#there’s just something about the lengths a mother would go for her own child | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

schemmentigfs · 2 months ago

Text

Sweetening the Deal.

Summary: Feeling stuck and desperate for a change in life, you meet Melissa Schemmenti, a sophisticated and wealthy woman at a bar. As you talk, a beneficial arrangement is made —you become her sugar baby in exchange for financial support and a life of luxury.

Tags: @italianaidiota @lisaannwaltersbra

Part 2.

It was supposed to be easy. You’d been in these types of arrangements before — usually with someone older, someone with the means to provide. A little fun, some affection, an exchange of care and comfort for the right lifestyle. It was straightforward.

Nothing that serious, just someone to take care of you, spoil you with a luxurious life, and maybe provide some excitement every once in a while. And you’d gotten good at playing the role, keeping the personal stuff at arm’s length and only showing the parts that were needed to make it work. You had your own reasons for this, but when it came down to it, it was all about getting something you needed, and being charming enough to keep it flowing.

You were only twenty-four, yet the strain of trying to make ends meet had already worn on you. You lived in a rundown apartment with leaky pipes and cracked walls, a place that felt more like a shelter than a home. The thin walls meant you could hear every fight between your neighbors, every sound from the street below. It was cheap, sure, but every night you’d lie awake, listening to the hum of the old radiator, wondering how long you could keep going like this.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You’d always imagined yourself living with a bit more security by now, maybe even enjoying the occasional luxury. Instead, your days blurred together in a monotony of bills, grocery budgets, and stretching the little you had to last. You’d settled into a job that, while stable, had slowly begun to drain you. The paychecks were barely enough to cover rent, groceries, and the never-ending list of repairs your landlord promised to fix but never did. Each month, it felt like you were just one unexpected expense away from drowning.

The job itself didn’t help. It was the kind that offered no thrill, no satisfaction — just a steady flow of hours clocked in and clocked out, all while your dreams of something more started to gather dust. You’d watch others, people who seemed to glide through life without a care, and wondered what it would feel like to have even a fraction of that ease.

So when someone with money crossed your path, offering more than just their captivating presence, it felt like a window opening, a brief glimpse into a different world. A world where you didn’t have to worry about leaky pipes or thin walls, where you could shed the weight of all those unfulfilled promises and simply live — at least for a little while.

It felt odd to pretend to be interested in someone just for the benefits. Unfortunately there was no out. Since you were a child, you’d known that life was rarely fair. Your mom had made sure of that. She was a single mother, a fiercely determined woman who raised you on her own after a messy divorce. She didn’t sugarcoat things, either; she’d tell you straight-up that the world could be a cruel place, especially for a woman trying to make it alone.

From her, you learned early that being good wasn’t always enough. She taught you resilience, to work hard and keep your expectations realistic, to push forward even when things felt impossible. And, maybe unintentionally, she taught you that sometimes, you had to rely on yourself more than anyone else because no one was going to hand you anything.

Even as a kid, you’d seen the way she struggled, how she’d sacrificed and held herself together. You watched her scrape together everything you had, keeping a brave face for your sake even when the weight of it all clearly pressed down on her. She made it through, but not without that look of fatigue that never seemed to leave her eyes.

So you understood, maybe better than most, that life wasn’t likely to hand you anything easy — and that the only way to get what you wanted was to reach for it. Maybe that’s why you found yourself here now, doing what you needed to do to get by, even if it meant letting someone else take care of you for once.

But then you met Melissa Schemmenti, and everything you thought you understood got turned upside down. And most importantly, your life changed in ways that you never imagined it would.

The first time you’d first spotted her, you weren’t even focused on choosing her as a target.

It was a rainy Friday night when you first saw the mysterious fiery redhead— sitting alone at the bar in a rich neighborhood in Philadelphia. She was sipping on a whiskey neat, her sharp features softened in the dark light, the flicker of the warm candles in the background making her sharp green eyes gleam in a way that almost took your breath away. It wasn’t her beauty that struck you, though. It was the way she seemed untouchable, confident in her own skin, like she didn’t need anyone, but still drew people in with an effortless ease.

You were just finishing a drink, waiting out the weather, when your gaze drifted back to her in the corner of the room.

She looked intense, yet somehow at ease. Her red hair, loose and wild, framed a striking face: strong cheekbones, sharp nose, and expressive green eyes that had a way of flicking around the room, as if daring anyone to get in her way. And yet, there was a warmth there too — a quiet vulnerability hidden in the curve of her mouth, softer than you’d imagined someone with such a sharp, no-nonsense face would carry.

“Interesting,” you whispered to yourself after realizing that no one, not a single man or woman, dared to approach her.

You’d seen people steal glances, some lingering a bit too long, but no one made a move. It was like there was some unspoken rule, as if the invisible space around her held a warning.

It made you even more curious.

For a while, you just watched, mesmerized by the way she sipped her whiskey with a kind of measured focus, her full red lips pressing into the glass like she was enjoying every second of it. The sleeves of her fitted blazer clung to toned arms, and her fingers were adorned with rings, each one sparkling softly in the light. Melissa’s neck was full of golden necklaces. That you assumed it had a Catholic meaning due to her small cross. Her frame was strong, curvy in all the best ways, carrying herself like someone who knew exactly who she was.

She looked like she didn’t need anything from anyone. But there was something in her gaze that suggested she’d be open to the right offer.

“Why isn’t anyone going up to her?” you scoffed, shaking your head and getting up from your seat. Unable to hide your intrigue. “I mean, she’s… well, she’s gorgeous.”

You’d barely taken a few steps toward the bar when Fran, the bartender leaned over, giving you a look that was somewhere between concerned and amused. She was a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a motherly vibe, the kind of person who seemed to know everyone’s business — especially when it came to her regulars.

“You sure about that one, sweet face?” she asked, nodding her head toward Melissa, who was still nursing her drink in the corner. And had ordered a lemon margarita.

You glanced back at the stranger, then back at Fran, frowning slightly in confusion. “What do you mean, Francis?”

The woman chuckled, wiping down the counter with a practiced hand. “Schemmenti doesn’t exactly do things halfway. People say she’s got a temper like a firecracker and a heart just as tough. You’d be surprised at how fast things get messy with her.” She paused, giving you a pointed look. “Not to mention, she doesn’t have the patience for games.”

Intrigued, you raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “And why’s that?”

Fran shrugged, but her gaze softened a little. “She’s been through some things, that’s all. Divorces and family issues. Got her walls up pretty high. Not just anyone makes it past them. If you’re thinking of walking up to her, just… be ready for whatever comes with it. She doesn’t like anyone wasting her time.”

You felt a spark of excitement mingle with the nerves, and your frown shifted into something closer to a smile. “Well,” you said slowly. “I guess I like a challenge.”

The middle aged woman shook her head, a knowing smirk on her face. “Suit yourself, sweetheart. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

But despite the warning, you couldn’t shake the pull you felt. If anything, it only made you more determined.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

With that, you picked up your drink and walked over to her, ignoring Fran’s amused shake of the head as she muttered. “Good luck, kid.”

Alright, here goes nothing.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you as you made your way toward her. The atmosphere in the bar seemed to quiet, the soft murmur of conversations fading into the background. Every step felt deliberate, calculated — but your heart was racing nonetheless.

Sliding into the seat next to her, you gave her a bold smile, one you hoped was as confident as she looked. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Melissa didn’t even glance your way. She lifted her glass, taking a slow sip, her gaze still focused across the bar, as if you hadn’t spoken at all. She looked composed and relaxed, her red waves falling around her shoulders, but there was an edge to her silence that made it clear she wasn’t the type to entertain small talk with strangers.

Still, you weren’t one to back down easily. You leaned in just a touch, close enough to catch a faint hint of her perfume. Something dark and warm, with notes of amber.

“So… is there a reason you’re quiet and alone, or do you just enjoy intimidating everyone who looks your way?”

At that, she finally turned to look at you, her gaze sharp and assessing. Those green eyes bore into you, sizing you up without an ounce of pretense. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a spark of curiosity there — maybe even a hint of amusement, though she hid it well.

“You know, it would be inelegant for a pretty lady like you to refuse a drink offer like that.”

That earned you the slightest shift, a flicker of her eyes cutting in your direction. But just as quickly, she looked away once more, taking another deliberate sip from her glass, pointedly ignoring you.

Alright, she was tough. But you’d expected that.

Clearing up your throat, you tried again. “Can I buy you a drink?”

For a moment, Melissa barely looked at you again, her attention fixed on her drink, her elegant fingers tracing the rim of her glass. Then, slowly, she turned those sharp eyes your way, raising a single eyebrow in skepticism. “You think I can’t buy my own drink, sweetheart?”

Caught a little off guard, you chuckled, brushing off her cold response. “Oh, I’m sure you could buy out the whole bar if you wanted. Just thought you might enjoy a little company."

The corner of her mouth quivered in a faint, almost amused smile, though her expression remained guarded. “Is that so? Are you always this forward with strangers, or am I that special?”

You met her gaze, refusing to back down, though you felt the intensity of her stare like a challenge. “I could ask you the same thing. I doubt I’m the first person who’s tried their luck tonight.”

That actually made her laugh — a low, genuine sound that surprised you with its warmth. She finally looked at you fully, leaning back just a bit, her eyes still sharp but now a little more intrigued. “Plenty try. Few get this far,” she said, taking a sip of her drink, studying you over the rim of her glass.

“Guess I’m lucky then,” you replied, matching her gaze. “Or maybe you’re just curious.”

She looked you up and down, a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. “What’s your name, doll?”

“Y/N.“ You introduced yourself, feeling the thrill of her attention settling fully on you.

She offered a hand, her grip firm, fingers warm and soft against your skin. “Melissa,” she said simply, with a smirk that told you she already knew her name alone carried weight.

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too, hon,” she replied softly, almost too sweetly.

The air between you felt different now, charged, as though something had shifted. You couldn’t quite place it, but you knew one thing: she was far more than the icy exterior she wore.

“So,” you started firmly, eager to keep the conversation flowing. “What brings someone like you to a place like this?”

Melissa raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curling into a knowing smile. “You really want to know?” she asked, her voice dropping slightly, the undertone suddenly sharper, almost dangerous.

You nodded, sensing you were getting somewhere.

“Maybe I just enjoy the quiet,” she said, her gaze sliding over to the rest of the bar, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass. “Or maybe I like the kind of people who think they can handle me. You know, the ones who think they can get past the walls.”

There it was. That wall. You hadn’t been wrong about it earlier.

You leaned a little closer, the space between you diminishing. “Well, I like a good challenge,” you said, tone lowering slightly as you met her eyes. “And I don’t back down easily.”

The older woman studied you for a long moment, her lips pressing together in contemplation. There was something unspoken in the way she looked at you, like she was trying to figure out if you were just another curiosity or something more.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the space between the two of you suddenly too much. It was as if you were both waiting for the other to make the next move.

Finally, she spoke again, but this time, her voice was quieter, more intimate. “Is that so? Well, I hope you’re not disappointed.”

Without another word, she stood, surprising you for a moment, and you couldn’t help but follow her gaze as she turned her attention to the bartender.

“I’m leaving for now,” she said, her tone dismissive but with a hint of warmth beneath it. “But if you want to keep up, sweetheart, you’ll have to be quicker than that.”

Before you could respond, Melissa leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek — quick, but there was something sensual about the way her lips lingered for just a second longer than you’d expected.

“Melissa? What are you doing?” you prompted nervously. Your body language gave away how much desperate you were.

Her breath brushed against your ear as she whispered. “You better be ready for more than you bargained for.”

And just like that, Melissa Schemmenti was gone, but not before she slid a sleek business card across the counter toward you. “Call me if you think you can be a good girl and handle it,” she said, her eyes meeting yours one last time, a smirk on her lips.

The card was heavy in your hand as you stared at it, wondering what the hell you had just gotten yourself into. But at the same time, you couldn’t deny the shivers racing through you.

Before you could process it all, the bartender's voice cut through the moment, the amusement clear in her tone. “Looks like someone’s in for the ride of their life.”

You didn’t even respond, your focus still entirely on the card in your hand. that redheaded woman had left you breathless, but there was no denying it — you were already hooked.

After Melissa left, you spent the rest of the night at the bar, her business card tucked safely in your pocket, your mind racing. Who was Melissa Schemmenti? That name. “Schemmenti,” lingered, something about it sparking a vague sense of familiarity. It didn’t take long for curiosity to win over. The moment you got home, you grabbed your phone and typed her name into the search bar.

Almost immediately, a series of results popped up — news articles, restaurant reviews, family business profiles. The Schemmentis were, without a doubt, a well-known name in the city. They were a prominent Italian family with a long history of running high-end, family-owned restaurants and food businesses. Each article seemed to mention the family's deeply rooted traditions, their reputation for intense loyalty, and an unyielding commitment to quality that set their establishments apart.

There were photos of various family members attending restaurant openings and charity events. Most of them shared that same unmistakable look: sharp features, intense eyes, a confidence that seemed to radiate through the screen. But none of them held the same aura she had. You kept scrolling, searching, until finally, a photo caught your eye — a candid shot of Melissa herself, standing beside what looked like an older family member at an event. She was dressed elegantly, her green eyes striking even in the low-quality photo. Her signature smirk was there, too, as if she knew more than anyone else around her.

Digging a little deeper, you found hints that the Schemmentis weren’t just known for their restaurants. Whispers and rumors hinted at connections beyond the culinary world. It was all speculation, of course, nothing concrete — but there was talk of ties to old-school family loyalty, the kind that ran a bit deeper than the surface.

You couldn’t help but wonder what that meant for Melissa. She had a presence that felt untouchable, like she existed in a world all her own, one you’d barely scratched the surface of. Still, that made her even more intriguing.

Scrolling through more photos, you spotted one of her in front of the family’s flagship restaurant, a chic Italian bistro that was famous across the city. It looked upscale, all dark wood and gold accents, the kind of place you’d need a reservation months in advance for. The family had a reputation for authenticity, keeping recipes as close to the homeland as possible — a fact that seemed to add to the almost mythical image they cultivated in the food scene.

“Crap,” you sighed softly. “She’s more powerful than I thought.”

You leaned back in your chair, your mind spinning with the informations. Melissa was far more than just the striking woman you’d met at the bar. She was a part of this powerful, well-established family, one that had its hands in nearly every major social event and high-profile gathering in Philadelphia. The more you thought about it, the more you realized just how far removed you were from her world. But that only made you want her more.

You found another link, this one detailing a series of more extravagant gala events the. Subtle shots of Melissa made their way into the article — always in the background, always looking stunning, but always with that same cool, untouchable demeanor. The more you saw, the more you wanted to know.

A part of you wondered if you were getting in way over your head. But the other part — the part that was curious, that wanted to know everything about her — pushed those thoughts aside.

You glanced back at the card, and something in the back of your mind clicked. The business card. It wasn’t just a way to contact her. It was a way into her world. It was a ticket, maybe, to something bigger than you’d ever imagined. If you were going to do this, to pursue whatever this was between you two, you’d have to play it smart. You’d have to prove you were more than just another curious young woman.

With a deep breath, you typed in the number on the card. Your thumb hovered over the send button for a moment, then pressed it. Your heart beat faster than usual. This could be the start of something dangerous, something intoxicating. Or it could fizzle out, like so many other fleeting moments.

But you didn’t think it would. Not with her.

You took a breath, steeling your nerves as you composed the message. It took you a few drafts to strike the right tone, something that wouldn’t come off too eager but still got the point across. Finally, you sent a simple, Hey, it’s me from the bar. Would love to see you again if you’re interested.

A few seconds passed. Then a minute. You began to wonder if you’d misread everything and were ready to chalk it up to a learning experience when your phone buzzed, and her name — “Melissa Schemmenti” — appeared on your screen.

Thought you would never reach. Meet me tomorrow. At seven. La Sirena. Ask for a table under ‘Schemmenti.’ Don’t be late, sweetheart.

Shit.

La Sirena was a well-known Italian restaurant. Upscale, expensive, and not the kind of place you could typically afford. Just seeing her name there made your stomach flutter, excitement mingling with nerves. You quickly typed back an “I’ll be there” and spent the rest of the evening thinking about what you’d wear, what you’d say, and how you’d keep your composure.

On Saturday evening, you arrived at La Sirena early. You wore the nicest outfit you could put together, something classic and understated, hoping it would hold up to the restaurant's sophisticated atmosphere. Walking into the lavish space, you felt a bit out of place, but you kept your head high as you approached the host and asked for the Schemmenti reservation.

“Right this way,” he said with a polite smile, leading you to a private table in a quiet corner of the restaurant. Melissa was already seated, her gaze locked on the menu. When she looked up at you, a slow smile spread across her lips, and you couldn’t help but notice how stunning she looked, her red hair cascading over her shoulders, accentuating the sharpness of her cheekbones and the piercing green of her eyes.

“You made it,” she said, almost surprised as she gestured for you to sit. “And on time, too. I like that.”

You settled into your seat, feeling her eyes on you as you tried to calm your racing heart. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” you replied, offering her a face that you hoped masked the mix of awe and nerves.

The redhead frowned, setting her menu down to focus fully on you. “So, tell me, what exactly are you looking for? A young woman doesn’t approach me in a bar without a reason.”

Her directness caught you by suprise, but you appreciated it. Taking a breath, you decided to be just as straightforward. “Honestly? I need some support. Financially,” you admitted, your face softening. “My job barely covers my bills, and… well, I could use a hand.”

Melissa’s expression didn’t change, though her eyes lingered on you for a moment, weighing your words. She leaned back, crossing her legs, her gaze assessing. “And in return, you’d be… what? At my beck and call? Or are you looking for something more traditional?” Her voice was low, almost teasing, but there was an edge of seriousness there.

You swallowed, feeling the intensity of her words. “I’m open to whatever you’re looking for. I want to be someone you enjoy spending time with, whatever that might look like.”

Her smile widened slightly, a glint of amusement flashing in her eyes. “I don’t do traditional. But I do like arrangements that benefit both parties.” She reached for her glass, taking a slow sip as she considered you. “Here’s what I want: someone who can hold a conversation, someone who knows when to keep things discreet. I don’t need drama, and I don’t need clinginess. Think you can handle that?”

You nodded, your own excitement growing at the proposition. “I can handle that. I’m not looking to complicate things — just to be here when you want me.”

She seemed pleased by your answer, nodding slightly. “Good. Then I think we understand each other.” She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite place. “And let’s get one thing straight, pretty girl. If I want to spoil you, you’ll let me. No protesting. Understood?”

A small smile crept onto your lips, the warmth of her presence making you feel bolder. “Understood, ma’am.”

“That’s a good girl.”

Green eyes softened for a moment, her gaze dropping to your lips. And before you could process what was happening, she leaned across the table, her hand cupping your cheek as she pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. Her lips were soft, her touch featherlight yet intoxicating.

