you can say to her, “June 24th, 1999,” and she can tell you pretty much what she was up to.

BAILEY: That’s amazing.

WALLER-BRIDGE: You can see her go into the diary in her mind. She has a very different wiring of her brain. But speaking of longing, are there any fictional or real life couples, gay or straight, that captured your heart over the years?

BAILEY: Oh my god, what a question. What about Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling in Blue Valentine?

WALLER-BRIDGE: I think Morticia and Gomez Addams were the most romantic couple.

BAILEY: Yeah, I see that.

WALLER-BRIDGE: They understood it. They got it all.

BAILEY: Also maybe Ryan and Marissa in The OC.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Any gay male couples that you ever looked up to or were romanced by?

BAILEY: Well unfortunately, there just weren’t that many were there growing up.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So wild.

BAILEY: But I met Matthew Rhys recently, who I just love. And I was thinking about that relationship in Brothers and Sisters. And then there was Queer as Folk. Russell, T. Davies changed the game. So many people owe so much to him just purely for visibility. There is no Tim and Hawk to a 2023 audience without Queer as Folk.

WALLER-BRIDGE: But did you feel frustrated?

BAILEY: Well, speaking of history, I was doing media studies with an amazing teacher and I decided that I was going to do my dissertation about the representations of Hutus and Tutsis and the Rwanda genocide, looking at Hotel Rwanda and Shooting Dogs. And then Brokeback Mountain came out and I was like, “Hang on, how can I possibly create a world where I can go and have a free pass to go to the cinema to watch it 10 times?” I’m really proud of my 17-year-old self, I wasn’t necessarily out, but I changed the topic to representation of homosexuality in Brokeback Mountain and I watched that film 10 times. And this amazing teacher, Dr. Brunton, who probably had an idea of what was going on, was just like, “This is brilliant, keep going, keep going.” And I think it was the best mark I ever got.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you still have it?

BAILEY: It must be on a hard drive upstairs in the attic. And obviously, that completely changed me, something chemical happened there. But it’s funny, I’m not clear on memories. And I do think it’s a common thing for a lot of people, growing up and having to survive and be basically in fight or flight, there’s a murkiness to how I recall.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Of course, because you couldn’t be truly present because you weren’t being completely yourself.

BAILEY: Totally, yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: When you look back and start unpacking it, do you feel overwhelmed with sympathy for how hard you were having to work as a 16-year-old, coming up with excuses to see the movie that you wanted to see?

BAILEY: Yeah. But I spent more time trying to be sympathetic towards the people that were around me who didn’t support or couldn’t help. I look back and I go, “Hell.”

WALLER-BRIDGE: Yes. But you are representing that and living that for so many people now. Your speech at the Critics Choice Awards the other day was so sublime and beautiful and straight from the heart. You are so electric as a human being and that is the most important thing. There aren’t many people in the world that can do that, that can stand there in front of people and speak from their heart about what it means to them to be given this opportunity. And I know that your career is just going to be the most extraordinary journey. When I first met you, I remember sitting with Josh [Cole], who was the producer on Crashing, and we were like, “If we get this guy, it’s going to be the game changer for the show.” And I know that every single person now wanting you on their project is feeling the same thing.

BAILEY: I definitely feel overwhelmed by that, but it’s lovely to hear.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Can I just ask you one question which I couldn’t remember about Crashing?

BAILEY: Yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: The frosted tips were your idea, wasn’t it?

BAILEY: I had this conversation today. I think it’s in the script. But my reference picture was Justin Timberlake in double denim.

WALLER-BRIDGE: No, I don’t think it was [in the script], because Sam’s a character that I hold closest to my heart because, in so many ways, he represents how I feel about maybe my inner life. I just love him so much, and your ability to play every single little corner of him that I dreamed of.

BAILEY: Maybe that’s the answer I was looking for when you asked if I was drawn to any romantic couples? No, it was just about wanting bleach blonde hair.

Source

[heyidkyay]

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Nine

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way? 

Authors Note: Part Nine!! Hope you lot like this one! Thank you so much for all the love its been shown, means a whole lot xx

Warnings: Scene that involves a lot of sudden panic and themes of possessive violence (Nothing too graphic, promise!), drinking but it's to be expected tbh

Masterlist

The pavement outside of the bar was grounding. A solid presence beneath my unsteady feet. 