When she pulled back, her voice dropped to a whisper, almost as if she were sharing a secret. “Then it’s a deal.”

Your pulse raced as she sat back, casually reaching into her black purse to pull out an envelope. She slid it across the table toward you, her fingers grazing yours as she did.

“Just a little something to get you started,” she murmured, with a wink that was both playful and possessive. “It has a sum of five thousand dollars inside. It should help you for now, every week I can send you more. If you keep your promise.”

You took the envelope, feeling the weight of it in your hands. The gesture was more than generous, but it was the way she looked at you — with that blend of intensity and control — that made you realize what you were truly getting into. And for the first time in a long time, you felt safe, secure, and undeniably captivated.

As the evening unfolded, you couldn't help but feel the weight of what was happening. There was a sense of excitement, of possibility — but also a sharp, nagging thought that reminded you to tread carefully.

Don’t confuse things.

You couldn’t afford to get attached.

That was the key. This was supposed to be a simple arrangement, something that filled the gaps where your paycheck fell short. You weren't looking for something complicated, something emotional. Not with her. Not with someone like Melissa, who had power, elegance, and control in everything she did. She could snap her fingers, and people would fall in line. She was the kind of woman who played the game and always won.

You knew how this worked — a sugar baby and a sugar mommy. It was transactional, not romantic. You could enjoy the new life, yes, but you couldn’t let yourself get caught up in the emotions. You couldn't fall for her. You couldn’t let yourself start imagining more than what this was.

As the conversation carried on, Melissa’s wicked smirk never faltered, her focus entirely on you as she made her offers and requests while learning more about you. But underneath it all, you kept reminding yourself: No fucking attachments. You couldn’t afford them.

But even as you made that mental note, as you stared at her with those smoldering green eyes and that effortless poise, you felt something shift inside. A part of you that couldn’t quite ignore the magnetic pull she had over you, the allure that was impossible to escape.

Still, you had to stay grounded. This was just a business arrangement. Nothing more, right?

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x y/n #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti

315 notes · View notes

houserautha · 10 months ago

Text

These Destined Ends

Part 1

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none for this chapter. Masterlist of warnings overarching the series

A/N: Hello! If you’re here then there’s probably something wrong with you too, so let’s be friends. I haven’t been able to write anything lately until I saw the latest Dune movie and then all of my thoughts became dedicated to Feyd-Rautha. I must get these thoughts out. Help. Me.

“Chin up.”

Your mother brushes your hair back, bronze, like hers, and lifts your chin. Her gaze is critical. You stare back, thinking only of the things that she will find fault in you. An endless amount, you muse. The slightest flicker of expression on Lady Jessica’s face informs you that she suspects what you’re thinking. Your teeth grit.

“Must you do that?” You hiss through your painted lips. The servants have dressed you specially for the occasion. A floor-length black dress and, settled on your shoulders, a red cape clasped together with the House of Atreides insignia.

Jessica withdraws her hand. Your mother radiates femininity and power, a feat you’ve yet reached. Even the cool way in which she regards you drips with regality.

“Do what?” She asks, feigning innocence.

“Don’t make me say it.”

Jessica’s blue eyes harden. “You don’t have to, daughter. It’s plain enough.”

Mother and daughter stare at one another.

She tried to teach you the ways of the Bene Gesserits, but you failed to take to it. You were too expressive, too…volatile. You struggled to detect the slightest change in voice, you could never sit still long enough to study, and your facial features always betrayed you. The only aspect you succeeded in was combat — there was no need to mask your feelings, your thoughts, able to just completely lend yourself to the blade.

But it wasn’t enough.

“You’re fortunate the Reverend Mother has chosen to see through with this arrangement,” Jessica all but snarls. “There’s hope for you still, in form of an heir.”

The Kwisatz Haderach.

The only reason your mother still spoke to you, affords you any attention at all. The fact that you’ve been painstakingly bred to produce him: a Bene Gesserit of male origin, capable of accessing the memories of his ancestors and see through time and space itself.

A terrible mantle for an unborn child.

In the black of night, you sometimes lay your hand on your abdomen and utter apologies to the egg nestled in your ovary; burdened with horrible purpose. If only you could avoid its fate. But you were not even in control of your own.

“I want to stay here,” you plea finally, pitifully.

Jessica steps away from you, brushes off her skirt. “You know that you cannot.”

“I can help Father,” you insist. “You know that he worries about gaining the approval of the Fremen. I can —”

“Enough!” The Voice. It snaps your mouth shut and renders you mute. “This is bigger than both of us.” Jessica snatches your upper arm, pulls you close enough to feel the heat of her anger. “Your father wanted a son. A heir. But it was my duty to produce a daughter. I ignored the pleas of your father because I understand what it is to serve. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

You swallow your disgust, though it lingers like a foul taste on your tongue.

This isn’t the first time that your mother has told you this. Nor did you think it would be the last.

Perhaps making a home among your enemies would be better than staying here among family.

“Fine,” you say. You wrench your arm from her grasp then turn away. It’s futile, you know the heighliner will be here soon to whisk you away, but you can’t stand to be in the presence of your mother any longer. Fortunately she lets you go.

You’re not even aware of where your feet are taking you until the familiar sound of the baliset meets your ears. Gurney rests lazily on the ground in the massive corridor, back against the wall and string instrument in his scarred hands. He doesn’t look at you as you approach nor when you collapse down beside him.

Usually Gurney’s situationally appropriate songs bring you a modicum of comfort, but today it seems more ominous than insightful.

“I won’t miss your singing,” you say.

He stops playing. “You jest.”

Playfully, you crack open one eye and peer at his baffled expression. You try not to laugh. “I don’t.” A sigh escapes your mouth then, and you slump further down, uncaring if you rumple your gown. “I will, however, miss the singer.”

“Don’t bother appealing to an old man like me. It won’t get you anywhere.”

“Hm,” is all you say, lost in thought.

Gurney sets the baliset to the side. His hand finds your knee and he squeezes. “You will be fine, Lady Y/N. I’ve taught you well.”

“Not even what you’ve taught me will suffice for what I’m up against.”

“Nonsense.”

Both eyes open now, you stare pleadingly at the swordsmaster. “Just come with me. Please.”

It’s Gurney’s turn to sigh. With a groan he heaves himself to his feet and offers you a hand. “You know that I can’t,” he murmurs.

His loyalty to your father doesn’t extend to you.

He is Leto Atreides, Duke of Arrakis, after all. And you are just his daughter. A pawn. A womb and nothing more.

You reach out to ghost your fingers over the scar on Gurney’s cheek. “Tell me about them.”

The Harkonnens.

“There’s nothing you don’t already know or haven’t learned from the filmbooks,” Gurney says to you in a terribly soft voice. It’s unfitting of the great soldier. “They are a cruel people. Do not trust them.”

You nod, irrationally devastated that your final plea to Gurney did not work. But his words were not anything new.

Nothing you learned about the Harkonnens has been pleasant — from their oppressive rule and misogynistic society down to their industrialized homeworld. Your chest aches.

First you were forced to leave the lush beauty of Caladan for Arrakis. You had even grown admittedly fond of the desert planet, just to yet again be snatched from another home.

“Thank you, Gurney. For everything.”

He dips his chin in acknowledgment, then holds out his arm for you to take.

Gurney has been like a second father to you over the years. While Leto was out securing political alliances and holding meetings, it was Gurney who kept you company. He aided in your combat training and believed in you when no one else did. To lose him would be to lose a great friend, indeed.

By the time you return to the antechamber where you’d been, Leto has arrived. He looks as cunning and handsome as ever, and the smile he flashes you is enough to cut you to the bone.

If what Jessica said was true about your father wanting a son and being sorrowful he did not get one, you would never know. He has only ever made you feel loved.

“My beautiful daughter,” he greets you. He smells wonderful. The same way he did all of those years ago when he would tell you stories of your grandfather and tuck you into bed, his beard tickling your cheek.

You breathe him in for one of the last times. “Hello, father.”

“You look marvelous,” he says. His smile falters slightly. “Are you ready? I wanted to ensure that you’ve said your goodbyes before we leave.”

Bitterly, you think, Before I leave. Everyone else will return to Arrakis and you will be moored on Giedi Prime, married to a bloodthirsty monster and forced to grow round with his child.

The thought makes your knees tremble.

The Harkonnens controlled the fiefdom of Arrakis before your family and were unbelievably outraged that it, and the flow of spice, had been stolen from them. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what your reception on their planet will be like. It’s any luck if you don’t get slaughtered upon arrival.

Especially since the Baron’s nephew, the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha — your betrothed — was known for his brutal nature. You hoped stupidly that the arrangement of marriage and promise of an heir would be enough to keep you alive.

At least for awhile.

Feyd-Rautha killed his own mother. Who knew what the status of wife meant to him?

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer Leto. He squeezes your hand.

You hug Gurney goodbye then board onto the heighliner after your parents. It’s difficult to suppress the tears threatening to fall as the ship takes off in a flurry of sand and departs.

Normally you’d be completely enraptured with the endless golden dunes, but today you stay rooted to your seat and refrain from crying.

The flight to Giedi Prime happens much too quickly for your liking. Already your heart is in your throat, hammering out your nerves in a steady rhythm.

The view from your seat reveals the strange nature of your new home — a black sun. Never again will you see the stretch of blue sky from Caladan or feel the formidable heat of Arrakis. The entire world outside the ship stood in sharp black and white contrast, all color drained from the surroundings and its people.

You spy hoards of Harkonnens gathering beyond the ship, awaiting the arrival of the na-Baron’s wife and their future Baroness.

Your stomach churns. How could you ever lead such ugly, wicked people?

Jessica’s voice engulfs you. “Chin up,” she says again to your dismay. “You mustn’t show any weakness. Not here.”

You raise your chin the slightest amount. Jessica nods stiffly in approval, and it’s in that moment you understand that your mother’s harshness has been preparing you for this. While you hardly feel the urge to forgive her, an odd sense of calm washes over you.

You are an Atreides. And you always will be.

No one can take that from you.

The boarding ramp disengages and you’re the first one to step onto it. A hush of silence befalls the crowds.

You stride forward with as much confidence as you can muster, focusing not on the leering eyes of the Harkonnens but instead on the Baron’s fortress. A large pathway separates you from it, granting you plenty of time to get your fill. It’s as grand as it is excessively boastful; tall, pointed towers cleverly connected, all sharp lines and edges. It leaves the impression of a finely crafted dagger.

A display of power and wealth.

Behind you your parents emerge and the carefully observant crowd launches into disarray — shouts and yells of anger, of hatred, grate your ears. You know that they take it in stride, however, and their strength fortifies your own.

By the time you’ve crossed the distance from the heighliner to the inner walls of the fortress, your eyes are blurried by the strong contrast outside now given away to darkness. It takes a few moments for you to adjust. When you do, you quickly look over your surroundings.

There’s few decorations or art. It’s cold and impersonal and extremely clinical.

Your slippered feet reverberate off the high ceilings.

Bracing yourself, seemingly, has been for no reason. For it’s not the Baron and his nephew that meet you but rather a line of Harkonnen soldiers. Their faces are stoic.

You bristle. “Where is the Baron? And my betrothed? Do they not wish to receive us?”

The soldiers do not answer.

A man appears then from down the hall, a Mentat by the look of him. He’s pale and bald and clad in black like the other Harkonnens.

“My apologies, Lady Y/N,” the Mentat says. “My name is Piter de Vries. I am here to escort you. The Baron and na-Baron will receive you now in the throne room.”

Leto lays a hand on your arm as if to stifle your response. “Please, Piter, lead the way.”

You can’t help but glance curiously at your father. This entire situation was delicate, you knew, but you wonder at his subservience. It’s an insult not to be immediately greeted by their hosts, especially when your guests happen to be the Duke of Arrakis, his concubine, and their daughter. If Leto agrees with this affront, though, he doesn’t show it.

Leto simply strides after Piter with you and your mother in pursuit.

The fortress boasts sleek walls and floors, polished to perfection. Piter guides you to the throne room a short distance away, the sight of it stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s larger than any room you’ve seen before, outfitted on the far side with steps leading up to a grand dais.

And upon the dais, demanding your attention, is Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. The man is as large as the throne room itself but not nearly as impressive, pale and beastly, his enormous weight supported by suspenders. He makes no movement as you enter.

Your gaze moves quickly, eagerly, away from him.

Standing on either side of the dais are his two nephews. Aware that you can’t stand to face your betrothed yet, you fix your attention on his brother. Rabban, you recall his name.

Rabban is bound with hard muscle and swathed in what you can only describe as thinly veiled anger. At his side, his fists clench and unclench restlessly.

Then, without permission, you look to your future husband.

Feyd-Rautha stands as tall as Rabban but roped instead with lean, attractive muscle. His brow sits above dark eyes and a generous mouth. There’s a frightening intensity to the way he stands, encapsulating both nonchalance and a dangerous arrogance. Clearly this man is used to getting his way and will stop at nothing to do so.

And it’s this man that makes no effort to disguise the way he studies you, starting at the top of your head and trickling languidly downward.

A chill dances down your spine.

When he catches this, catches you watching him — he must’ve known that you were — his lips twitch into the faintest of smirks.

Part 2

#dune part two #dune #feyd x you #feyd x reader #feyd rautha #feyd smut

590 notes · View notes

azsazz · 1 year ago

Text

Little Sneak

Daddy!Azriel x Mommy!Reader [Zuzu Centric]

Summary: Anon Req: What about a part 2 to Sticking Together where all the children are older and Zuzu is upset about not being able to go to the camps like her brothers and cousins. Maybe she ends up sneaking off and gets hurt or something. Some lovely angst would be appreciated. Only if you want to of course, pls and thank you.

Warnings: Angst, suggestions of a child going to be harmed (child is not actually harmed)

Word Count: 2,357

_________________________________________

“Why must all my children defy me?” Azriel questions, pacing the length of the room. You’re almost dizzy with it, how long his strides are and how short the path he’s making is. He’s nearly turning in circles now, wings flared with agitation, growing larger and larger the more he works himself up. When he nearly knocks a lamp burning low with a single faelight over, you slip from the bed.

You halt your mate with a soft hand to his shoulder. His wings tuck in tight, not because you’re going to touch them, because his body automatically moves to give you room. You take it, curling yourself against his chest, hands snaking around his waist and thumbing soothing patterns across the dip of his back.

You can feel his muscles contract as he shifts his wings to cocoon the both of you. Darkness shrouds you, but the light casts red through the membranous skin.

It’s a safe place for the both of you, tucked away from the rest of the world without actually removing yourselves from situations where you’re needed. You and Azriel had found yourselves in this position many times—when you first found out you were pregnant with Wren and Azriel was worried you’d have trouble delivering a babe with wings, when Baz nearly burned his hand on an unattended fire. When you had found out that Knox wasn’t going to be able to speak, and when your eldest sons wanted to be allowed to train in the Illyrian camps.

It’s funny that you find yourself here for the exact same reason. Your daughter, Zuzu, Mother bless her, yearns to join her brothers. Both Wren and Baz have completed a year, along with Nyx and Gideon. The four have formed a group just as their fathers had, not taking anyone’s shit no matter how much larger in size they may be. With the High Lord on their side, the young boys got away with much more than they should, though Rhysand does his best not to stick his nose into matters that should be left to camp leaders.

They’ve found their places as young warriors, and though they often get into trouble, you and Azriel are able to spend more time in Velaris, working on a schedule with both Cassian and Rhys, so that one of them is always staying in the family cabins when the boys are in training.

The beat of Azriel’s steady heart is strong, comforting, even though you know he feels as helpless as you do. Each and every one of your children are as stubborn as their father, even the more stoic of the six, like Jax and the twins. Malos could hold a grudge for ages, even against her own siblings. And poor Azriel refuses to admit that it’s a trait he’s bestowed upon the shadowsinger clan.

You squeeze your mate tighter, breathing in his comforting scent. Night-chilled mist from the long fly he’d had to take when Zuzu had told him the news. He hadn’t wanted to hear any part of it; his firstborn daughter wanted to train with males in the camps that will do nothing to look after her well-being. They won’t care if she’s beaten into the snow until she’s unable to move, if she can train as hard as the males, if she can do aerial maneuvers better than them. All they’ll see is a little girl who should be put in her place by the only means they know how.

The females won’t take kindly to her either. They’ll likely be jealous of the girl who’s wings are in perfect shape, who has the ability to fly and train and doesn’t have to spend back-breaking hours washing or cooking. No one but her brothers and cousins will be nice to her.

But she’s determined and headstrong. She’d confided in you first, and while you’d tried to talk her into joining Valkyrie training, she insisted that if there were young girls here willing to fight and join such a cause, why wouldn’t they extend the opportunity to those in the mountains? Your heart aches for your little girl, who wants to see the best in people, give them the chances they’ve long since needed. If she can encourage a single girl in the camps to join them as warriors, she will be proud.

“She means well,” you sigh against Azriel’s chest, hugging him tighter.

“Does she have to mean this well?” he asks, exasperation lining the frown on his face. He rubs your back in a soothing motion, and you know it’s helping him as much as it helps you. His chin rests on top of your head and a moment of silence stretches on as his shadows crawl from the walls, whispering in his ears, reporting back to him on how all of his children are under one roof, sleeping peacefully in their beds. “In a few years, Asteria will want to follow, and I think Rhys will actually kill me.”

“I won’t let him,” you grumble stubbornly, but it doesn’t carve a smile on Azriel’s face like it normally would. “And neither will Zuz.”

All your mate can do is sigh and hold you closer. “I hate that they’re growing up.”

“Me too,” you answer sadly, rocking in place with Az. He caresses the nape of your neck, tilting your face to meet his sad, hazel gaze. “Why didn’t anyone prepare us for the part where our children start growing up?”

Azriel shakes his head, dipping down to kiss you softly, tenderly. You are always his rock in the storms of his life. Always will be.

“I don’t know,” he pecks you on the mouth again, and there’s a glint in his eyes that has your body growing warm. “I do know that we can have another. Then we’ll have a little babe. It will make me feel like I’m not so old, that our youngest aren’t five-years-old.” He says it with a grimace.

The time is flying by, watching your children grow. Wren is a teenager now. A teenager, Mother help you all. And Baz is only growing rowdier with age. Zuzu wants to join her brothers and cousins in the camps, and Jax is still the stoic little boy you’ve ever seen, focused on working through his powers daily. He still struggles sometimes, needs to cuddle up with his father or you for a moment's peace, and he hasn’t shown any interest in being a warrior like his elder siblings, though if Azriel allows Zuzu to join, you’re sure he won’t be far along after. The twins are as inseparable as ever, stirring up mischief with their pesky little shadows. It’s nice to have them all still so close, but you know it won’t be that way soon.