I let that feeling engulf me as I wandered a little further down from the club doors to press my back against the outer wall. The brick became a tether, I felt the grain of its grit against the leather of my jacket, the way its chill pooled across the back of my head, its rough ridges latching onto the hair that fell there.

It had been the briefest of seconds, a startled glance shared between us both before I had ripped myself away. Knowing that I’d only somehow lose myself in those eyes of his if I lingered a second too long.

But Matty had been all too bashful and almost completely unaware of my presence, so over the top in his greetings to everyone else that he had virtually made it too easy for me to slip straight past his guard and out into the night.

Now, alone, I dragged in a ragged breath. The feverish wisp of the evening air swirled around my tongue, only to then wind its way down the back of my throat. It helped to somewhat still my trembling hands.

Then, almost frantically, I moved to rifle through the pockets of my jacket in search of a pack of fags, or perhaps a lighter- practically desperate to find another means of escape. My mind wouldn’t stop its endless spinning.

I didn't get the chance though, not when the person I'd all but bolted from came tumbling out of the doorway a few feet away, dazed smile paired with a pair of sharp cutting eyes.

"There she is!"

I swallowed thickly just as my head snapped left to meet Matty, who was now making his merry way over, hands tucked in his trousers as he grinned amiably at me. Like everything was fine. Normal.

"Was beginning to think you'd done a runner!"

He didn't look much different from the last time I had seen him, which oddly felt so long ago now. That day in the cafe and then by the tube station. But still, there was something unfamiliar about the jaunty way he now held himself. It was a little too confident, arrogant almost. I wasn't sure how to interpret it. If I was even supposed to.

"No. Just needed some air." I replied, a breath of relief escaping me when my fingers finally wrapped around the familiar feel of cardboard. I pulled the carton out to distract myself from his overwhelming presence and plucked a cigarette from its contents before then extending it outwards. It felt impolite not to offer.

Matty only bared his teeth at me in a grin, as charming as ever, before he leant forward to snag another from the casing. I fumbled then for a lighter, patting myself down in search of it. 

I needn't have bothered though because I blinked and then there was a flame, unwavering in the wind as Matty dangled it carelessly just under my nose. 

My eyes sought his and I wet my lips before making room for the filter.

Matty leaned in closer and I hunched slightly so that I could burn the cigarette’s end, but as I did I continued to observe Matty, his stance, the mask he wore, whilst the fancy chrome lighter worked its magic.

I didn't know exactly where my heart was in that precise moment, but it definitely wasn't in my chest. It was climbing up my throat, pounding against my skin, hammering in my ears. 

I hadn't really noticed it before but now, just being around Matty- especially when not entirely sober- was a somewhat difficult task for me to endure. The man was every sort of red flag rolled up into one being, the kind of person I knew I was better off just staying away from. 

Because people like Matty tended to lure the likes of me in, with their charming smiles and cutting eyes. 

The perfect sort of trap that left you helpless, stranded.

Right then, it almost seemed as though Matty had the power to read every insulant or incriminating thought that had ever crossed my mind. As though all of it was written as clear as day across my face.

Matty took a long drag of his cigarette and propped himself up against the wall beside me, a little too close for current comfort but I couldn't really find it in myself to pull back now.

"Seemed like you couldn't get away fast enough." 

He said it so nonchalantly that I was a little unsure on how best to answer, whether Matty was honestly offended or not by my sudden departure. But before I could even think up a reply, Matty was already striving on.

"But, I can only imagine- must've been more than awkward to see the object you've been ignoring for, well fuck knows how long, standing right there. Within reach."

Matty turned his infamous grin on me then, but my breath had already been caught by the unbidden emotion in the man's eyes. 

"I-" I tried but Matty merely shrugged me off, cigarette ash flailing as he did.

"Don't need an excuse, babe. I get it. I can be a bit much at times- clingy, I reckon’s the right word."

I choked a little on my next drag but immediately started to shake my head. "No, no- honestly, Matty. It wasn't like that."

Matty levelled me with an odd look, but said nothing more.

"Look, I promise. Alright? It’s just- I've had a lot on recently. Everything's been fucking stressing me out, more so than usual, and it's all just. Well, it's all just sort of gotten on top of me." 

Knuckling the side of my eye in frustration, I tugged a hand through my hair, hating myself for the way I couldn't even seem to worm my way out of this one. For the dejected look that sat so blatantly on Matty's face. 

"I am really not saying this right." I huffed out unhappily before I dropped my fag and stamped the remaining cherry out.

Matty merely snorted and I pressed my lips together to keep from biting and instead took a breath, turning to him.

"I'm sorry." Is what I apparently decided on, and felt almost as surprised as Matty looked when the words bypassed my lips. But in truth, I found that I really was sorry for making Matty feel as though he was to blame here. And for whatever other idiotic thing Matty might've told himself as to why I’d been acting like a right bitch lately.

Matty looked at me for a long pause, his hand stilled in midair between us, and I really wasn't very sure how to take the small smile that tugged at his lips a moment later.

"No need for apologies. Honestly. Well, only if you're planning to continue ignoring my messages after all this." Matty quipped and he laughed lightly when he caught my expression, blowing a cloud of smoke out of the side of his mouth.

I felt looser having heard his reply though, and tried for a smile.

"No. No, I wasn't planning on it."

"Good." Matty nodded and I really appreciated the way his face brightened when he did so. But I knew I’d never tell him. "Now! Are you going to buy me a drink for all of my troubles, or am I going to have to bribe that grumpy ginger mate of yours? Who’s even that sodding tall anyway?"

A startled laugh bubbled up from my chest and I couldn't for the life of me even think to decline the ask when Matty was looking at me like that, eyes shining under the streetlamp light, cheeky smile brightening his entire being.

"I'd like to see you try."

I quietly waited for Matty to finish the remnants of his cigarette before I followed the singer back inside, feeling the humidity of the cramped club pool over me the moment we bypassed the entrance.

Matty grabbed at my hand just as we slid by the highly intoxicated hen-do party who were crowding the doors. The action was done without merely a second thought, which wedged that heart of mine up into the walls of my throat and left me almost unaware as Matty continued to lead me through the rest of the crowd. 

His fingers wrapped effortlessly around my own and I clung to them like an anchor to the ocean floor. Struggling greatly to suppress the bubbling urge to play with the large metal ring that adorned Matty’s index finger.

"Oi, I thought you'd left!" Came a booming voice from over my left shoulder, it resonated around us once Matty and I had finally reached the bar.

It was on impulse that I glanced over in its direction and gaped at the sudden appearance of Auley, who's blue eyes were keen but playful, taking the situation in. It was Matty though, who replied, face turned up into a cocky grin as he subtly observed the incoming target.

"It seems,” He said, “That Squeaks here cannot say no to the likes of me."

Matty’s fingers were still grasping mine, I noted then, and was merely grateful for the way the bar's dim yellow lights were able to cover up the faint blush that had crawled up my neck. That statement had only strengthened it though, it seemed. Because, in all honesty, it felt like more than just a partial truth. 

The laughter that followed from Auley was brash and unavoidable, and he made sure to catch my gaze.

"Ah, I see!" Auley winked at me as he went to grab at the large tray of drinks the barman passed him. "Must be those devilishly good looks of yours, mate."

I hated feeling so wrong-footed so I shot back, "Or, maybe his charm."

Auley smirked just as I ducked my head. "I'll let everyone know you're stickin' around then, Mouse. Join us, yeah?"

Before I could dissuade him, to rewrite the picture he’d decided on in his head, the tall ginger had already dived back into the crowd, his head bobbing along to the song playing overhead as he sailed his way through. Everyone back at the table would know that I’d stuck around soon enough.

"What're you drinking then?"

Blinking, I spun back to face Matty and found a busty barmaid waiting on his reply. She was a pretty thing, propped up against the sleek counter, lips quirked high enough to contradict her sultry eyes. 

"Uh," I fumbled slightly before I simply shrugged, "Whatever you're having is fine."

Matty smiled, teeth glinting with the extremity of it, then leant in closer to order, close enough to the barmaid that I struggled to hear their exchange.

The woman flashed him a flirty smile before she finally slipped away, leaving me alone with the likes of Matty once again. I couldn’t for the life of me decide on how I felt about that.

"You been out long then?" I asked as a way of conversation, eyes flitting around the rest of the room, my voice raised just enough to be heard over the music.

"Depends on who you're asking."

My forehead pinched at that, and so Matty laughed.

"Jamie doesn't know I'm out."

I gave a slow nod. "Right. But won't he find out though? You know, come morning, when your mug's plastered all over Twitter and The Times."

Matty’s smile soured ever so slightly at that but he still chirped right back, pressing further into my space, arm brushing mine. “That’s the fun of it, Squeaks. Gotta live a little, yeah?”