“Can you imagine another one?” You ask, amused at the thought. More chaos, and you’re not entirely sure how your six children would react. You already have so many, what would they think?

“Yes,” Azriel answers, tone heated. He presses his hips more firmly against your own and you can feel the hardness of his cock in his pants. It makes your thighs go molten, especially when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’s going to both devour and worship you all night long. “Let’s put this conversation on hold.”

You can’t disagree with that.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

His shadows wake him up.

Azriel has gotten used to their presence, but his body is accustomed to them, awakening at the slightest sort of unease from them. Like right now.

He bolts from the bed, awakening you in the process. He almost feels bad at the hammering of your heart he can feel echoing in his chest, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been alerted that one of his children is currently missing from his home, and she hasn’t been located in the darkness of the camp yet.

“What’s going on?” You’re alert now. There’s something seriously wrong, by the look on Azriel’s face. The way that it’s set in stone yet his brows are furrowed with worry. Not the kind of worry where something is amiss in Velaris, but it looks like he had when Knox had been taken from you, the horror riddling his hazel gaze makes your stomach plummet.

“Zuzu isn’t in her bed,” Azriel answers, and he’s already dressed and heading out into the cold. You don’t expect him to wait for you, the both of you have a way of attacking these things as a team now, and you’re safer here with the rest of the children, anyway, and he curses himself once again for allowing his children to train at the Illyrian camps.

He doesn’t know how she’s managed to evade his shadows this time. His children are sneaky, quickly learning and testing how to keep from his radar, but Azriel is 500 years old and prides himself on his alertness.

Up until now.

He doesn’t even know where to begin. His mind is a mess with ‘what if’s’ and he can’t allow himself to begin pulling at that thread or he might very well decimate this entire camp.

He very well might, anyway.

Azriel’s already reaching out to Rhysand, waking him from his deep slumber and alerting the Inner Circle. He knows the High Lord will be here within minutes on a plume of black that no one wants to see. Zuzu has been Rhysand’s favorite from the moment she decided to toddle behind him into the longest meeting he’s ever had the displeasure of attending. But Zuzu had made it bearable, sitting in his lap and cuddling up in his arms like he wasn’t discussing convicts in the Prison nor how his armies might be able to help Springs.

A soft yelp is carried on a wisp of darkness from his shadows, his head whipping to where they’re alerting him. It’s Zuzu, and she’s whimpering a little as sharp nails dig into her coat, despite the thick jacket she’s pulled haphazardly around her shoulders. Her boots are untied, and the powdery snow is downtrodden with her footprints.

Azriel moves as quick as the night. He’s known for being undetectable, a whisper of a chilled breeze chasing through the trees. Tonight, though, he doesn’t mask the crunch of his boots in the snow, doesn’t smother the bright blue beaming from the seven stones adorning his armor. His knives are unsheathed at his side, steel singing for the promise of blood.

There’s a soft sound, like his daughter's cry has been muffled, and it fuels his anger, letting his body fill with black ink. It spills off of Azriel in waves, a death god come to seek his vengeance.

The clearing is a circlet of trees and fresh snow. The moon drips down into the open field, where Zuzu scratches at her captor. The female trying to pin his little girl to the ground hisses as her skin breaks beneath Zuzu’s nails. Azriel’s heart swells with pride as his daughter fights back, but this moment alone has made him realize that she does need proper training, and if she wants to join the ranks with her brothers and show all of these Illyrian swill what she’s made of, she will get that.

Azriel doesn’t recognize the female as he rips her away from his daughter by a fistful of hair. The female yelps in surprise, then screams in fear as she topples backwards, the avenging shadowsinger towering over her.

As if she thought she could get away with attempting to harm one of his children.

He feels the night air shifting behind him as he makes sure that his daughter is okay. Rhysand and Cassian appear before the female can gain her footing and take off, Cassian planting a foot in the middle of her back to keep her pinned to the frozen ground while Azriel consoles his daughter. Zuzu’s sniveling, fat tears rolling down her red cheeks as they escape. She doesn’t want to cry, she doesn’t want to show her father that she’s scared, but they fall without her permission anyway.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

Azriel’s heart cracks a little, molten lava of anger filling the cracks. This female won’t last the fucking night. And if she does, it’s because he’s going to make her death last as long as possible for even thinking of touching his daughter. For making her cry.

He hushes her, a soft noise that makes her clutch onto his shoulders tighter. Azriel’s not wearing a coat, but he’s used to the temperatures, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins helps quell the bitter chill. He sends a reassuring feeling down the bond to you and your relief flushes his body tenfold, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“Are you okay, my love?” Azriel asks her, wiping the tears from Zuzu’s eyes. He swings her up into his arms, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead as he pins the female to her spot in the snow with furious golden eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Zuzu shakes her head and his knees nearly give out with relief. He sways them back and forth, whispering reassurances into Zuzu’s ears until she’s calmed down, before passing her off to Rhys who holds her just as tightly.

“Uncle Rhys is going to take you back to mommy, okay, Zuz? I’ll be back in a little bit.”

She agrees, blinking up at him with her big eyes. Azriel watches her try to look over her uncle's shoulder to see the female spitting vitriol at Cassian. Rhys doesn’t allow her gaze to see what’s going on over there, instead drawing her attention to him, shifting her so she can’t see, and disappearing into the night to bring Zuzu home.

Cassian crouches down to the female, grinding her face into the snow to stop the comments spewing from her lips. He whispers something so low that makes her entire body freeze, then thrash as if she actually has a chance of escaping.

Azriel steps up to her, a murderous look in his eyes, and he lets his blades do the talking.

#azriel x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel/reader #daddy!azriel #azsazz zuzu

532 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months ago

Note

Do you know if Riddle, or Tray, ever stands up to his mother? I think i saw it in a Pinterest post once of teen Riddle being slapped by his mom and Tray taking him away.

His background is sadder than Shoto Todoroki from BNHA

We don’t really get to hear about how things are going back home with Mrs. Rosehearts outside of one brief instance. In 4-3, Riddle is leaving for winter break and mentions he intends on speaking with his mother, though he isn’t optimistic about her listening.

Trey states in the same part of the story that he isn’t allowed at Riddle’s house (because Mrs. Rosehearts has banned him). However, Riddle is still invited to visit him and Chenya at the Clover family bakery (though it’s very unlikely Riddle would be able to, since he hasn’t canonically seen Chenya again since the unbirthday party of book 1).

We never get a follow-up on how the conversation between Riddle and his mother went. It’s never touched upon again, and his mom isn’t really brought up beyond this case. (I did happen to write a short piece about Trey, Riddle, and Mrs. Rosehearts interacting though, if you were interested in seeing my own interpretation of this idea.)

Riddle spends most of his time at NRC since it’s a boarding school, meaning there are few opportunities for him to directly interact with his mother. Even if Mrs. Rosehearts were readily accessible to him, I highly doubt we would get to witness Riddle or Trey doing much to talk back to her. As we see in book 4, Riddle is still quite meek and uncertain when it comes to speaking with his mom. Trey, meanwhile, is generally very non-confrontational and may still be dealing with his own complicated feelings about interfering with what are family matters. (Recall that the last time he encouraged Riddle to be adventurous, it resulted in his friend being severely punished and Trey may harbor guilt over this occurrence.) I feel that neither of them would realistically develop the courage to talk back to Mrs. Rosehearts when only like half a year has passed since Riddle’s OB incident as opposed to like seventeen years of Riddle living under her rules.

***CONTENT WARNING: I will be discussing abuse at length under the cut, so please be advised to avoid reading further if the topic makes you uncomfortable.***

Regarding the comic you saw on Pinterest, it is fan art. That is in no way canonical; Mrs. Rosehearts may be very stern and have a temper, but she has never slapped or otherwise put a hand on Riddle. The closest thing we get to a slap is this panel from the manga adaptation, which isn’t even a slap. You can tell from the movement lines and the FWP sfx that Mrs. Rosehearts is just quickly pulling her arm away since Riddle is trying to latch onto it in an attempt to get her to listen to his protests. There is also no mark on Riddle or harsh slap sfx to indicate contact was made.

Now then 💦 There's something very serious and relevant to this ask I'd actually like to discuss, so I hope you'll stick around to hear me out on this.

I know none of us really like Mrs. Rosehearts (which is fair, she has done a lot of terrible things to her son). However, I think it's dangerous for us to speak about her as though she's a total monster and nothing more than a monster. I'm NOT going to stand here and advocate that she has done nothing wrong (she definitely has committed many wrongs). What I'm saying is that I don't agree with her being treated like "just" an abuser.

Let's say we do demonize Mrs. Rosehearts. We see only her negative traits and allow those to define her entire character. This creates a scenario in which she is alienated and dehumanized, left as a caricature of a woman that is solely known for hurting her child. But the thing is, this ISN’T how abuse really works. Few abusers are completely wicked people through and through. Part of the reason why it is so difficult for victims to leave their abusers is because abusers almost never start off abusive. They usually act totally normal, and the abuse often doesn’t come until later or specific situations arise. It creeps up on you in an almost insidious manner, and you don’t expect it coming. I’d also like to mention that abusers often don’t act with the intentional thought of, “Yeah, what I’m doing/saying is abusive”. Abusers typically justify their actions or convince themselves they are acting out of goodness. They don’t do bad things “because they’re bad people”, they do bad things because they think they’re GOOD people. Some abusers may even be victims themselves.

By painting abusers (even fictional ones) as cartoonishly evil, irredeemable, or always cruel, it makes it harder for us to believe the very real danger that we, whom we see as “good” people, could become “bad” ourselves. It makes it harder to believe victims when they report abuse because “oh, the abuse isn’t THAT bad”. It erases the idea that abusers are also human, and that humans have the capacity to be awful sometimes or to perpetuate hurt. It makes it so much harder to identify abuse because we’d only be looking for the most extreme examples of it rather than noticing the small, subtle signs. By “othering” abusers, it’s inadvertently denying so many nuances of abuse... which ultimately is counterproductive.

I would like to point out that even in the example provided of another abusive parent, Endeavor is portrayed with some nuance. He physically and verbally abused his wife, neglected the children he deemed worthless, and pushed the child he deemed to be his successor to the brink. However, Endeavor is also shown to remember a detail as small as his (arranged) wife’s favorite flower when she only told him about it once. He is notably much more lenient when training his first son, who didn’t have the ideal Quirk he sought. Endeavor at one point even confesses to pursuing being a hero in order to avoid the demands of fatherhood, which demonstrates a realistic insecurity and vulnerability… his humanity.

The same could be true for Mrs. Rosehearts. We only assume he is “just an abuser” because we see her in such a limited scope. There are valid reasons to believe why she is a “good” person outside of how we see her acting in Riddle’s recollections, and this may help to explain why Riddle feels so hesitant to “stand up” to her. I would really recommend reading this post, which goes a lot more in-depth about the complications surrounding Riddle’s relationship with his mother. Again, I am in NO WAY defending Mrs. Rosehearts; I am only pointing out that abusers—no matter how horrible their actions—have identities beyond the label of “abuser” that should be acknowledged.

108 notes · View notes

rise-my-angel · 12 days ago

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

A Vision of Never

Pairing: Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 5.2k

Warnings: recent childbirth, talk of pregnancy and labour, past character deaths, fluff, child rearing

Notes: A little "what if" about Robb having lived, in this version of the story the world isn't ending and Luwin is still alive, just pretend it makes sense. Previous Main Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Things had only accidentally worked out well this way. The timing of his sons outburst correlated perfectly with Robb pressing his lips to your forehead, and muttering for you to sleep. It hadn’t been as long this time, and while going just as smoothly, it was far easier on Robb’s mind not to have you labouring for so many hours, only so much Maester Luwin being able to do to ease the pain in your state. Still some time, but not as many hours luckily. The first labour near two years ago now, Robb had as much time as he needed to stay by your side.

The war had moved fast after his Uncle Edmure had married Rosalin Frey. Robb had been as relieved as his mother to find Arya alive, but none too happy that The Hound was the one with her, and subsequently had assumed Robb would pay for his own sisters return seconds after learning she was even still alive but it was you who simply tossed a bag of gold at him, knowing that men of House Clegane were none too pleasant nor peaceful to argue with.

One by one both his sisters were found alive and safe and once word reached shortly to them that not only was King Joffery dead, but Tywin Lannister too, they all knew there was nothing left for them here. No true war to be fought and with the Frey’s loyalty through marriage, what scattered remains of the Lannisters were never making it anywhere near close enough to reclaim the Riverlands nor even consider branching North. They, for now, could go home. And the timing couldn’t have been better.

You were able to spend your final two moons pregnant in Winterfell where you belonged, and while Robb and his siblings prepared the North for a rule that had not been seen for some three hundred years, his mother helped you prepare for your labour. And yet somehow, near two years passed after that and the situation was much the same.

Only now more snow properly fell on the ground and stuck, and the healing of everything passed was getting a little easier, making celebrating this just a bit better.

Much like you two discussed, your child was born a boy, and named promptly after the father you both went to war to rescue in the first place. Normally Ned was well behaved, but Robb suspected he could faintly hear you in labour and that made him upset. Staying with his uncles and aunts, eventually Arya had to be the one to gently knock on the door, poking her head in interrupting the moment trying not to run in and fawn all over the newborn this time, saying that Ned was beyond fussy at this point and none of them could get him to calm down.

That worked out, you were barley awake any longer, your much exerted strength leaving you as Robb had a chance to go find his son, asking his mother to watch over you all while you slept. Something she was more then happy to do, being a grandmother suited her well. Robb suspected too, it somewhat helped fill that hole in her heart that Eddard Stark’s death had left behind. It made him glad, she was never happier then reuniting with her children, and it made her happier so to have a grandson, one named after the husband she lost. He was too young to understand yet, but little Ned helped heal this family more then he knew.

Now though, while giving you a chance to sleep, Robb had worried his sons fears about hearing you in pain that it was over and when you woke up he could come see. For now, he kept him distracted and Robb did that well.

None in Winterfell could say that being King took away his duties as a father. By the time his son was able to start walking, it was easier for you to share raising him. Robb could now do his work with his men, and his son there and not need every ounce of attention on him as a small infant needed. Nearing his second name day was even better. He could walk, and was speaking so much more. You insisted otherwise, but Robb knew his son was so smart just because of you. The moment he uttered something resembling a true word, you had started to encourage it everyday, and here he was. A small boy of two, and when he wanted to be, a talkative little thing.

Currently stood behind him, the main hall was empty, as he held his son upright to stand on the table with his support, mimicking better the sight he’d see. Talking to him quietly about what it was Robb would do as King, and explain more then he could grasp, but Ned enjoyed when his father taught him these things. Turning partially, the sun shined through the windows just at the perfect angle that the reddish auburn of their Tully side matched in their curls. “Do you get bored?”

A grin shined on Robbs face with a laugh, “Do I get bored? What? In meetings?” His son nodding his head, Robb moved to stand a little more to the side where he kissed the side of his head. “Aye, I do. But listening to people I’d rather not, is one of my duties as King. If I can’t fix the small problems my people are having, how do they expect me to fix the big problems?” His face scrunching for a moment, Ned shook his head, Robb being able to understand he was agreeing with him.

More quiet now, Robb looked over his sons shoulder, seeing a more heavy blink in his eye. Asking, “You tired, pup?” Nodding, Robb smiled softly. “Yeah, you want to see if your mother’s awake before you have a nap?” He nodded again, and Robb prompted him to turn around. Scooping his son up into his arms, as his little ones held on meekly, his head falling more into his shoulder.

The path there Robb couldn’t hear it as well through the thick stone walls, but still faintly as the bells still rung. Not many places you had grown up where the bells rung for anything but horror and Robb had been determined to change that. He hadn’t considered just how much like his own father he was, the birth of his second child, a daughter, as the bells rung all day. The sound at least faded the further near his bedchambers he got, his son barley perking up much at the sound of your voice chatting with his mother. You sounded much more energetic then you had before.

“I’m surprised we didn’t know, Maester Luwin had said he was certain of everything.”

Catelyn sounded bemused herself as Robb turned the corner, approaching the door as you all came into sight. It had been quite the shock for everyone, and another reason it was such a suprise, the fact that this labour had gone so smoothly. Maester Luwin predicted it would be a girl, and he was right. But, he later had said that was sometimes uncommon but not impossible, that a mother could carry two children in her womb and none could tell. Your belly grew to be the same size as the last, being able to eat much better the entire pregnancy then catching you up in the last two moons, but none knew until his daughter had been born and you still laboured another child.

It was no wonder you had been so exhausted.

You looked bright eyed over at him as he walked in. The midwives had stayed to help to clean your appearance up despite Robb insisting he didn’t at all care that you looked a mess. Your loose dress had been pulled down as one babe was feeding from your breast. The other likely had been done already, swaddled, bundled and asleep in Catelyns hold. Your voice was still a bit raspy from the energy you had been shot of, but enthusiastic as your sons head perked up right away. “There’s my sweet boy.”

Instantly Ned had moved in Robbs hold, having predicted it as his arms stretched out “Mama,” Robb hushed in his ear to go easy on you before putting him down onto the bed. Making his way over carefully, he could stand only for as long as it took to match what he saw Robb do all the time, press a kiss to your cheek gently before his little legs gave out and sat down. Looking down at the baby, his bright green eyes just like yours looked back to you. “Daddy says I have a new sister and brother.”

Nodding, your gaze trailed down to the babe in your arms. “You do, this is your little brother, and your grandmother has your little sister, Lyanna.” Looking between you both, you nodded your head over to where Catelyn had begun walked to the bed, “Go on, she’s asleep but she really wants to meet you.”

Letting a free hand go long enough to push his curls off his forehead and press a kiss there before he begun moving to meet his sister. Robb had circled around to the other side of the bed where you were, sitting gently to face you as his eyes trailed down to the baby. “Going to be a lot harder to feed them yourself now that there’s two.”

Your grin was gentle and still a bit weak, but just as playful in your eyes. “Maester Luwin assures me as long as I have the patience for it, that won’t be a problem.” Robb only rolled his eyes in a jest before leaning closer. Cupping your cheek gently as he moved to press a kiss to your lips. Chaste and lingering but uncaring with only his mother in the room. Leaning back only enough to meet your eyes, his thumb ran over your soft cheek as you muttered, “I have a feeling this one will be the needy one.”

Nodding down to the baby, Robb smiled. Leaving your cheek to brush his hand over the baby’s back just soft enough that it didn’t interrupt him. “Are you insinuating our little Ned wasn’t needy with you as it was?” Protesting back that it was never as bad as he liked to joke it was, but Robb only laughed. “Maybe, I suppose we’ll see whose the needy one in the next few weeks won’t we? Who knows, with three wolves crying for your attention now, the needy one might be me.”