The barmaid came wading back over before I could over-analyse his response, settling down an expensive bottle of Belvedere alongside two glasses. "Hope you enjoy it."

Matty dipped his chin at her, one side of his mouth tugging its way up before he hip-checked me into motion.

"Come on then, lead the way!"

--

Strobe lights danced in his peripheral vision, blinding and eccentric enough to cast shadows and beams out over the room. The bass of the current song being played overhead resonated deep within his chest, thudding alongside his erratic heartbeat. But Matty couldn't seem to concentrate on any of that, not when the girl swaying beside him stood so close, a breath away.

"DJ tonight is really going for it!" She declared as she tossed her head back carelessly, laughing up at the ceiling. 

Matty couldn’t find it in him to reply, too busy staring. Mouth agape as his eyes raked over the length of her body. The moisture that clung to the line of her throat, the way that the shorter hairs that framed her face curled in the humidity, how her body just moved. As though she didn't even have to try. Like she was just dancing to dance, not caring who was watching.

Briefly, Matty wondered how hot she must have felt wrapped up in that tight leather jacket of hers, but couldn't for the life of him bring himself to ask. Not when she looked so carefree, so buoyant. Plus, the leather only added to the image Matty had honed in on.

She was grinning still, almost madly now, when she turned her head to catch his keen gaze. She leant in close, so close that Matty could breathe in the scent of her all too easily, the same sweet fragrance that surrounded her constantly and had been filling up his head for days since he’d first smelt it.

"Listen to this riff coming up! Just after the bridge." She instructed him, bright eyes hidden behind drooping lids as her lips brushed against the shell of Matty’s ear. 

He forced back a shiver at the feeling and tried his very hardest to follow the order, straining to focus on the song instead of the girl’s proximity.

She continued to bop her head languidly and her eyes finally fell completely shut just as a guitar sounded. The chords of it flowed so fluently, edging closer and closer towards a finale. 

She looked so serene whilst she listened, so carefree. As though the only language she'd ever been able to truly understand was the sound of music.

They fell into rhythm without even thinking, the two of them, he dropped his head against her neck so that his hips could sway with hers, a drink loosely gripped between the pads of his fingers. And she seemingly allowed it, even as they stood in a crowd so full of onlooking people. 

It was strange though. All of his thoughts were centred around her, the way she moved, the rise and fall of her chest. The three freckles perched on the bone of her collar. But just as that realisation settled in and they continued to dance, Matty felt the sudden sensation of air forcing its way back into his lungs. The action was so apparently clear that he realised, momentarily, that he'd forgotten just how imperative it was to simply breathe. 

He wasn't sure whether it was down to the alcohol, or something other, but he revelled in the sharp chill of it, the rushing of his blood. The way it made him dizzy with adrenaline. It was akin to something he hadn’t felt in a long while.

--

"Mouse."

I hummed noncommittally in response, not paying the voice behind me much mind as I approached the bar again. Matty wanted something fizzy this time around and I didn’t mind sharing.

"Mouse!" It came again, louder.

The crowd seemed to have tripled in the short time it had taken me to weave my way off of the dance floor, it was buzzing now, hands and faces and drinks everywhere. My gaze flickered back over my shoulder momentarily to see if I could still make Matty out in the heaving mass, just so that I could reassure him that I'd soon be back, that I was already at the bar.

"Mouse!" There it was again, that voice, only this time it was accompanied by a grabbing hand. 

I startled at the sensation and whipped around, frowning when I saw it was Ronan standing there, my confused gaze now peering up into his storming blue. I shrugged the hand off, then rubbed at the wrist it had seized.

"That'll leave a bruise." I mumbled with a pinched expression.

Ronan's lips only thinned as he stared down at me, not saying a word. 

I huffed unhappily, "What did you want, Ro?"

Ronan’s sharp scoff cut through the noise, sounding as though I should have already known the answer to that one. "You're bladdered." He practically spat.

"Thanks for the insight, Sherlock." I countered with a mocking salute, and went to turn away again but there was that hand.

"Jesus, Ronan! Can't I just enjoy a night out? Thought you'd be the first person to egg me on!" I found myself exclaiming, only growing annoyed by the unnecessary exchange, by his rough touch.

I saw his jaw tick, the muscles work beneath the grit of his teeth, and instinctively took a deep breath.