Halfheartedly hid Robb hear his own mother snap out with bemused ease, “That has always been the case.” Turning with his face twisting in mock offence asking what exactly she meant by that, his mother was sharing a highly entertained look with you behind him, knowing you gave a look that matched how amused she was with herself. “Out of all my children, you had always been the neediest as a baby.”

His gaze dripped downward to a look mocking of disapproval but she could read right through Robb. Especially when he could glance down and watch his son gently holding onto the edges of the blanket little Lyanna was wrapped in, as if knowing he didn’t want to interrupt her own sleep but watching with wide eyes. You caught him right away as he turned back, your own gaze unbearably sweet as Robb looked back.

Just in time as the baby finished, Robb helped you carefully lift him up to burp taking no time at all before his head dropped down a bit into your neck and shoulders much like Ned did with both of you. The baby though hid a bit in your hair, you could read the question in his eyes if you wished for him to take the baby but you shook your head. Happy to keep the little one close as Robb only fixed your dress for you, before leaning to kiss the back of his newborn sons head.

Sensing a figure coming up beside him, Robb turned partway to see Ned crawling over before grabbing him and picking him up onto his lap. Holding him gently, he muttered down, “You want to stay and nap in here?” The little Nod warmed both your hearts as you shifted, your arm raising enough so that he had the space to crawl into your side, curling into you right away and still small enough that he wasn’t in the way of the baby.

Turning to glance at his mother, Robb nodded to the other side of the bed. Moving to sit next to you, but not before reaching over, to gently take his daughter from his mother, holding her close as he smiled fondly at the sight. “I’ll let your men know not to intrude for the time being.”

Muttering a genuine thank you, Catelyn smiled with shining affection in her eyes. Her husband may not be here to see it, but she was so grateful that she was here to see it for him. Their first boy together, now with a growing family of his own. Twins, if she could tell Eddard now. That Robb didn’t just have his second child, but it was twins. Mother protect her, was this castle going to be full of chaos in no time with three Stark toddlers running around.

She could recall standing outside of the Twins right before Edmure’s wedding, and seeing how happy Robb was at your side and wishing for nothing but to be able to go home and try to rebuild. It felt almost out of reach then, but it was here, and she closed the door gently, watching as Robb carefully held his baby girl while sitting beside you. The family she always wanted Robb to have.

Your eyes trained down on your two young boys, you felt Robb warm at your side as you gently shifted just enough to lean somewhat against him. His warm voice so soothing in your ear, “Have I mentioned that I’m proud of you yet.” Muttering that yes he had, many times, Robb grinned. “Aye, but I will say it again. I’m so proud of you.”

Turning to meet his bright blue eyes, you both felt a comfort wave over you before looking back to your newest son. A whisper on your lips, “What are we going to name him?” A hum of question came from Robbs lips, so you clarified. “Your son, we’ve had Lyanna’s name picked out for years now. We never talked about another boy name.”

You could feel Robb grinning, but didn’t know why. “Yes we did.” Turning to look at him, while gently shifting the baby now that he was fast asleep to lay out in your arms, his head covered by the top of the blanket next to Lyanna’s, Robb continued. “We agreed on a name the same night we picked out the name for these two.” His head nodding down to first Lyanna and then Ned, who too had fallen asleep so quickly.

Your brows narrowed in thought, and Robb knew with a playful, bemused grin exactly the moment you recalled it. Your face dropping amusingly flat as you rolled your head to the side with a raised brow. “Robb, he is not going to like that and you know it.”

He only grinned more, kissing what of your head he could reach. “If he were bothered to come visit again before they were born, like he promised, he might have gotten a choice in the matter.” You muttered that he had a lot on his place, but Robb only settled that. “I know, love. I’m teasing, he has his reasons. But, we also have ours.”

Both of you looking to the baby, you could see it. How much the name would suit him, just as Ned suited your first boy, and Lyanna suited the little girl now asleep in her fathers arms. A laugh huffed through your breath as he asked what was it. “If you asked me what? Five? Six years ago, what my life would’ve looked like today, I’d never have said this.”

“Neither would I.” His thumb gently ran over his daughters cheek, both your sons has your green eyes, but Lyanna had his blue eyes. Ned was growing up to look like a perfect blend of both of you, but he was nothing but eager to see what these two grew up to look like, who’d look like who and everything else. “But I’d never want anything else.”

Meeting your gaze again, Robb leaned over once more as you tried to gently meet his lips. Nothing greedy or needing, but deep and lingering as your three small children slept all around you. Resting your heads against the other as you muttered more low, for his ears only. “Cersei tried warning me. About not to fall in love with you.” He tried looking at you closer, a scowl forming in his brows but you didn’t look away from where your thumb ran over youngest sons cheek. “Before we arrived in Winterfell, she tried to warn me. That you’d disappoint me one day, that you’d move on, not want me. To give you your children, and only ever love them because I’d never get it from you. She tried telling me something similar, if perhaps a bit less morose when I was a girl too. I’d think about who I’d marry one day, and never came up with an answer of a man I would genuinely love.”

Something distant but amused twisted in Robbs features as he spoke up, “Didn’t you sabotage Cersei once? When she tried publicly announcing a betrothal?” You laughed right away, the memory so clear as Robb joined. “Little did you know then, you were merely saving yourself for me.”

Sighing happily, you leaned back against him, his head resting more atop yours. “I should’ve known how easy I’d fall for you on our wedding night.” Elaborating at his further hum of question. “I was terrified of it all. If you’d want a bedding ceremony, the bedding itself. I was terrified. But you had convinced me to be comfortable in what? Minutes? It was strange how easy it felt to be willing to do it with you.”

His lips again pressed against your hair. “I know I seemed eager, but I really would’ve been alright if you didn’t want too. Would’ve helped you change into something more comfortable, and at least helped you get used to sleeping beside me.” You only muttered that you didn’t need help with that, and Robb laughed, trying to hold back not to wake Lyanna in his arms. “Aye, that was after I had taken you twice though. Hard to not fall asleep beside me when I had you clawing down my back.”

Hissing with an instant fluster, “I did not-”

Robb only cut you off, his face so bright and amused at your instant reaction as if you didn’t presently have three children together. “I had the marks for days to prove it, my love. You’re lucky I dress myself, otherwise you’d have come back to a reputation of yourself already being a little she wolf.” Flustered, you only muttered that he had given you that reputation in the army camp, Robb laughed again. “Wanted my men to know that nothing they could buy would beat what I had every night for free.”

Shaking your head, Robb could read the still flustered look in you but also something playful. He spoke again before you had the chance too, but with something he knew you didn’t expect. “I’m sorry it took so long. To give you a baby. You never said it, but I knew you were frustrated with yourself the longer it never happened.” He was right, you had never said it because you didn’t even wish to think it. You were scared to tell him when you finally were, thinking you’d burden him at the worst possible time.

But then you received the news. That Bran and Rickon were thought dead, and his own grandfather had passed. With Catelyn still imprisoned having released Jaime Lannister, and Edmure’s foolish search for glory leading to losing the chance both to kill The Mountain and aid in your fathers capture of Kings Landing, all felt lost. Robb felt he had nothing but you left, and only the small barley grown baby in your belly seemed like there was a shred of hope. Without that, he might have felt he didn’t have much left to fight for, and you dared not think what would’ve happened then. If Robb truly felt alone and betrayed by everyone around him.

Even now, sometimes you both pondered if this peace would stay. Word from the Riverlands of the happenings in Kings Landing would reach you both, and it seemed at least, that peace would not go away for some time. Your father still on a fight for the Iron Throne looked more promising now then ever before. With Tommen as King, young and sweet and inexperienced he held no chance. Cersei it seemed was busy making a mess of things worse for him, and part of you felt sympathy. She in a few weeks had lost her eldest son and her father, both of which were said to be done at the hands of her own brother. You knew Sansa was not involved. Petyr Baelish had helped her flee Kings Landing, but was intercepted by Dacey Mormont and a squadron of men.

Robb and Catelyn knew that he would try and hide her in the Vale with her aunt Lysa, and sent Dacey to retrieve her. Luckily, even without having met Dacey herself, going with a woman of the North, a woman whose own title was trusting, a sworn shield of Robb Stark, managed to get her back.

Once you were able to ride home, the Ironborn all but fled. They stood no chance against the full strength of the Northern army with Robb leading and yet you still heard no word of Theon. Bran and Rickon weren’t dead as feared, they had fled and returned once Robb had, but none knew where Theon was. You didn’t want to know, in truth. He had betrayed Robb, betrayed you, betrayed the Starks and the place that was more home to him then the Iron Islands ever would be and he ran like a coward.

He knew he didn’t have the Stark boys, and he must have feared Robb turning around to take his head. Torched the castle and fled, where he was now, Pyke, dead, or something far worse, you did not wish to hear of it. He chose his path, and he chose wrong. And he decided to live with the consequences. According to Roose Bolton, his bastard Ramsay had gotten to the castle after the Ironborn torched it and left.

But now? You all sat in Robb and your bedchambers. Winterfell rebuild, family all reunited again, and peace was found in the new again Kingdom. Your sweet son, little Ned with auburn curls just like his father and green eyes just like you, cuddled asleep in your side. The shining bright light he didn’t know he was, just your baby boy truly. In Robbs arms, his newborn daughter, small and sweet. Named after Ned Stark’s long passed sister, Robbs tribute to reunite them with new life as they reunited in death.

You had expected her. Maester Luwin said by the way you were carrying, and the sudden and frustrating new craving you had for sweets were all indications of a girl. Robb had been elated, not a single thought in his head but getting to have a little girl of his own. He had helped raise his little sisters, he would be perfectly prepared for a girl of his own.

Saying to you in these very chambers that night, you only a few moons in but showing earlier then you did even last time, Robbs hands were on your stomach all the time. He’d kiss your stomach saying goodnight to his daughter, then carefully bring little Ned to do the same, telling him to say goodnight to his sister. Only babbles at first, but once he started to speak it got better.

Even now, Robb had told him his sister’s name and he couldn’t quite say it perfectly. He knew the name, and how it sounded, but as he did with many words he could say them just not eloquently. “Lya” he called her. A feeling in you that would be her nickname for some time. Robb though, he had put his son to bed, and held you looking out the window as the snow fell that night many months ago, the same window you both stood together at, minutes before he pulled you into his bed.

One hand firmly on your stomach as he spoke. “I don’t want her growing up the way you did.” Silent as you let him elaborate, pulling you just a tad closer. “A distant father, not letting you feel loved the way a father should love his daughter. I don’t ever want our little girl to grow up feeling anything close to that.” You only muttered that you didn’t think that would be the case, but he insisted you listen. “Just because you know something, my love, doesn’t mean you don’t still worry about. Remember how you knew I thought you were beautiful all through your pregnancy and after, but you still worried I wouldn’t want you anymore?”

A laugh left you, Catelyn had to help you then. Telling Robb a sort of sickness of the mind infected new mothers and filled their heads with worries and doubts beyond reason and being a mother herself worked very hard to help you realize that you had nothing to fear. Even then, you still worried some days. Robb had you long passed that now, but that night he knew and understood why you’d think of your future daughter and fear her repeating your life.

But as Robb held little Lyanna now, an adorable baby girl who was at complete peace sleeping in his arms, Robb knew there was nothing to worry about. He adored Ned, and was very vocal about that fact and he’d be the same to his newborn child, both of them.

Seven hells, he thought. Twins. He wanted a large family with you, but the gods had just made that want so much easier for him to obtain. The confusion when you still seemed to labour after Lyanna only for Luwin to confirm you carried another babe in your womb, Robb almost laughed then. He was sat behind you to lean back against, a support as he refused to ever let the midwives tell him to leave. If you weren’t in such a state, he would’ve told you already how happy he was. It would be chaos, it would be quite something.

His son already about to reach two years of age, and now two newborn twins to the mix there was no easing either of you into this. It was here and you both would deal with it. His eyes glanced over to you, your newest son asleep in your arms, almost curling into you as if wanting to be close as possible to his mother, and little Ned asleep against your side. Your boys were all over you, and you would spoil them both he knew. Just as he would spoil Lyanna. His little princess would never go without feeling like one if Robb was to have his way.

Now with the birth of a second son, he had what some Lords referred to it as, an heir and a spare. He never cared to look at Ned like his heir, he was young, and new to the world and all that mattered to Robb was that they were loved. His two Princelings and his little Princess in his own arms, they were just titles. Things to present them to the court as.

In the everyday, his children would run amok in the corridors carefree and spoiled and happy. Thats all he cared about. After needing to lose his own father, and fight years in a war to have his children, he’d do everything he could to ensure they didn’t suffer anything close to the ways he did before having them.

Looking back over, you hadn’t yet taken your eyes off any of them. Swapping your glance between all three, even going so far as to shift how you held the baby, so little Ned could more comfortably rest his head in your lap. His little arms trying to wrap around you as if wanting to protect you in your sleep as your newest son snuggled close into your chest as if wanting to be as near you as possible. He grinned, you both were right, that one was going to be a needy child for your attention. And he knew you’d spoil him.

Many times already, he would gently or even playfully suggest that you let Ned breath a little, not coddle him so much. He was a northerner, a Stark. He was fierce and tough and you were bundling him to go out into the snow as if he were one a layer away from freezing to death. You wanted to protect him and show him love, and if he could only just barley persuade you to ease up with Ned, with this one, there was little chance of that.

Raising a daughter would be perfect for you. You half helped raise Robbs little sisters, you half raised your little sister in Shireen. You would do perfectly raising a girl, showing her the motherly nature that you never got in full that you should’ve. But, he had a feeling his newborn son was going to be attached to you at all times, a true wolf pup sticking to his mothers side. In a strange way, it was suiting.

What his little son would be like, and to whom he’d be like that with? He wouldn’t burden you with that thought. Already you refused to speak how disappointed you were. He had promised he would come back, come visit as he put it, “before you have the next one.” But, here you were, twins and not a sign that he was coming to visit. If Lyanna filled the memory of an aunt the Stark siblings never knew, and Ned shined over the castle to reinstate faith they hadn’t had since the boys namesake was killed, then naming the baby boy in your arms was suiting, if not for everyone elses sake, but for yours.

Something in Robb’s brother struggled to accept his offer to return to Winterfell where be belonged, and struggled further now to even convince himself to visit no matter how much they all, but more importantly, you, wished for him to. But you wouldn’t say it, and he couldn’t convince himself to come anymore.

Thus it felt right. Naming the needy baby boy in your arms, Jon.

#robb stark x reader #jon snow x reader #jon snow #robb stark #robb stark x you #jon snow x you #robb stark imagine #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf

89 notes · View notes

rogueshadow1124 · 8 months ago

Text

THE NEWS

[BATFAMILY IMAGINE SERIES]

Summary: Bruce and his wife Y/N have something to share with the boys but how would they take it?...

Word count: 1420

Warnings: none?

Bruce Wayne, eccentric billionaire of Gotham city had four sons, three of which were adopted. Y/N Wayne has been his beloved wife for six years now, she had been as good as a mother could be for the boys though they were not her own kin, she did everything for them and didnt hesitate to protect them when needed. Her life revolved around them and all four of them knew that, they adored her just as much as she adored them.

Dick moved out a couple of years ago, Y/N at first was sad since he was the one she had known the longest and he was her first 'son', she understood that he was a grown man now and he needed his own space. Jason switched between the manor and an apartment he owned, sometimes he got homesick which made him feel distressed but he always had the comfort of his 'mother' waiting for him whenever he needed.

Tim had only really just turned seventeen, he was still a child and therefore still in Bruce and Y/N's custody, he has been working hard lately due to him being in college and he's pushing through the darkness of reality to have a successful life. Then there was Damian, he was the baby of the family at the age of fourteen, though he liked to act way older than he really is, being quite mature for his age, he can also be a little broody at times but you know what some say, like father like son, right?

At this point they had all become a big family, perfect but dysfunctional.

"How are we supposed to tell them Bruce? What if they dont take it very well?" Y/N rushed, looking up at her husband who chuckled at her anxious ness.

"Your over thinking it again darling, everything will be perfectly fine. I promise." Bruce slathered an arm around her waist and pulled into his bigger form, rubbing up and down the length of her arm with his other hand.

"Are you sure. Oh what about Damian, I'm sure he wont like this-" Her tone became more distressed as she went on, her hand coming up to rest on her heavy eyes as she let out a shaky breath.

"Dont worry about it Y/N, I'm sure the boys will be delighted. In their own ways." He stated, whispering the last part of the sentence which didnt go unheard by his wife who whined out and hit his chest several times, sending him a glare. "Hey. Everything will be fine."

The woman took a seat on the couch, groaning when she heard the loud thudding sequence of steps that were emitting for the hall. Her elbows came to rest on her knees, body slouching over while her hands held her head up, Bruce sighed lightly and sat beside her, placing and arm around her shoulder in a form of comfort.

"So what'dya wanna talk about Ma'." Jason's voice called out as he entered the room, being followed by the other three boys behind him.

"I-i just..." She wiped her hands down her jeans, looking up at the boys that were watching her nervous movements, Bruce took both of her hands in his and sent her reassuring smile when she glanced his way and nodded slightly. "Well- y-your going to be big brothers."

"W-what?" Dick and Tim squeaked, eyes widening in shock as there mouths fell a gape. They looked at each other and then to the others before facing the adults again, Y/N smiled sheepishly and Bruce arched a brow at them motioning towards the woman who shook in anxious ness.

"Y-your pregnant?" Jason heaved out, a small smile coming to his lips when he looked towards his mother figure.

"Yeah..." Y/N stood up from her place on the couch, along with Bruce who was still trying to comfort her as she was still a little shaky from the nervousness. Her eyes trailed over the boys and fell on Damian who had a neutral look on his face, no emotion present. "D-dami?"

The boy looked at her for split second with squinted eyes before spinning on his heel and rushing out of the room. A hard clutter of footsteps could behead thumping up the stairs, a few seconds later the sound of a door slamming shout could be heard.

"Mum are you-" Tim stepped forwards, looking at the woman with worry in his eyes as he saw the tears start to gather in her own. She shook her head, smiling at him with a sniffle.

She whispered a 'yes' looking back at Bruce momentarily the proceeded to walk away from him, passing the boys to exit the lounge area. Her eyes peered up to the landing, a heavy breath passing her lips when she started to make her way up the stairs.

She hopped up them quickly, strolling down the landing to the end where Damians room was. Her hand rose to the dark oak, hesitation hitting her but she pushed aside the sad feeling that she had felt and knocked on the door three times, hearing shuffling before the door swung open to reveal the small ravenette. Damian held eye contact with the woman intensely, tilting his head to the side. He sighed, rolling his eyes and walked backwards into his room, leaving the door open which was a silent way fo telling her she could enter if she wanted to.

"Dami, i-i never meant to upset you-"

"I'm not upset." He cut her off, turning around to look at her. His blue orbs widened when he saw tears returning to her eyes, a feeling of guilt seeping through the barrier he held. "Al'umu?"

"I'm sorry Damian, really I am." She muttered, wiping her eyes and attempted to send a smile his way but failed immensely when her bottom lip began to tremble, a burn setting in the back of her throat as she tried to hold back the tears.

"Theres nothing to be sorry for Al'umu, I just appear to- to feel jealous." Y/N furrowed her brows in confusion, Damian looked down in shame, falling back to sit on the edge of his bed as he grumbled a few curses under his breath.

"I dont understand." She walked over to his bed and crouched down infront of him, raising a hand to push the pieces of hair away so they disnt block his face. She brushed a finger of his cheek, lifting up his chin so he looked at her. "I need you to know, you can never be replaced Dami. I wont allow that to happen, you'll still always be important just as much as the others and this baby."

"But-"

"No Damian, sure at first the baby will need alot of attention but I wont allow any of you boys to feel left out. Besides, you'll always my baby Wayne, Dame." Y/N stood up, pulling the boy with her, bringing him into het embrace which he accepted right away. She placed a kiss at the top of his head and brought him in closer, chuckling when he snuggled closer.

"Aw- who'da thought Demon was soft." Jason's voice echoed through the room making the two look towards the archway, spotting Jason along with Bruce and the other two boys whi smiled at the sight before them.

"Shut it Todd. Fuck you, I'm not soft." Damian went to pull away from Y/N but was pulled back into the hug, much to his dismay as he didnt want anyone to see him in this 'state'.

"You want a hug too Jay?" She tilted her head with a smirk, letting Damian free from her grasp. Her eyes squinted at the second oldest who frowned and looked at her but ended up nodding walking towards her and encasing her in his arms.

"Group hug!" Dick called out, grabbing Tim's arm and rushed to join the hug. Y/N chuckled reaching an arm out to the side, pulling the two boys in. Damian was now stuck at her side since Dick and Tim were blocking his exit.

"C'mon Bruce." The man scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully before making his way towards the crowding hug. He walked around to the back so his chest was against Y/N's back and he wrapped his arms around the boys, smiling at the moment they are having together at this time.

#batfamily x reader #batfamily #batmom #batboys #gotham #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #x reader #tim drake #bruce wayne #wholesome #dc comics

307 notes · View notes

mamsieur · 1 year ago

Text

Used to it | Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Summary : Being Pete Mitchell's daughter has never been easy. But maybe one mission could bring you back together ?

TW : angst and fluff, angst with a happy ending, mention of alcohol, panic attack, canonical character death, age gap (reader is 27 and Bradley is 35)

Length : 7156 words

AN : I'm sorry for making Pete seem like a bad father but that man is not stable enough to handle a child in my opinion.

posted on AO3 July 12, 2023

You were 7 when your mother left your father, Pete Mitchell.

You didn't have many early memories of him. There were only the arguments with your mother, his departures on missions that left you in tears, the missed birthdays and Christmases. It’s all you’ve ever known so you were used to it and being a child, you found it normal.

You were 7 when your mother decided to move out, leaving your whole life behind. You remember crying your eyes out in protest. As your mom tried desperately to get you out of the house, you clung with all your might to Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw was 15 and your regular babysitter, though your mother thought of him as a son, Carole and her were really close. They liked to remind you that when you were 4, you proudly announced that you were going to marry him. Bradley was almost always around, and Pete was his godfather, and they had a bond you envied. Despite the eight-year age difference, you remember being very close to your "Bradbrad" . He never pushed you away, was always ready to play Lego or other board games with you. He even took you to the park or with him when he went to the theater with his friends - when the movies were kids friendly -.

You were 7 , and your whole world shattered. No more Bradley, no more hanging to the naval base to have a glimpse of your dad and his incredible plane, no more aunty Carole and her sweet singing. You had hated your mom for years before understanding you left for the best. She was finally happy ; not completely, she missed her friends and sometimes your father, but you could feel that she was happier away from the hustle and bustle of the navy, of your dad. You were not used to the strange calmness of the city, but your grandparents made it easy to adapt. Soon enough, you got used to the loving cocoon your mother succeeded to create around you.

You were 16, at your mother's funeral, when you had to accept the fact that you had to go back to live with Pete. When the two of you finally found each other in the crowd, he didn't say much, just gave you a few brief updates. You asked him about Bradley, a bit sad to not have seen him here, and he didn't have much to say. Only that the two of them were no longer as close as they had been.

The silence between you was uncomfortable.

Of course, Pete had kept in touch over the years, calling on your birthdays, sending a little something. You spent some Christmas with him when he wasn't working and a few days during the summer break ; but Pete Mitchell loved his work too much to focus on you. As long as you lived with your mother, Pete's absence from your life wasn't something you suffered from, at least not really.

You were used to it. Used to the absence, used to the missed calls, used to the Christmases with the attention of other aviators and their families but the ignorance of your dad, used to the unanswered phone calls. Used to his silence.

But now your mum was dead... and you were dreading having to join your father in California.

You were 16 and you didn't want to live with him, you already knew what would happen ; he'd go flying, on a mission or for his own pleasure, leaving you alone at home - if you could call it home. The hangar where he lived now was something you'd always hated . It had no place for anything or anyone other than his passion for the sky, for planes and speed. You didn't want to leave your new life, even though you loved California. Your school, your friends, your family, your routine. But you didn't really have much of a choice. You were 16. He was now your legal guardian and you didn't want to drag your grandparents into a custody battle. Even though part of you told yourself that your dad would probably agree to let you stay with them, you didn't want to take that chance. And you hoped he'd be more present, that you'd finally have the father you'd dreamed of, that your other friends had. If other military parents could be there for their children, why couldn't Pete?

Perhaps because Pete loved flying more than anything else in the world. The sky was his one true love.

Even though you knew it, you held out the faintest hope that he would finally take his responsibilities as a father. Unfortunately, Pete was still Pete. He wasn't cut out to be a father. A fun uncle, maybe. A parent, no. The fact that Bradley no longer spoke to him proved that.

You were 18 when you packed your bags and headed off to the naval school in Maryland. You wanted to be a pilot too. And you wanted to get away from that bloody hangar, so empty, so alone.

Pete wasn't there when you left. Not even a message or a note. Nothing at all.

You weren't even surprised.

It was Tom Kazansky - Uncle Tom - who had taken you to the airport. He had been more present in your life than your own father, even though you rarely saw him. You knew your relationship with Pete was a sensitive subject, and you knew when Tom gave him a hard time. Pete was suddenly more present - too present . He'd pop into your life for a few days, trying to be the cool or bossy dad, but it always ended in a fight.

You hated it when he did that. You hated the way he would act like your friend, or like a strict parent, talking about curfew and how no boys were allowed in his 'home'. You hated the way he would try to be the father that he had never been in your whole life. You hated the way he tried to convince you that he was trying to change, that he'd be there for you.

But you couldn't blame Uncle Tom for trying to shake your father. He had children too, but despite his love of the air, he had been a present parent to them.

But some days were not as bad as others. Sometimes, when he was in a good mood, Pete would take you flying. And even though it was hard to admit, you were a bit of a flier yourself. The feeling of freedom, of being alone in a comforting way. It was mesmerizing.

So, without him knowing, you decided to join the navy after graduation. You took your mother's name, Evans , so that you would not attract attention. Only Tom knew, so your dad wouldn't and couldn't pull your papers like he did with Bradley.

You found out that he had done this when you saw Bradley one day in the summer before you made your choice. At first you did not recognize him. He was 26 now. He was taller, more muscular and had a 80s mustache that suited him well - puberty had treated him really good. He was the spitting image of his father, whom you'd only seen in photographs and heard about when Tom and Pete reminisced over drinks about the past.

But Bradley had the same look in his eyes as his mother, Carole.

As a child, you adored Carole. She was always there to comfort you when your parents were at odds, picking you up from kindergarten when your father was on a mission and your mother was at work… She was kind of a second mom. You went to her funeral with your mother eight years ago, you never cried so much.

The summer of your reunion with Bradley had been the summer of his return from the Naval Academy, which he had graduated from with honors. He was a very good pilot and would soon be going on a mission. The day before he left, you snuck out of the hangar to meet him at a nearby bar. He had celebrated his departure with you and a handful of friends, promising to keep in touch as often as possible. As he left, you realized how much you'd missed your Bradbrad.

You were 18, and you remembered how quiet the ride to the airport had been. Part of you wanted to stay. You loved California. It was close to the ocean, the people were friendly, and at the Navy base everyone knew you.

You'd even earned a nickname, the call sign you hoped to use soon : Tempest . It was a bittersweet memory of a stormy night when Pete "forgot" to pick you up from baseball practice. You had landed on the base, mad as hell, soaked to the bone. You'd yelled at your father as hard as the storm had raged. It had been a huge fight. And of course, everyone had heard. Surprisingly, many had defended you rather than your father. You were relieved then. And to cheer you up while your dad was embarrassed, Tom took you to your favorite fast food and laughed with you about the scene. "You walked in there like a damn storm, a tempest ! Heck, that should be your call sign when you join the ranks !" You smiled as you remembered his raspy laugh and all the stories he told you about his days at Topgun .

It was through those stories that you learned a little bit more about your father, The Maverick . His accomplishments, his reckless attitude in the air, his urge to always define what’s possible and pushing the limits. Your desire, your need , to join the Navy to become a pilot only grew, digging a hole of longing for the sky deep inside you. You wanted your father to see you, to acknowledge you. You wanted to be more like him.

You were 27 years old when you were called to the NAS North Island for a "top secret" mission that required "the best of the best". To your surprise, you were one of the youngest and one of the only women. But you'd missed California too much to worry about such details. Like many pilots, you had joined the Hard Deck for a drink the day before training began. You soon met Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Two strong personalities. Then came Javy “Coyote” Machado and Robert "Bob" Floyd. He was discreet, a bit shy. And before you could introduce yourself to the others, someone entered the bar and caught Jake's eye.

"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe."

"Hangman. You look... good." His voice was behind you and you didn't dare turn around to see him.

"Well, I am good. I'm very good Rooster ."

You let the two men talk, then Bradley greeted Natasha and the others. At last, his gaze landed on you. You couldn't help but smile stupidly. He looked so surprised and happy. "Y/N Tempest Evans?!"

"Hey Bradbrad ..." you smiled and happily accepted his embrace. He squeezed you against him and asked you all about your journey, which you happily did, while in the distance the bell rang, indicating that a customer couldn't pay his bill and had to be kicked out. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you recognized your father, but Jake and Javy had already grabbed him by the arms and dragged him outside. You didn’t have the time to really think about it, Bradley taking you by the hand to sing with him at the piano. You laughed and followed him with the others in his Great balls of fire ’s reprise. It had been a great night.

The next day, at the first meeting, you thought your heart stopped when you saw that your instructor was actually Pete... and from the look on his face, he wasn't happy to see you there. Before the meeting was over, you heard his voice call your name ; it had a barely disguised note of anger. "Lieutenant Evans. You’ll stay after training, we'll have a word."

Bradley looked at you, concerned. He knew that you had never told Pete about the Navy, but he didn't know that even after nine years, your father was still unaware of your career. The others were confused and you could feel questioning gazes on you. Great way to begin this thing , you thought.

You were 27 and a very good pilot. An excellent one. One of the best. That's why you were here after all, wasn’t it ? You walked in your father’s footsteps, perhaps as talented as him at that age. But you were also as reckless as him, living up to your callsign. A tempest was never soft or delicate, neither were you. You had risked your life so many times in your five years of service. Tom often told you that you were just like your father and that it scared him. You didn’t think, you just did , you wanted to go faster, higher and further. Acting like the storm that you were, leaving your enemies confused by what had just happened. The adrenaline, the speed, the immensity of the sky, the feeling of freedom... you finally understood why Pete loved being in his plane so much. You felt a little closer to him in those moments.

And yet, in nine years of absence, he had never once contacted you. You had disappeared one day and he hadn't even looked for you. Your uncle had promised not to say anything about your career, but Pete hadn't even been interested in why or where you were going.

Seeing him angry made you furious . How could he have the nerve to be mad at you?

After the training and the 200 pushups you had to do because - of course - you didn't beat your old man, you stayed on deck and waited for the others to leave. Bradley gave you a little squeeze on the shoulder, as if to give you strength, and reluctantly left. You heard Hondo telling Pete to calm himself before saying things he might regret out of anger.

Once again, the silence between you and your father was heavy.

You couldn't take your eyes off him, waiting for him to finally speak. You could see that he was trying to stay calm. But you already felt like exploding . You could feel the reproaches, the so-called concern. You could feel that he wanted to push you away .

"Y/N... how did you... you went to the Academy behind my back?!"

"Iceman," you replied simply, your eyes and voice cold. "And you never asked where I was either."

"You-?! I should have known, you lied to me."

“It’s not lying if you’re not asked.” you mutter, “You taught me that.”

“Now’s not the time to play that game Y/N,” he snapped, "you can't be here."

"With all due respect, Captain, that's not your call."

You really tried to remain calm, knowing that the others must have been listening nearby - especially Jake. You didn't want to draw any more attention, but you felt your blood boiling under your skin.

"I will talk to Vice Admiral Simpson about this. I don't suppose anyone's made the connection between us. But now there's clearly a conflict of interest-"

"You have no right to take this mission away from me. It's not fair," you gasped, eyes wide.

"I am your father ! I can and will do it."

"What ?! No ! No, you can't ! 9 years of nothing but silence and now you're acting like a worried father ?!" you snapped, moving towards him and pointing an accusing finger. A nervous laugh escaped you and you sighed, pursing your lips. "Why do you always have to act like this ? You've never acted like a father to me, except to get in my way !"

"Get in your way ? No ! I care about you-"

"Really ?!" you cut him off, raising your voice, "Then where have you been for 9 years ?! What did Tom have to say to you that you weren't even lookin' for me ? Where was all this care when I left and you were not here ? Where were you huh ?! Where was all that concern ?!"

Pete's eyes widened and he searched for words. He should have known that he could not argue with your point so he just huffed then scolded. "I'm your captain, Lieutenant Evans ! Keep your voice down !"

"Oh, now it's not my father talking ?!" you couldn't hold back a nervous, fake laugh. "You see how you are ?! Always twisting things your way ?! Why are you avoiding that conversation ? Why are you running away again ?!" you’re almost screaming, inches close to him, eyes locked in his.

"Lieutenant Evans !" he growled. You grumbled and let out a heavy sight, calming yourself. You stepped back and clenched your fists along your body.

"Will that be all, Captain Mitchell ?"

You clenched your fists even harder, your knuckles turning white. You wanted to physically shake him to finally have answers. But you couldn’t, at least not here, not now.

"Y/N..." he huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Will that be all, Captain ?" you repeated, your voice slightly trembling. Tears of rage threatened to fall. You held them back, too proud to cry in front of him. Pete looked at you and sighed quietly.

"You're dismissed Lieutenant Evans..."

You left the deck with a quick stride. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a mixture of anger, frustration and sadness. Of course, the rest of the squadron was there, already clean and changed. Seeing the anger in your eyes, no one said a word, not even Hangman. He just stared at you, confused, as you slammed the door of the changing room.

Later that evening, as the squadron relaxed at the bar, Jake couldn't help but bring up the earlier scene.

"So our dear Tempest's dad is the famous Maverick?"

" He's not my father ," you muttered, finishing another beer. "My genitor maybe. But he's not my father."

"Why Evans if Mitchell's your old man?" Jake insisted.

You could hear Bradley and Natasha telling him to drop it, but he kept coming back. You could feel your anger rising again. You downed another beer and slammed the empty bottle down on the table.

"Tell me, Bagman , weren’t you taught to keep your mouth shut about things that don't concern you? I'm sure your mama taught you some manners, didn't she? Now shut up before I put my fist through your face," you growled, half drunk, half angry. Jake scoffed and held his hands up in defense while Bob stopped you from approaching him. Seeing your father enter the bar only made you feel worse. And it took all your patience not to slit Jake's throat on the spot as he continued his overly curious and unpleasant comments with his snide attitude.

Bradley went with you to get some fresh air as he wasn't too keen on seeing Pete either. When you arrived at the beach, a wave of sadness washed over you. You knew that your father would do everything in his power to get you out of this mission, but what was worse was that he didn't even try to talk to you, to reconnect. Your shoulders shook and you couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Only a sobbing hiccup betrayed you and Bradley rushed to take you in his arms. You felt the strength leave your legs and the two of you ended up sitting in the sand, crying your eyes out and clinging to Bradley. "I've got you... Let it all out..." he murmured between two kisses on the top of your head. His big hands gently stroked your back, letting go of all your pain. "It's okay, baby girl... it's okay..."

Bradley and you practically lived together now. You’ve inherited your mom’s old house by the ocean and it’s confier than being on base. So those kinds of pet names were almost common now. But this time you didn’t blush at it, your emotions a mess.

You cried against him for a long time, as you hadn't done for many years. Rooster held you until you calmed down. "It's not fair..." you whispered, sniffling. "He's going to take me off the mission..."

"He won't be able to... Ice recommended you... there's nothing he can do about it..."

You shrugged, not really sure if Tom could help you. He was very ill and you didn't want to tire him out with your disagreements with your father.

“He’s just an old dickhead, don’t worry…” Bradley tried to cheer you up but you’re too distraught to play along. After a little less than an hour later, you find the force to get up and you head home with him. You fall asleep in the car and wake up the next morning in your bed.

There wasn't much time left before the mission. Training sessions were coming up and so were your fights with Pete. Cyclone hadn't pulled you out of the mission, but you weren't sure if it was to spite your father or because he felt you were capable of succeeding, just like your comrades.

Days passed at an alarming pace. The team slowly bonded through group exercises and moments of relaxation, especially with the game your father had invented: dogfight football.

You couldn't lie, it felt good to have such moments. But your father still didn't talk to you and you were still angry. You remained professional, but you couldn't stand his fatherly attitude towards you.

All your hopes of renewing real ties disappeared when you learned of Tom's death. You had seen him the day before and he had made you promise to try to take care of Pete. His funeral was one of the hardest moments of your life.

And because bad news never comes alone, the mission was moved up by a week. Pete was temporarily relieved of his duties, as Admiral Simpson still believed his plan of attack was doomed to failure. Of course, your father, in his legendary arrogance and cockiness, proved him wrong with an unauthorized flight. Hope rose in the team but it was still a very risky plan.

Cyclone decided to make Pete team leader, and not surprisingly, he didn't choose you as his wingman. Part of you was angry because you felt you could do it, and another part of you was mortified when he announced that his choice would be Bradley. This mission was suicide, and you couldn't afford to lose them both. You couldn't afford to lose anyone in the squadron, but these two, it was just too much.