With an exaggerated sniff, Ronan cut his eyes at me again, and even in my drunken haze, I knew that I’d made a mistake somewhere.

"Look, I'm sorry." I tried to backpedal, pulse quickening, "I'm just a little tipsy. Didn't mean to go off on you like that."

"Save it." Ronan grunted out, his hand grabbing at my arm once again, this time it was a lot harsher, heavier. So much so that I couldn't hide my wince, nor the sharp inhale. "We're leavin'."

My tongue fell slack as I attempted to swallow the weighty feeling in my throat, sobering up quickly just as Ronan began to tug me through the hordes of bustling clubbers.

It had been a long while since I had first walked away from the redhead. A drunken one night stand which had progressed into a recurring bad habit during my last year at uni, when I'd still been struggling to wrap my head around everything. Fighting back and forth with the idea of being with somebody, of allowing them to see me completely. Of learning how to trust.

In truth, I’d been at my lowest, and the first few times Ronan and I had slept together, I wasn't so sure that I'd been able to walk, much less jump into bed with someone I considered a mate, when I woke up the next morning. 

But I had brushed it aside, figuring that my inebriated mind had only gone after what my sober self had tried its best not to want.

I couldn't really recall the many people I'd got with during that odd period of time, I honestly hadn't wanted to remember much. But Ronan had been mixed in with a throng of others- bartenders, waiters, boys from my classes. And somewhere amongst them all, there had also been Teddy's dad. But the redhead had been a constant. Somewhat of a regular seeing as though I’d had a tiny crush on him way back when.

Then Teddy had obviously come along and I’d been forced to face the facts.

Ronan, as grand as he could often be, was jealous as the best of times, and sadistic at the worst. He didn't much like to share and the man tended to swing towards the belief that the people he had in and out of his bed were his to keep. 

And I wasn't demented enough to think that I'd deserved the treatment, but no one else had noticed back then, no one else could have understood. Then with the arrival of Teddy, Ronan hadn't been much interested in the likes of me anymore. And although I'd been adamant that we’d remain friends, I really hadn't seen much of anyone after leaving uni. And I’d been more than content with that fact for a long while now.

In a panicked breath, I fought for my mind to catch up with the rest of me just as I tore my arm from Ronan’s overbearing grip, causing me to stumble backwards into a large group gathered around a tall table. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" 

Came Ronan's heated voice, it was all that I could really focus on as I struggled to continue backwards, desperate to get away but not wanting to cause a scene. I whispered apologies under my breath without even thinking, tripping over my own feet in my haste.

"Mouse!"

The redhead was hot on my tail though, calling out to me again and again as he forced his way through the overlapping crowd that bustled between us. 

I continued with my sorry’s, murmuring to the people around me as I started to shove and push.

But I had been so focused on the voice coming towards me that I’d all but jumped right out of my skin when I heard my name echo in my ear. A quick flash and hands were settling themselves on my shoulders to still me. 

Impulsively, I jolted away, springing around to meet Alice's wide eyes.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Alice. Alice, where's-" I struggled to get enough oxygen into my lungs as I fumbled for words, any words. The blinding fear and panic I should've been feeling only moments ago convulsed through me now like a tornado ripping effortlessly through a city.

"Mouse!" 

Was that Ronan again? 

My head throbbed with the thought, desperate now.

"Please, Alice."

I could feel the shortness of my breaths as they came out in huffs, my startled eyes flickering every which way as I searched for a way out. An escape.

"Mouse, what's happened? Mouse?" And oh, did I wish that she'd stop saying my name. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to catch a sight of familiar red.

Alice was hesitant to get any closer now after how I'd so violently flinched, but even through the foggy panic I felt I could see her evident worry.

"Mouse! Alice!"

I watched as Alice's troubled gaze trailed somewhere over my left shoulder, to a space just behind me, and I couldn't help the aggressive way I started to shake my head. Hoping she’d somehow understand. I was overreacting sure, but trembling so hard it almost hurt. It should’ve hurt, I thought.

"Matty." Was the first word that spewed out of my mouth, and I started repeating it like a prayer as I felt the walls of the bar begin to close in. And so, a more than concerned Alice nodded hurriedly at me before she cautiously draped an arm around my waist and started to lead me away.

I was almost certain that Ronan was still calling out, but I couldn't quite hear his voice anymore over the pounding in my ears and so I tried to focus on where we were going. I thought Alice was talking, too. But her voice was so gentle that I struggled to read her lips. 