You didn't catch up with Pete as much as you wanted to, there were still so many questions left unanswered, so much time to make up for… You hadn't been able to make things right with your dad, you hadn't been able to tell him that you had this passion for aviation because of him. You hadn't been able to tell him that you regretted not telling him about the academy, that you regretted the 9 years of distance between you...

And you didn't spend enough time with Bradley.

Sure, you were always glued to each other in your free time, taking walks on the beach, talking and singing together at the Hard Deck piano, having movie nights... but you didn't want it to stop. Not after you'd half confessed how you felt about him after a few too many drinks, telling him that your 4-year-old declaration still stood. He laughed and told you that he hadn't forgotten either.

On the day of the mission, you barely managed to find your way to your father. "Captain?" your voice was louder than you had expected.

"Lieutenant Evans?"

"I... Before you go, I'd like to talk-"

"We'll talk when I get back."

"... Promise me you'll come back."

For a moment, you were that five-year-old girl again, watching her father leave. Pete must have seen it in your eyes and climbed down from the cockpit to take you in his arms. "I promise I'll come back in one piece, kiddo..." You hugged him tightly and nodded in agreement. After a few seconds, you let go and let him settle down. You ran to Bradley and made him promise you the same. He smiled confidently, even though you knew he was stressed. "Don't worry, we've got a Star Wars marathon to watch," he smiled before gently and discreetly kissing your forehead. You blushed and nodded, a worried little smile on your face.

Reluctantly, you left the track and joined Jake. You were glued to your radios, following the progress of the mission. Everything was going well until two enemy fighters spotted them.

You stopped breathing.

First they had Bradley in sight and locked on.

The enemy fired.

But your father took the brunt of the missiles and saved Rooster.

Your brain didn't know how to process all this information and shut down when you heard Bradley's decision to go after Pete before getting shot down too.

You don't remember much else. All you knew is that Jake had to leave in a hurry to find and rescue them. When they landed with that really out beat up F-14, you rushed out on deck to greet them, swallowing all your worry and anger at their unconscious behavior for the moment.

Once ashore, the entire crew decided to celebrate their success at Penny's Bar, dragging Pete with them. You stayed close to Bradley, as if afraid that it was all a dream and that he wasn't really there. He wouldn't let go of you either, his arm tight around you. You felt like a schoolgirl, it was stupidly comfortable. You looked at Pete, who was happily chatting with Penny and other members of the team. You didn't want to spoil the evening with a discussion that was out of your control…

Around one o'clock you went out for some fresh air, leaving Bradley to play with those who hadn't returned home yet ; Reuben, Natasha, Mickey and Javy.

As a cold shiver ran through you, you felt a heavy jacket on your shoulders. You immediately recognized the peculiar smell ; old whiskey mixed with motor oil and a hint of cologne.

" Dad ? "

"I thought you wanted to talk ?" he asked quietly, moving toward the beach. You nodded and took his pinky with yours like a child, searching for your words.

"I'm sorry..." you breathed, holding back your tears. "For going to the Academy behind your back and not telling you… not talking to you for almost ten years... I know that giving news is supposed to go both ways and all, but... but you weren't even there when I left... and I guess... I guess I resented you as much as I wanted you to be there, you know ?" you sniffed before continuing your monologue. "I just wanted you to see me . ‘Cause… it’s because of you I wanted to go down this road, you gave me this love for flight, for speed, for the sky. I... I just wanted you to be happy that we finally had something in common, but... but you had already pulled Bradley's papers, so I didn't think and I just did what seemed most logical and easiest. Take Mom's name, ask Ice not to tell you. I know it was stupid… but I also know it would have hurt too much if you had stopped me. And... And then no news for nine years... It hurt even more. The Academy and my first years of service weren't what I thought they would be... it was rough and sometimes I just… I just wanted to call you to come and pick me from there… but… but I wouldn't change that for the world. Because I’m still a Mitchell and Mitchells never quit right ?” You took a few seconds, your gaze meeting his, to see if he wanted to intervene but he didn’t. He just looked at you, taking all the information you gave him. You let out a shaky breath, playing with the sleeves of his jacket nervously. “And I know you must and may resent me for the rest of my life, but… but I just wanted you to be proud of me and... and for us to finally be a family." You bit your lip, trying to calm the flow of emotions that came through.

The sky began to rumble and your father remained silent after your speech. A few tears rolled down your cheeks as he couldn't find the words.

"Please, Dad, say something..." you sighed, your voice breaking.

The rain began to fall slowly and Pete's silence was too much for your heart to take. He couldn't even look at you anymore. You thought you could take it ; you were used to his silenced treatment, used to the fact that he couldn’t express his feelings. But right now, you needed him to speak, to ease your worries, to confront you.

"Dad... please... I'm begging you... talk to me…" you repeated desperately.

You broke down again and cried like a little girl in front of your mute father. You hated that he couldn't open up to you and you hated that he saw you so frail, so fragile. Your sobs mingled with the rain, which grew heavier, the wind and waves making the silence deafening. You bit your lip and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, in vain.

"I know I'm not... I know you didn't plan… you didn’t want to have me with mom-"

"No, it's true... I never planned to be a father... The very idea of having children terrified me and still does," Pete interrupted you, "but... you're one of the most beautiful things, if not the most, that has ever happened to me. And I'm petrified of anything happening to you, I'm helpless on so many levels... and I... I didn't know how to be there when you needed me... I know I must have let you down a lot..." He sighed, catching his breath and holding back his own tears. "I thought... it would be best for both of us to let you have your freedom... but the weeks, months and years went by and I didn't have the guts to try to contact you. I was too ashamed... but Y/N, I never stopped loving you... you're my daughter... and even if you have my damn temper and your mom’s stubbornness," you couldn't hold back a little laugh and a slight smile despite your tears, which your father tenderly chased away with his thumb, "you'll always be my little girl, too eager to get on our little plane for a ride, passionate and fierce… I don’t resent you… I think I would have done it your way if my old man put me in this situation…" He allowed himself to cry as well as the two of you finally hugged each other, relieved of an enormous weight.

"I love you too, Dad... sorry for everything..." you mumbled against his shoulder.

"No, no… I’m sorry… It's my turn to apologize, sweetheart..."

The two of you lay embracing in the rain for a while, making up for years of distance in a few minutes. You were the first to let go. You once again took his hand like a child.

"We better get back before Hangman starts gossiping..."

"Or before Bradley starts worrying," Pete teased. You blushed and looked at him with wide eyes. "What? Like I haven't noticed the way you two look at each other. I'm not that blind kid!" He laughed “Ah… your mom and Carole would have been thrilled !”

You returned to the bar, soaking wet, chatting about anything and everything. Seeing you, Bradley's expression changed from worried to relieved, then back to worried as he noticed you were shivering a little from the cold. He politely left his conversation with Mickey to join you.

"Are you okay? Do you want to go home and change?"

"That would be a good idea..." you smiled at him. You had to admit you were exhausted from this rollercoaster of emotions. You said goodbye to the others from a distance, then to your father in a final hug, and followed Bradley back to his old blue Bronco. The two of you made your way to your small house.

Bradley was a good roommate. You each had your own room, but you often fell asleep together in front of the TV or on one of your beds after long late-night discussions. You liked the routine you created. And you hoped with all your might that nothing would change. But your feelings for him were becoming more and more obvious in your mind and heart. You wondered how much longer you could hide it.

Seeing you so silent, Bradley placed his hand on your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Are you all right, lil’ Tempest?"

His eyes never left the road as his thumb traced small circles on your jeans. A shiver ran through your entire body and you wished this contact would never end.

"Everything's fine Roo... don't worry..."

"Okay..."

He squeezed your knee again and left his hand on your thigh. The warmth of his palm made you shiver and you placed your hand on top of his shyly. Once again, you felt like a teenager. It was stupid.

The ride home was rather quiet, in a comforting way, Bradley driving carefully in the pouring rain and humming the song that passed on the radio. When he parked, you stayed in the car for a moment. You sensed that he had something he wanted to say to you, and he sensed the same thing on your side. After a few minutes of silence and shy glances, he smiled at you, got out of the car, and you followed. He ran to unlock the door and waited for you under the porch.

You wanted to run as well, but your legs felt heavy. That's when your anxiety decided to take over. The stress and worry of the past few days were finally catching up to you. As you saw Bradley step out into the rain with a worried expression, the conversation on the radio played in your head. Your father's F-18 had exploded, and Bradley was on his way to pick him up. And now it was his turn to go down. A huge pressure on your chest stopped you from breathing and new tears rolled down your cheeks. You couldn't move, pinned to the pavement. Silent sobs shook you as your vision blurred. You couldn't see or hear Bradley any more. You felt so alone, so cold. Your panic attack froze you under the heavy rain and you couldn't get out of it. You couldn't hear anything except the intense ringing in your ear. You wanted to throw up. The world spun around you as your mind screamed what the communications officer had said earlier, "Maverick's down ! Rooster's down !"

They were dead.

For the long forty minutes or so that followed, they were dead . And you were stuck in that loop. One minute everything was fine, the mission was a complete success. The next, the last two most important people in your life were dead. The ground began to feel strangely unstable as you fought harder to breathe. Eventually your legs gave out and you felt yourself fall, but you didn't hit the ground. You felt two arms around you, holding you securely but not too tightly, then lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. The buzzing in your ears slowly faded away and you didn't feel the rain on your skin anymore. You gasped for air when you finally heard Breadley call your name, concern in his voice. As you raised your eyes to look at him, a sudden relief washed over you and you couldn't help but sob again.

He was home. You were home. With him.

"What's going on, Y/N? Hey... Breathe... breathe and talk to me..." he said quietly.

"I thought... I thought you and Dad... you... you were dead..." you managed to say between sobbing hiccups. You clung to his shirt, afraid he would fade away. He smiled a little and kissed the top of your head as he cupped your cheeks with his calloused hands. Then he took your hands and laid them flat on his heart. You could feel it beating at a regular pace.

"I'm here. I’m okay. You're okay. I'm very much alive, Mav is too, and you're stuck with me, with us, little Tempest..."

"Yeah ? Promise ?" you sniffed, your lower lip still trembling.

"Yeah... Promise." he smiled at you again then hugged you tightly.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, the bristles of his mustache tickling you a little. One of your hands reached up to his neck, your fingers brushing his little hair. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, absorbing each other's presence. You felt so relaxed in his arms, as if you belonged there. Your heart fluttered as you heard him hum one of your favorite songs and then felt him beginning to slow dance with you, taking you peacefully to the bathroom. You were too exhausted and shaken from your panic attack to even ask him what he was doing. You just obliged and listened to him, hypnotized. He declared that you needed a long relaxing bath and in the meantime he would order pizza. He helped you take off your shoes and socks, then your hoodie. He kissed your forehead and let you finish undressing, leaving the bathroom to give you some privacy.

You couldn’t stay too long in the bath, your mind being too loud. You knew you would break down again if you weren’t close to him . Bradley made you feel safe, secure, grounded. That was what you needed to relax. You were so used to being alone before, used to the silence, the empty rooms. But since he decided to kind of move in with you, you couldn’t bear the loneliness. The house was so warm now, so welcoming and comfy.

As you crossed his room after you’ve washed, you noticed that old hoodie you bought him one Christmas when you were in naval school. It’s a silly one, the hood designed to look like a rooster. An amused sigh escaped you and you took it to wear. It was still as soft and comfy as the day you bought it.

“Stealing my clothes I see ?” he chuckled when you joined him in the kitchen.

“Stealing my beers I see ?” you teased him back, pointing at the bottle in his hand, “I thought cranberry beers were for chicks ?”

“Mama Carole didn’t raise me to be picky” He scoffed in défense, with a smirk.

“Oh I know she didn’t. And my mama didn’t raise me to steal, I’m just borrowing that hoodie.” you smiled, putting the hood on. “Look, we’re twins now, Rooster !”

The both of you laughed at that stupid joke. He then smiled at you and put a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Feeling better sweets ?”

“Yeah… sorry about that I… I think these past days were a bit too much for my brain…”

“Don’t be sorry… it’s normal to break sometimes… everyone does.”

You hummed and nodded, but before you could talk, the doorbell rang. “Must be the pizzas ! Get yourself comfortable on the couch and choose a movie Y/N, I’ll be right back !” He kissed your cheek, close to your lips - too close - and ran to the door. You stood there for a moment, cheeks and heart warming up, before doing what he asked you. Once again, you felt like a schoolgirl at her first sleepover with her crush. You couldn’t help but feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your face turning a bit red.

You should tell him. But you risked losing that friendship you had. And at the same time, you wanted more than that. You wanted to feel his arms around you, his lips - oh those lips - on you, to wake up next to him each and every morning in your bed… You fantasized about a life with him for a minute, not noticing him getting back with the food. You jumped slightly when he waved his hand in front of your eyes to snap you out of your reverie. Your gaze locked with his as he asked if everything was all right.

"Yes, yes... I was just lost in thought..." you smiled shyly, your cheeks flushed, letting him settle in beside you. He took the plaid to cover both of you, then put his arm around your shoulders.

"And what were you thinking about? Or who?" He teased.

"About us, actually..."

"Us?" He said, a little surprised.

Your cheeks were crimson. You'd said too much already. You couldn't run anymore. You just nodded, not daring to meet his gaze. You felt him come closer and turn a little towards you after a few seconds of silence.

"Me too, I have to admit..."

"Really?" you almost whispered, looking up at him. He smiled and nodded.

"Yeah... to tell you the truth, I like it here, but... I don't want to be just another roommate anymore. We're pretty similar in a lot of things, Phoenix even says we look like an old married couple that's always jammed together." You chuckled a little but couldn't help but agree. Bradley smiled a little before continuing, a little nervously. "And... the crash, almost getting killed... It made me realize a lot of things... like the fact that I didn't want to lose you. And that... maybe... the fact that I felt so comfortable with you meant... meant more than friendship..."

Your heart raced in your chest. Was he going to confess what you were thinking? You bit the inside of your cheek to prove to yourself that you weren't dreaming, and before he could continue, you pulled him by his collar and crushed your lips against his. The kiss was desperate, as if you needed it to keep on living. Bradley didn't waste a second in responding, one of his hands sliding up your cheek and the other down your back to press you against him. You would have liked that moment to last forever, but the lack of air forced you to pull away a little. He pressed his forehead against yours and let out a small laugh. "I guess it's mutual, then?"

"You're a little genius aren’t you ?" You couldn't help but tease him before kissing him again.

You felt so good against him, kiss after kiss. You felt complete, soothed.

And you could easily get used to it .

#top gun maverick #top gun imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #dad pete mitchell #reader is pete daughter #jake seresin #bob floyd #penny benjamin #tom iceman kazansky #carole bradshaw #angst with a happy ending #pov second person

587 notes · View notes

apoptoses · 27 days ago

Text

“What was Christmas like when you were alive?” Daniel asks.

Across the table Armand drags a piping bag down the length of a cookie. He’s been at it for hours now. Or at least that’s how it feels after going to the store, baking the gingerbread. Laying out all the shit Armand had brought to decorate the house- sprinkles and icing and piping bags and piping tips. The table looks like a holiday war zone.

Daniel rests his chin on his hand and lets his eyes wander.

The fingers squeezing the bag are almost as white as the icing within it, and Daniel wonders if that’s what Armand’s hands look like when they’re squeezing his bicep, his throat. If his skin is as malleable as the frosting, yielding into dimples for Armand’s marble-strong fingers. Amazing that he doesn’t burst the bag with his power.

Armand raises his gaze from the table to Daniel’s face. Daniel clears his throat and fumbles for his cigarettes.

“Are you certain that’s what you want to know?” Armand asks.

Daniel rolls his eyes. His ears burn pink. “Why else would I have asked?”

The thoughtful hum Armand makes is more for his reassurance than anything. A little sound of acknowledgement that normally would be inaudible to the mortal ear made loud so that Daniel is aware he’s thinking; a habit he’d developed not long after Pompeii.

That was three years ago now. Sometimes Daniel thinks he knows just as little about Armand now as he did then. He’s never met someone who lives so thoroughly in the now. Who seems so disinterested in his own past.

Who’s such a miser about letting Daniel help with his craft projects. No touching the cookies, no decorating anything of his own. Just sit back and assist when told. Hungry and bored, Daniel reaches for a gum drop. A foot slams into his shin and he yelps.

“What? You won’t let me help,” Daniel says.

“Because I wish for the result to be a surprise.”

“Then don’t be surprised if I help myself to the supplies,” Daniel insists. “Maybe if you’d answered my question I wouldn’t be eating your stuff.”

Armand gives him a dry look. Daniel pops the gum drop in his mouth.

“I fail to see how the two are related. Anyhow, it was different,” Armand says, and Daniel has to swallow down the ‘obviously’ rising in his throat to keep from starting an argument. “A period centered more around merriment. Christmas of the past had more in common with Roman Saturnalia than it does with the holiday of the modern age.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gifts are the focus now, are they not? Worshipping at the altar of the child and not at that of god. It’s a season of performance and consumption.”

“Mm. Consumption wrapped in the guise of family. Go home for the holidays, if you don’t there must be something pathologically wrong with you.”

Daniel ashes his cigarette. One of Armand’s curls slips out of place, falls across his forehead and into his eyes.

He thinks of his mother. The way she’d sweat and curse over the hot stove. Pearls around her neck, hair in curlers as she rushed to get everything ready before Daniel’s grandparents and uncles and cousins stormed the house. She’d be half drunk before they even got there, off nips of whiskey Daniel now realizes was to take the edge off the pressure she felt to impress everyone.

The windows on the gingerbread house at the Molloy’s had always been built from crooked lines, giving the whole thing the appearance it was liable to fall in on itself. Margaret Molloy would have never tolerated the stack of dirty dishes like they’ve got in the sink. The evidence of her having created anything would have been swept away long before any relatives arrived.

Daniel drags his finger through the powdered sugar that litters the table. He thinks his mom would have a heart attack if she saw the state of their place. The mess Armand has made in his search to try modern traditions.

Armand has never asked if he misses his family. Whether he’d rather be back in Pennsylvania with them than here in New York. If he left now he’d catch the last train. Be there by eleven or twelve. Aunt Linda would probably cry seeing him at the door.

The tip of the piping bag oozes white frosting onto the table when Armand sets it down. He squints at the cookie.

Daniel lifts off his chair, tries to lean across the table and get a look at the front of the gingerbread house. Armand shoos him away.

“Wait. It requires something else.” He picks through the mess of supplies on the table. Icing in all colors, sprinkles, chocolate chips. They’d bought it all and then some. Armand never does anything by halves and Daniel can’t imagine where they’ll keep it all when he’s done. The cabinets are about overflowing as it is. “I’d allow to go, you know. To visit your family.”

Armand says it quiet enough he almost misses it. Daniel’s eyebrows shoot up. He stifles his surprised laugh, choked off noise coming out more like a snort.

“You’d ‘allow me’? Generous of you.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. Family is an ephemeral thing. You have it and then one day, you don’t,” Armand murmurs. “And one evening is- how do you say it? A drop in the bucket for one such as myself.”

“And where would you go if I went?”

Outside the house, probably. Daniel can picture him lingering in the street, watching through the window like in Venice. Even if he can’t see him Daniel’s always been able to feel his presence the way some people say they can feel ghosts.

Armand shrugs. “I would find something to do, just as I’ve done for centuries now. I’m capable of entertaining myself.”

“Mm.”

Armand’s nails are like glass. Smooth, slick. Just long enough to be sharp at the edges on the nights he doesn’t file them down, and he hasn’t filed them tonight. Daniel can tell by the way he uses them like tweezers to pluck a single sprinkle from the jar.

He could go back and let his mom fuss over his plate, listen to his dad try to make excuses for why his prodigal son spends all of his time far from home, why he doesn’t have a respectable job like his cousin Sean. He could sleep in his childhood bed and feel his mortality in a whole other way. Sit beside the tree his mother never, ever let him help decorate as a child because it had to be just right.

Armand places the sprinkle on the cookie. His fingertip comes away smeared with icing and he stares at it, then reaches across the table and holds it out in front of Daniel’s face.

He doesn’t taste like anything. Vampires don’t secrete bodily oils, and so when Daniel licks his finger clean it reminds him more of licking the plastic spoon his mom used to stir batter with. Smooth and cool and tasteless, except for the sugar that bursts on his tongue.

He wonders if she still has that spoon. If Armand will let him lick frosting from somewhere else when he’s done building- whatever the hell it is.

Armand doesn’t wipe his saliva off when he retracts his hand. Doesn’t comment on Daniel’s wandering thoughts either, or the way his pupils have dilated with them, just stares at his gingerbread house with all the seriousness of an architect. He adjusts a peppermint on the roof then nods.

“There. You may come see it now.”

The legs of Daniel’s chair squeal against the floor. He grinds out his cigarette before he circles the table, comes around to Armand’s side.

The linework on the gingerbread house is unnaturally straight, a carbon copy of the design pictured in the recipe book. Icing drips from the eaves, swirls in graceful arches over the windows and around the door. There’s even a wreath drawn just above the door. And in the powdered sugar snow on the ground stands a figure. A gingerbread man with a sprinkle cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“It’s you.”

Armand’s fangs peek out just above his lower lip when he grins up at him. He’s got powdered sugar on his sweater, in his curls. Daniel rolls his eyes. He rests his hand on the back of Armand’s chair and leans down to kiss the mischief from his mouth.

There’s people who miss him just a hundred miles away. A house so tidy you could eat off the floor, probably even a present under the tree for him on the off chance he comes back. Hell, they could go together. He could introduce Armand as a friend from the city with no family to go home to of his own. It wouldn’t even be a lie.

But Daniel’s got a crooked tree here that they’d decorated together with the mess of ornaments Armand bought at Saks. A sink filled with dishes and enough cookies to last him until Easter at least. And Armand-

Armand’s fingers curl around the back of his neck, pressing little valleys into his flesh with their strength, holding him there as his tongue slips into Daniel’s mouth. Licks some of the sweetness from it and leaves the hair on Daniel’s arms standing on end. Daniel angles his head to the side, opens his mouth a bit more. Kisses a little harder and feels the scrape of fangs on his lip like a threat. Or maybe a promise. Daniel’s too dizzy to know. His hand is busy working its way into Armand’s hair, as though he could actually tug him out of his chair and into the living room. He’ll crawl into his lap right here in the kitchen if he has to.

Then quick as it began it ends. Armand breaks away and pushes Daniel back toward his chair.

“There are more gingerbread people on the tray. You may make one of me to add to our house,” Armand says.

Daniel snorts but it comes out all wrong, like the huff of air someone lets out when they’ve been stabbed. His hands tremble as he picks up the piping bag. One kiss and Armand’s got him this fucked up. “I ‘may’ make one, like it’s a choice and not an order.”

“Yes. And then should it pass my inspection you may help me find something to do with the icing that’s unused.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Armand dusts the powdered sugar from his sweater. He shakes his hair back into place. The lights of the Christmas tree reflect off his auburn curls, make them glow all colors on the one side of his head, and when he looks at Daniel through his lashes Daniel’s heart races. His lips are parted just enough his fangs peek out from behind them, sharp and white.

“Then I suppose I should have to find some other form of consumption to indulge in. After all, that’s what the holiday is about now, isn’t it?”

It’s a shitty pun. But it makes Daniel’s blood pump hot beneath his skin anyways.

There’s a brick house with a wreath on the door that says ‘Molloy Family’ two states over. The train would only take a couple hours to get there. Here in New York Daniel’s got a piping bag in his hand and Armand sitting across the table swinging his feet like a child. His lips are still stinging-aching-tingling from the kiss. His blood races with the promise of more to come.

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

Armand nods. He rests his chin on his hand and it makes him look so innocent. Thoughtful in a way that's disarming. “Now tell me about Christmas when you were a child, Daniel.”

Daniel takes a deep breath. He drags a crooked line of ricing down the cookie and tries to think back. “Well, what do you want to know?”

[find all my other fics here]

#yayyyyyy i knocked one out for the holidays!!!#gonna try and do something more but #vamptemberxmas #so happy i managed this i hope everyone likes it!!!!!#armand/daniel #devil's minion #vampire chronicles #vc fic #apoptoses fic

60 notes · View notes

rain0tes · 11 months ago

Text

I'm thinking about Hazbin Hotel with a Suguru Geto like reader.

Entering the hotel with two teenagers in tow, panic etched across your face, you plead with Charlie to allow your daughters to stay, at the very least, to provide them with a safe space to hide during the extermination.

You knew you could handle yourself; after all, you'd survived in Hell for a few years now and always navigated the yearly purge with ease. However, upon discovering that your two adoptive daughters were spawned in Hell just before an extermination, you were desperate to find shelter for them, willing to go to any lengths to ensure their safety.

Bless her soul, Charlie took you and your daughters into the hotel, where you've been staying ever since, grateful for the refuge and safety it provided amidst the chaos of Hell.

With a constant smile on your face, you exude genuine warmth and kindness, easily making you one of the kindest souls in the hotel, second only to Charlie. Unlike Alastor, your demeanour feels sincere, radiating a sense of genuine care and compassion.

You naturally take on a fatherly role over the other residents, offering guidance, support, and understanding to those who need it most.

When Charlie would ask what you could have possibly done to deserve a spot in Hell, given your genuinely kind nature, you would simply smile in response, choosing not to delve into the details of your past.

The downward spiral, the lives you've taken with your own hands, the very same lives you once promised to save— it all still haunts you, a constant reminder of your past mistakes. Yet, you strive to push through it all, clinging to the hope of redemption that Charlie keeps preaching about.

You don't really believe you deserve forgiveness, feeling as though you've delved too far down to ever swim back to the surface again. In your eyes, Nanako and Mimiko have a better chance at redemption; they deserve another chance. So, you strive to keep it together, if only to support them and ensure they have the opportunity to find the redemption you feel is beyond your reach.

Nanako's accidental slip of calling Charlie "sister" once has since become a cherished term of endearment, one that has stuck and been embraced by everyone in the hotel. Mimiko, ever accepting and adaptable, casually accepts the addition of a third sister into their familial dynamic without hesitation.

Gradually, you also begin to see Charlie as a third child, influenced by your adoptive daughters' insistence on referring to her as their sister.

The rest of the hotel residents hold you in high regard; it's difficult not to like you.

Angel Dust holds a special appreciation for you. You offer him a safe space to rant and confide in, providing the much-needed comfort and support he craves. Your non-judgmental attitude and genuine concern help him navigate the challenges he faces, allowing him to feel understood and accepted in a way he rarely experiences elsewhere.

He often describes it as you "fathering so hard you start mothering."

Vaggie finds that she can truly relax when you're around, feeling a sense of ease and comfort in your presence. As the only other voice of reason, she trusts your judgment implicitly and relies on your calm demeanour to navigate through challenging situations. Your steady presence serves as a source of stability and reassurance for Vaggie, allowing her to let her guard down and find moments of respite.

Pentious finds you a bit intimidating, not because of any unkindness, but because of the confidence you exude. In his opinion, you're just as kind as Charlie, but you possess a certain assurance and composure that comes with experience, something he feels Charlie lacks. Your presence commands respect, and while he admires your kindness, he also can't help but feel a bit in awe of your self-assuredness.

Nifty's fondness for you was evident from the start, as she frequently left out little gifts for you to find, even if they were admittedly a bit peculiar, reminiscent of a cat bringing their owner a dead mouse. Despite their unusual nature, you graciously thanked her for each and every one, appreciating the gesture and the sentiment behind it. However, you discreetly disposed of the gifts without her ever knowing, understanding that some things are better left unseen.

Alastor views you as competition to a degree. While you maintain friendly terms and often engage in pleasant conversation over drinks, he senses that you're hiding a lot of things, particularly the extent of your power. Despite the amicable facade, he can't shake the feeling that there's more to you than meets the eye, and he's wary of the potential threat you may pose.

Husk is the only one who truly sees how burned out you are, recognizing the exhaustion weighing on you emotionally. Initially, you resisted opening up, even when he made efforts to encourage you to do so. The irony of being the therapist of the hotel in need of therapy yourself wasn't lost on you.

However, over time, you began to slowly share what was bothering you with Husk. While you didn't reveal too much, simply being able to express some of your feelings was a relief. Knowing that someone understood and cared enough to listen provided a small measure of comfort amidst the turmoil of your own emotions.

When Lucifer comes to visit the hotel, he's immediately passive-aggressive toward you, seeing in you exactly what he wants to be with Charlie: a father figure who's there for his daughter. Despite his initial animosity, he can't hold onto his resentment for too long, especially as you both naturally fall into a co-parent-like relationship.

You catch him up on what Charlie has been up to over the years, serving as a key component in patching up their fractured father-daughter relationship. Over time, Lucifer begins to appreciate your genuine care and concern for Charlie, and despite his pride, he acknowledges the positive impact you've had on their relationship.

The first time anyone in the hotel witnessed you engage in combat happened during Lucifer's visit, while he and Charlie were engaged in conversation. Suddenly, you felt your surroundings shake, signalling the onset of a confrontation.

A flurry of emotions overwhelmed you at first, but one thing became clear: your daughters and friends were in danger, and you would not let it slide.

By the time everyone emerged outside, you were already in the midst of the carnage, your clothes and face stained with blood. Despite attempting to wipe the liquid off with your thumb, it only served to smudge further into your skin. Turning to face the group, a grim determination etched across your features.

Maybe there was a good reason you were in Hell after all.

Note: I love hacker!reader but I wanted to do something else for once. This was more so because I wanted to give the hh cast a "mom friend," and the first person that always comes to mind is Suguru for some reason? Idk. I hope you enjoyed!

(Masterlist)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #male reader #hazbin reader insert #🌧Rain0tes

158 notes · View notes

dream-thief-forever-amen · 14 days ago

Text

I love that the “hero” is still the absolute worst in season 2.

Let us explore the evidence.

Spoilers below:

1. Does not get on the plane to be a father to his child… his supposed motivation to earn money in the first place. Even when he has billions. In fact he’s become even more distant and unreliable, not even communicating with her any longer.

2. Promises to care for that girl’s younger brother but dumps him off on an old woman without explanation and a bag of cash. Continues to watch this old woman raise this random kid while working her old bones off in an outdoor market. Just like he watched his own mother work herself to death to care for his fully grown butt.

3. Does not use his considerable fortune to get the kid’s mom out of North Korea - just does the bare minimum with one broker.

4. Hoards his wealth to pursue his private obsession. Spends two years wasting away in his private hobby hotel and still does not have a solid plan or even good ideas about how to handle the murder island - and has not attempted to outsource this large problem to others better equipped to solve it.

5. Still has not realized the old man’s gamble at the end of season one with the homeless man only required that HE go down and help the dude or go down and get someone else to work with him to help the dude instead of just watching and hoping something would happen (This is arguably the theme of the show).

6. Gets back into the game but does not tell a single soul it’s a murder machine until AFTER they have all signed up, been photographed, and marched onto the field to be slaughtered.

7. Did not check in on or help his friend from season one, even though they were still in the same city and his friend was struggling. Now that poor sod is also in the game.

8. Doesn’t make his impassioned speech to convince others not to continue the game after round one - nope, not until over half have already voted and his own side is losing.

9. When the majority votes to continue the game, he makes no attempt to try to reason with or plead with those who voted to stay, even though they only lost by a narrow margin. The entire group stays divided and refuses to work together. Ironically it is two characters from the other, majority side who make a point to reach out to him. One of them shares his personal story of why he voted the way he did - swaying hearts and minds - which is ironically what our “hero” should have done. Except he doesn’t have a sad story of circumstances - he is the sad story.

10. Later our male lead finally thinks it’s time to perhaps attempt to sway some hearts and minds and is instantly talked out of it cause it might stir up trouble… in the murder game… the irony…

11. The completely haphazard plan to take over the facility by disarming the uniformed guards. Even though he knew they were outnumbered, there is surveillance everywhere, and he had zero plan of what to do next. Leaving the majority of his “team” to fend for themselves (and be murdered) while he secured the strongest among them to hide in wait.

HE IS THE WORST.

Is it a case of being your own worst enemy, of mental illness, of selfishness, stupidity? Is it soupical tendencies born from disappointments? Is it just in our DNA?

I don’t know. But I do think this show has gone to great lengths to show us repeatedly that the male lead is someone who doesn’t know how to care for others.

His sweet daughter loves him dearly but you could already see she was old enough to be disappointed in him. There was pity there too.

Money can’t change your bad habits or your crap personality.

This man didn’t even invest his money so that at least the interest could fund a few orphanages or homeless shelters in perpetuity. Nope, he’s got it sitting around on a mattress.

I also find it interesting how many older women are still trying to raise fully grown men in this show. The male lead’s mom. The mother of his dead friend who our male lead tosses another son onto. The mom contestant in season 2. There’s too many for it not to be commentary.

I’m glad we have shows like this though. Cause there are no easy answers. This island is just a symptom of a larger problem, one that can’t be fought alone. It will take many heads coming together to even start to unravel the mess we are in.

Anyways… looking forward to the finale. I would not be surprised if our lead male becomes a new commander of the games at the end.

#squid game #squid game season 2 #spoilers

34 notes · View notes

dimepdf · 2 years ago

Text

★ 𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑. + 𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. Eren fucking hates babies, which is why he feels so confused sat the feeling he gets in his stomach seeing you with one.

─── ☆ notes. i blame tiktok for giving me the worst baby fever while also making me so digusted with them as well, i saw a tiktok where this mother was like "oh yeah i suck the snot out of my toddlers nose!" ??? . | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ length. 1.1k (10 min read) .

Eren hates being around kids, especially the ones that scream and cry with their snotty noses and run around throwing tantrums just because they could get their way, type of toddlers, mostly just to be even more clear.

He excuses the hatred with him growing up an only child, coming from a small, close-knit family where he was the only baby raised around older relatives that had refused to plant their own roots so he wasn't left with many cousins around his age to interact with.

Eren's parents were the only ones to really expand their family tree when having him, which was why he was just so spoiled rotten with attention and gifts, and if there was one thing that Eren loved more than you, it was attention.

"Woah, when did you multiply?" was the second thing you heard, followed by the sound of your shared apartment door swinging open and the rustling of bags.

His arms were occupied with a huddle of grocery bags, all carried on his forearms. That last thing that your boyfriend expected to come home was the sight of you and your uninvited guest, your young niece, lounging together on the couch.

Eren didn't want to scoff and complain about how she was practically neglecting the 40-inch flat screen instead of cursing the screen with some cartoon with a blue fucking dog with an accent, using his surround system setup that he was plotting on coming home and ending his day by playing GTA on.

"Oh my bad baby, I forgot to text you." Taking your eyes off the show for only a quick minute to give him a small greeting smile from your comfortable looking spot on the couch.

Right next to the beaded haired little girl giggling and clapping her hands at whatever nonsense was playing out on the screen, "My sister had something to do today, so she just dropped the baby off for a bit."

Eren hummed in acknowledgement of your response while dropping the bags on the counter. Not really knowing what to say, he tried his best to hide the fleeting glances he would give from the kitchen every once in a while as he put away the food.

Eren was convinced he was fighting some sort of demon after seeing you being all motherly with someone else's child.

His thoughts spiraled about his lovely future with you, conflicting with the stupid smile he tried oh-so-hard to repress while opening cabinets at the thought of him coming back home to you and his own child one day.

Obsessed with how it would feel to swing open the front door and be greeted by his future loving wife while holding a little human who would call him dad.

Eren had been so caught up in his own fantasy world that he hadn't even noticed you walking up to him, standing right beside him with a questionable glance. Having called out his name so many times, you were down to using his full government, yet not even that would break him from his trance.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around his middle, hugging against his back, to finally catch his attention. "You okay, baby?" you chuckle, feeling his muscles tense for a split second before flinching back to reality with a drawn-out sigh.

"Yeah, you know, just thinking about shit—stuff," he mutters, caressing the arm you had slung around his torso with the brush of his thumb, as he tried to figure out just what was going on in his mind. "Just seeing you around babies and stuff, it kinda just fucks with me a bit, I guess."

It was as if the child could feel eyes on her, taking a break from sucking on her finger to turn and stare bug-eyed at you two all snuggled up in the kitchen. Watching her struggle a little to slide off the couch and waddle over to him was just another heart throbbing scene.

He almost clenched his imaginary pearls too. "I think she wants you to pick her up." you laugh, both glancing down at the toddler that just stood there looking up with her arms reached up as if she were stuck in place.

"Oh," Eren hesitated for a moment, his glance shifting from you to her almost as if he were second guessing whether it was really okay to pick her up.

He first wiped his sweaty hands against his jeans, then reached down and lifted her up by her sides as gently as if she were some glass doll.

Eren had first handled her outstretched in his hold, as if he were presenting the child to someone in front of him. "Uh hello…" He muttered, almost melting at the smile that spreads across the little girl's face as she shyly tucked herself into his chest, muttering something close to a greeting reply.

"Not you charming the entire family tree." You teased him from beside, smiling at the adorable exchange.

The day continues on without much issue, you were able to actually get some rest with the little girl actually attached to Eren’s side for the entirety of the night.

The little girl even convinced him into watching some more toddler cartoons alongside her, having Eren wrapped around her small little finger as he nodded his head at whatever nonsense baby blabber would come from her mouth.

Spending the time together drained whatever childlike energy the kid had left in her. Once you had given her a bath and given Eren a much-needed lesson on how diapers work, the little girl was out like a light the moment her head hit the pillow.