People were flashing by and I noticed a familiar face pass us by then, but they looked far too alarmed and hurried on without a greeting smile, their arms stretched outwards to catch something behind us.

Alice stumbled on, only sparing a single glance backwards as she veered me out from the overwhelming crowd.

I could honestly think a little clearer now, eyes shuttered, flickering back and forth between everyone and everything. Though it all still felt too much.

"Just up here, okay, lovie?" Alice murmured, her presence soothing, safe.

I licked at my lower lip and dipped my head in acknowledgment. "Sorry." I replied breathlessly, voice faint.

Alice blinked at me owlishly and then frowned, before she then squeezed me closer to her side. "Had me worried there, babe, but you don't have to apologise. No need, alright?"

Before I could even think up a response, Alice was speaking again- only, not to me. I dragged my head back up upon hearing a familiar lilt and was bombarded with the sight of a staggered looking Matty. The bright smile he'd been wearing upon our arrival had been wiped away the second he’d gotten one good look at my face. 

"What the hell happened to you?"

The question made me think and my forehead furrowed at the sound of the unknown voice. I peered around slightly to find another man seated right beside Matty, he was of a similar build and with hair just as dark. Matty, who had jumped up to meet Alice and I as we drew closer to the booth, reached out for me.

The expression he wore confused me to no end but I couldn't question it, not when Alice was already handing me over to him, albeit with a bit of hesitancy.

"Is she okay?" Matty asked her briskly, his eyes never once leaving mine. I’d never seen them go so wide.

"She honestly came out of nowhere, practically on the verge of a panic attack and looking as though she'd just seen a ghost." Alice explained wearily, whilst Matty ushered me into the nearest seat. His seat.

He jerked his head at the man sitting opposite as he slid in after me, "Go get us some water, will you!"

The man, put on the spot, looked both alarmed and perplexed at the sudden order, but nodded at Matty all the same before he ducked quickly out of the booth.

"Who-" But my inquiry was cut off.

"Danny, mate of mine. Ignore him." Matty answered, somehow already knowing my question, as a careful hand came up to cup my chin, it guided my face closer so that I could get a better look at him. As gentle as Matty was whilst handling me though, I could see the venomous anger in his eyes, the emotions that warred there. "Who was it?"

I blinked slowly but didn’t look away. "What d’you mean?"

He inhaled slowly, so calm it would’ve been intriguing any other time. "It's obvious that something happened, Squeaks. So who was it?"

Squeaks. Squeaks. Squeaks.

I focused on the way my name curled around Matty’s soft spoken tongue.

"Babe." Matty tried to regain my attention and I felt a soft hand tap my shoulder before it dropped itself. "I can't make you tell me what happened but I want to know who to avoid when I try to get you out of here. You hearin’ me?"

I gaped slightly before hurrying to shake my head in return.

"No, no, it's fine, Matty. Honestly. I didn't, I didn’t mean to scare everyone. I'll be fine. I’m okay."

He levelled me with a look, and for some reason it made me feel as though we were the only two people in the room.

"Please don't lie to me. Not right now." 

Was what Matty came out with, his voice so steady that I truly did wonder whether he'd actually had a drop of alcohol tonight.

"I was raised by liars, can't stand lies." He added and I swallowed thickly.

Matty just sighed.

"Look, I can probably get us out the back door, alright? I'll get Danny to deal with anyone else." He told me, but only continued to ramble on as he pulled his mobile out from his front pocket, and then he was rambling down the phone to somebody else. 

I watched him all the while, still a little dazed from the blinding panic I’d just felt and the idea of Ronan still not being too far. My eyes wouldn’t leave Matty though, even with those thoughts, even though my body craved to search him out, to see if he was near. Head screaming with the intensity of it.

Matty gave me a tiny smile when he hung up and his hand came to rest over my forearm, a vast contradiction to the harsh grip I’d felt there earlier.

"I've got a car waiting outside, you okay with me dropping you home?"

My mum had always claimed I’d been far too proud, hated having other people take care of me, hated them doing the things I could easily do myself. But at that moment all I wanted was my bed. Was to be home. 

And so, taking a big leap, I jerked my head in a quick nod, if anyone could even call it that, and it felt like Matty understood just how much power I was giving up then when the man slid out of the booth and offered up a hand.

Still, I took it.