Leaving you and Eren with a bit of a cautious peace period alone in the living room, you two were able to finally enjoy each other's silent company.

"You're not as bad with kids as I thought you’d be," you said in a quiet, gentle tone while snuggling by Eren’s side, not wanting to make much noise despite being a whole room and hallway away from the sleeping baby.

Eren’s face scrunched slightly in a slight teasing appearance of offense, but he quickly glanced off in the direction of the baby in a trance of his thoughts.

"I would be cool with a lot more of them if they didn't shit and cry all the damn time." He shrugs honestly, not wanting it to show that his baby fever alarms were blaring at full volume as his hands traced over the exposed part of your stomach that peeked from your shirt.

"Would you... like to have kids?" He was finally done tiptoeing over the big question, the hitch in his breath telling you all you need to know about how nervous he was about even suggesting getting you pregnant.

"I mean, yeah," you answered a little too simply, "babies are cute." And then quickly followed the look—the dark puppy pouty eyes staring back at you were all too telling as to what his true motivation behind the question was.

"Eren."

"We could always practice too!"

🔖 @m0mmym1lk3r-png / @kawatabae / @haitaniwhor3 / @pluzo / @hey-gurls69 / @momoewn / @sheluvzeren / @kogoshidied / @zombieghoulfriend / @hoohoohope / @pidwidge / @jadeisthirsting / @zuuki / @watyousayin / @rumi-rants / @justanotherkpopstanlol / @awkwardaardvarkforever / @chloee0x0 / @lexiinanime / @melty-kisses / @kageyama-i-want-tobiors / @namidaass / @princesstiti14 / @unholybabyface / @wenumsmol / @kiyomeichann / @ziggy-09 / @anotherlovelyruin / @s-witch-bitch / @laylasbunbunny / @celi-xxmoon / @toji-dabi-wife / @dilfs-lover / @dunixxd / @songbirdgardensworld / @emery-333 / @mimixrx2 / @souljagrldotcom / @carcarmeowmeow19 / @starr-k / @p-rizz-ha /

tap here to be added to taglist.

#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ]#eren yeager #eren jeager #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jeager x reader

729 notes · View notes

demigodsanswer · 2 months ago

Note

Percabeth Royal AU + First Time

I also got sent royalty AU + baby fic, so I'm going to combine them!

Vaguely high fantasy setting, but with more or an ancient Greek aesthetic than medieval England.

Annabeth is first in line for her mother's throne. Percy is like 5th or 6th inline his father's. And he'd probably never get it anyway. He's a legitimized former bastard after his father married his (low born) mistress after the death of his first wife.

But the two of them grew up together, and get along really well, and have stayed in contact through the years, even if they haven't seen each other in person in a while.

So when it comes time for Annabeth to make an adventurous match, she floats Percy's name. The marriage would strengthen the alliance to a formerly-rival nation, he's not so important as to cause trouble, but he is legitimate.

Athena isn't thrilled about this, but she allows Annabeth to make the proposal because she knows if she doesn't allow Annabeth to do the proper thing she wants to do, then Annabeth will do whatever she wants to do the improper way. Athena doesn't really expect Poseidon to accept.

But of course he does. This is a marriage well above what he expected for Percy. The marriage is arranged, and now it's time for Percy to finally see his best friend again.

He arrives, and he is the most handsome man Annabeth has ever seen. And that she wasn't expecting. She'd last seen him eight years ago, when he was a pimply 13 year old who was shorter than her. He wasn't that anymore.

And Percy is thinking similar things about her. He's pretty sure they're going to have a great marriage.

Athena's kingdom is a little more (a lot more) regressive on ideas of virginity, particularly for high-born girls, particularly for the heir apparent. So Annabeth has never so much as kissed someone in a meaningful way. She's read books, experimented with a few things on her own, and that's it. And Percy's culture expects proof of consummation the next day as part of the wedding contract. So Annabeth knows she will be losing her virginity on her wedding night. It's been discussed at length, much to her shame.

A week before the wedding, she confesses to Percy that she's nervous. Or, rather, she expresses her nerves by asking: "On the wedding night, what should I do?"

"What?"

"Is there something I should do to prepare? Is there something you like that I should learn about?"

"Uh ... no. I just want you to be comfortable and relaxed as much as you can. I will try to make it good for you."

"In your experience, do women do anything that makes it more relaxing?"

And Percy just has to sheepishly confess that he doesn't have experience of his own. "I'm a bastard. I never wanted to condemn my own child to that fate. Or disgrace a lady like that. Or pay for it and end up with some pox I'd give to my wife. So I've just ..."

"So we're both virgins, then?" Annabeth asks, not really realizing that that's a bit embarrassing for Percy in ways it's not for her.

"Yes," he said.

"That actually makes me feel a lot better."

The wedding night ends up being incredibly ... fine. It's romantic for sure. But the sex itself takes a few tries to get right, and then ends abruptly. But there's enough evidence the next morning to make the marriage count.

Conceiving an heir isn't a problem. Keeping it is. Annabeth has three miscarriages the first year. She and Percy decide to stop having sex for a little while, to let her body recover and let them both recover emotionally.

They end up taking a tour of the nation six months after they stop having sex (or P in V sex, they figure out the alternatives), and on the tour, they stop by a secluded waterfall. The guards are a little ways away, and they decide to fully enjoy the water.

They're hidden behind the waterfall, and Percy is so happy to be inside her again, he just starts talking about how his people worship the water, and believe they emerged from the sea itself, and that water is healing and life-giving.

When Annabeth suspects she's pregnant again about two months later, she insists they continue the tour because "it will be over soon."

But it isn't.

She returns to court wider than she left. This one she carries to term -- a healthy little baby girl.

They start conceiving all their babies in the water, just to be safe.

#percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #My writing

26 notes · View notes

itmeansiris · 2 months ago

Text

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: Winter Gen 1 pt.78

After ending her call with Mercury, Winter took Crimson inside having finished their magic lesson and it had started to rain.

Winter: Let's go squirt.

She called him as she headed inside without checking if he was following. Inside she found Peyton in the living room helping Hannah, their youngest, to stand. Crimson immediately ran over to his older sister Adrianne, his wings not yet strong enough to carry him, and jumped on her back.

The family of five moved from San Myshuno to New Crest at the end of the summer after they brought home their third baby. Their two-bedroom apartment was too small so Peyton had done the work needed to move them into a more spacious and family friendly environment.

Winter sat across from Peyton holding her hands out to Hannah and fluttering her wings to get the baby spellcaster's attention.

Winter: Hello beautiful girl. Come to Mama.

She cooed at the infant lovingly as Peyton held her steady.

Peyton: How's M?

Winter: I'm not sure. I didn't want to ask too much over the phone but she sounded like herself.

Peyton: Good. I don’t want to have to kick my brother's ass.

Winter: Language!

She snapped.

Peyton: Sorry.

Crimson: Dad's in trouble.

Winter: I'm sure it was a misunderstanding. If something was wrong Kason would have called.

Winter responded vaguely, not wanting to get into detail with the kids around. Peyton rolled his eyes as he adjusted Hannah and tickled her tummy. Her sweet giggles filled the room.

Peyton: He should have called anyway. He never knew how to ask for help.

Winter smirked at Peyton's fatherly complaint.

Winter: Look at you sounding like the older brother.

Peyton frowned. He'd been defending himself against this jab for years, and it never seemed to stop bothering him.

Peyton: He's not older! He was only born 3 minutes before me.

Winter: Slacker. What were you doing fixing your hair first?

She loved to tease him about how long he took to get ready. It took him hours, spending watcher knew how long making sure his hair was perfect. He recently let it grow out and she had to attempt the length looked good on him.

He didn't entertain her with a response as Hannah started to wobble forward eager to reach her mother. When she made it the last few shakey steps to Winter they stood and Peyton kissed her head.

Peyton: Hannah Banana you are getting so big. Soon you'll be sprouting your wings and making trouble like these two wildlings.

As soon as his arms were free Adrianne and Crimson filled them. Peyton, like his brother, was an attentive parent and though he didn't have triplets he had his own personal trials raising three half-fae children.

Winter and Peyton sat at the kitchen island after getting all the kids into bed. They were finalizing their travel list seeing that they were traveling separately.

Peyton: You sure you can handle taking your stuff, Adrianne and Hannah's? That's a lot for one person Winter and I don't want you to get hurt or lose something on the way.

He asked while checking off the last of the items on his phone.

Winter: Babe you're traveling with all the kids. Even if I thought I couldn't handle it, which I obviously can, I'd never tell you.

Winter gazed at him with love and admiration. Not many people knew this side of Peyton. All they saw was the spoiled, wild child he'd been after his mother had abandoned him, Kason, and their father when they were just toddlers. Winter wasn't even the one to make their relationship official it had been Peyton. She was guilty of seeing him as just a "pretty face" when they'd first met, she never thought they would end up married with three kids. Now she couldn't imagine her life without him

Winter: Peyton I can wait and we can all travel together.

Peyton: You've been talking about going to see M for weeks. Go check on our girl and give Kason a good knock over the head for me.

Winter knew he wouldn't take no for an answer, he would claim it was all for her benefit but M was one of Peyton's bestfriends and he cared about his brother deeply and though he'd never admit it he was secretly worried about the photos he'd seen online. They seemed to have disappeared nearly overnight but it didn't stop him from worrying about why his brother had been with a strange woman or wondering who had posted them and why.

Torn between wanting to stay with her family and her excitement over girl time with M had Winter a little moody. But she was leaving in the morning and a proper goodbye was owed tonight. She didn't need him to be worried about her so she pushed aside any lingering worry and turned up the charm.

Previous Next

Beginning

Sidebar: This post was a small way to update you on Winter's life. She had another kid and moved to Newcrest all without my permission but I guess Wild Fairy Winter doesn't need the watcher's approval to give her family a better life. It's also a part of the Challenge that she sees her friends every week and even though she's been hanging out with Kiersten It felt right that Winter has some much-needed screen time.

#sims 4 #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 story #solar system legacy challenge #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 legacy #itmeansiris #gen 1 #sims 4 romance #sims 4 lovestruck

24 notes · View notes

welshoot · 1 year ago

Text

Talent and Overblots: An Interesting Relationship

So I read an analysis about Leona and his overblot and it has gotten me to thinking and, only just realizing that talent is a bit of a theme for Twisted Wonderland. Or rather, talent in a more negative lighting than it is often portrayed in.

Simply put, everyone who has overblotted is also talented and said talents (+ the side effects of being talented) really seem to be a large part of their trauma, stress, and varying issues that culminate in their overblot. I’m going to put the rest of the analysis under the cut for fear of any spoilers and due to length (and it is long), but this is something that is incredibly fascinating to me since this portrayal of talent is so wildly different from what is typically seen.

Starting with Overblot #1, Riddle is obviously talented. He became a housewarden in his first year, has an incredibly powerful signature spell, knows all the rules of Heartslabyul, and is a top student in a school filled to the brim with geniuses. We know from his overblot backstory that his mom held him to strict rules and pushed him too far, always demanding he be better than the best. Talented wasn’t enough. He had to be perfect. And that is, quite simply, what led to his overblot. He was holding others to that same horrifying strict regime. Talent isn’t enough, you must be perfect. But Riddle’s talent(s) is what made this drive for perfection truly frightening. That talent of his is what helped to lead to the pedestal that he (and others) placed himself on. And then his view was an incredibly simplistic, and even relatable one. If I can do it, so can they. But that viewpoint is what led to him pushing too far and breaking down when he realized exactly what he’d done. Ace quite possibly put it best when he informed Riddle that he was, “An extension of her”. Her, being Riddle’s mother. Realizing that he’d become that same tyrant, constantly pushing that talent wasn’t enough and you had to be perfect, was a big part of Riddle’s overblot. Because what is worse than becoming the very thing you’ve feared and toiled under since you were a child?

Leona is obviously talented. He is one of NRC’s geniuses, implied to be a very physically strong beastman, possesses an incredibly powerful signature spell, and has the cleverness to think his way out of any situation on top of the fact that he can power his way out of most problems due to his incredible persistence. But those talents were little more than weights around his neck when nothing he did mattered. He would never be king no matter what he did. But how much of Leona’s overblot was ever really being about king, when the crown that just the image that stuck with him? After all, the crown was the first thing that he was probably told he could never have no matter how talented he was. So kingship became a symbol of all he can never succeed in, despite his many talents. In the Savannaclaw chapter, story vignettes, and even in events people are constantly telling Leona that if he just tried he could do it. He is talented after all. And how much must that sting? You’re talented, and you have tried, but no matter what anyone tells you, it doesn’t seem to matter. The words of encouragement others give him are just like a slap in the face because failure keeps rearing its head. Thoughts like that can easily lead to or worsen depression and self-loathing. Especially when he gets his hope up once more that maybe he can do something, he keeps getting dragged back down, either by life’s machinations or his own occasionally self-destructive behavior. As a culmination of this, we find Leona exactly where he was in the Savannaclaw chapter. Failing once more and finally breaking apart as it occurs in front of those who have placed him as their head, the leader of their Pride. Not only has he failed himself, he has failed those who place their faith in him. To Leona, it no doubt looked like his greatest fears were true. Even with all of those talents, Leona feels worthless because he can’t succeed even once.

Azul is talented even if he himself doesn’t see it. Not many can say they have a successful restaurant business, and have hoodooed both the headmage and a good number of one’s fellow students at his age. Azul’s talent isn’t the one he wants though. He wants something more flashy and easily seen. Something that will make others not bother him. He never wants to be a silly little octotwerp who gets made fun of again. And, at this point, Azul can’t seem to see his knack for business for what it is. A talent. Being surrounded by so many obvious talents at NRC is bound to crush him, because everywhere he looks there is someone better than him in some way. So Azul gets greedy. He won’t let them make fun of him and look down on him like his previous classmates did. He can’t take that again. But then all of his carefully calculated actions come crashing down around him. Leona destroys his contracts and asserts, no less, that Azul has been beaten by a magicless prefect. And that is when Azul truly starts to crumble to pieces. He can’t even beat someone that he no doubt viewed, at that point, as a nobody. His actions turn desperate as he fears that Jade and Floyd, the two who’d actually taken a look at young Azul and saw talent there, are abandoning him because he’s been beaten at his own game. In Azul’s eyes, he has no talents, so why would they stay? All those feelings come racing back and Azul really does feel like a nobody. Just a silly little octotwerp even despite all his efforts. And so he overblots. Because obviously if you aren’t talented, then no one wants you and it doesn’t matter.

Jamil is talented in numerous ways and, unlike Azul, he knows it. But Jamil’s talents consistently get ignored or downplayed by everyone, even his own family. And it’s all because of the fact he works under another family so in the eyes of those around him, Jamil can’t and shouldn’t be better than Kalim. So he blames Kalim, even though he knows it isn’t Kalim’s fault that they were born in the positions they are in. Even though Kalim is someone who has always lavished praise on Jamil’s talents and never downplayed them. Even though Kalim is his friend. It’s too much. Because each time Kalim, the source of Jamil’s woe (at least in his eyes), praises him, it’s like a slap in the face. A reminder that even though you’re talented, you aren’t allowed to reach the full height of your abilities. All because of this fellow, who is your friend and greatest supporter. When Jamil’s grand scheme is foiled, it breaks him. It’s a hard hit to his ego and probably feels like yet another reminder that he can’t outdo Kalim. And, to top it all off, there’s the guilt. Because like it or not, Jamil knows it’s not Kalim’s fault because Kalim, for all that he doesn’t understand or realize about their situation, would never put Jamil in the situation that he has found himself in. And so Jamil overblots. His talents don’t matter because he isn’t allowed to show them. He’s restrained, and all of that frustration is suddenly coming out.

Next is Vil, whose troubles are so curiously (and perhaps amusingly) similar to Leona’s. Because for all of Vil’s talent as an actor, he can’t get the role he so desperately longs for. To be the hero, standing on stage till the very end where people will notice him. But it is Vil’s talent (and beauty) that weighs him down and makes people speak of how special he is. And isn’t special so similar to being unrelatable? So talented is he, so special is he, so unrelatable is he, that he must be the villain. Because no one wants a hero that seems so otherworldly, perfectly beautiful and talented. No, they want a hero they understand. A more relatable type of attractiveness, a more mundane level of skill. A villain is, as Vil’s dad asserts in the overblot flashback, a hard role to play. But Vil knows that it’s also the role everyone hates. No one wants to be the bad guy. And how often do people actually pay attention to the villain? Everyone’s eyes are on the star of the show, the good guy. Getting typecast because of his talents is a big part of what leads to Vil’s overblot. He is so weighed down by how inescapable the role of villain seems that he quite literally becomes a villain. And, mirroring Riddle, the realization that he has become that thing he so loathes and maybe even fears is what causes his overblot. The golden child that he was has finally fallen and become mired in the hideous filth that remains when one’s talent becomes a set of shackles that makes you ‘special.’

Idia is, like the others, talented. But interestingly he seems to loathe his talent just as much as he loathes a crowd. Despite his amazing technological achievements, Idia doesn’t want the recognition of fame that comes from his talents. In many ways, he almost behaves like he wants to be free of his talents. As if that talent is a chain. And perhaps it is, that talent makes him well-suited to the position he was born into is yet another chain that binds him to the Island of Woe. His wishes don’t matter. Idia is doomed to his position by both his family name and his talents. The stress of such a truth paired his past with Ortho’s death, and the constant reminder that he is at fault for it (or so he constantly tells himself) is what causes his overblot. Because at least this way, maybe Idia can use his talents once more to do something he wants. To save his brother, and atone for what he has done.

Finally, there is Malleus. Another individual with undeniable talent. Someone who is already listed amongst the most powerful of magicians and who comes from a long line of talented people. But Malleus’s talent, skill, and power for magic is what causes others to fear him, worship him, and avoid him. No one wishes to approach someone so fearsome and talented, because how could they? He is a royal who seems so far beyond them, they cannot comprehend such talent and power. Surely he is beyond them. And when they can’t understand him, perhaps it is better to fear him. It’s only natural to fear that which we can’t understand, so that is what happens to Malleus and his incomprehensible power. The isolation that stems from other’s fear and misunderstandings leads Malleus to do what is only natural. To cling to those few people that remain near him. Those who don’t fear him and instead accept him. And that isolation, paired with the need to cling onto those precious few while all others continue to stare at him in awed horror, is what contributes so greatly to his overblot. Because if those few leave him, what does he have left in his ivory tower of talent?

Anyway, I just find it fascinating that Twisted Wonderland has portrayed the darker side of talent and how it can lead to so many issues for those that hold it. Talent is a blessing in many ways, but there are two sides to every coin and it appears that talent can just as easily be a curse in the wrong situation.

233 notes · View notes