#porcelain and the shark
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Porcelain and the Shark: The Engagement
Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x f (Roy) reader
(reader has anxiety, no use of y/n, physical descriptions or other names but does have the nickname Porcelain/Porce - due to family viewing her that way not because of her complexion)
Word count: 4.8K
Prompt: they go to Logan to announce their engagement, he’s pleased that his baby is marrying a “shark” and that she’ll be “taken care of” and that Stewy is joining the family. Stewy is happy to let him believe he’ll be “joining them” when in reality he’s taking her. He’s just waiting for the marriage license to be signed. Shiv is pissed when she finds out her baby sister is getting married before her, finally stops blowing off Tom about moving in together and pushes it forward lol
Chapter warning: 18+ MDNI (smut-free fic) established relationship, fluff, soft Stewy, anxious reader, anxiety/panic attacks, a few f bombs, mentions/allusions to childhood abuse, canonical Roy Roy family being Roys...
Authors note: Sorry for the delay in this one! I've been blown away at the love that the Stewy fics have gotten but it's been so, so, so touching how much love Porcelain and the Shark has gotten and how it's resonated with people. It makes me so happy, I absolutely adore you all and I hope you enjoy this installment! This hasn't been proofread properly (obviously), and I feel like the ending is a bit rough (I really just wanted to get this out haha). Thank you again to the nonnie who sent in the original asks and inspired this! Please do let me know what you all think! Comments, reblogs and asks are more than welcome and very much appreciated!
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Stewy had proposed a couple of days ago and it was perfect, to say the least. He hadn’t bombarded you with a grand gesture, done it in a public space, you’d felt no pressure or anxiety over any of it. The last few days had been spent in a blissful, engaged, Stewy-encompassing bubble. You weren’t quite prepared yet for it to burst by being brought back to the real world and sharing that news with your family.
There was a family lunch today. You and Stewy had discussed attending that and that being the opportunity to tell your family, then there was dinner with the Hosseinis to share the news as well. You were grateful for that at least. Stewy’s family were much more stable and kinder than yours. They had always been more welcoming to you and had treated you better than your own family had. You knew they’d be happy about the news and Stewy did too, it would be nice to have some family members genuinely be happy about it you thought.
Connor would be happy without a doubt so that was something. Kendall would be more civil than your siblings but it would also depend on his mood. Shiv and Roman were responses you weren't looking forward to. And well, your father was painfully unpredictable.
You’re still lying in the bed, wrapped up in the duvet. Feeling content at the idea of never leaving the bed when Stewy comes out of the shower, he smiles at you as he walks over to the walk-in closet and starts to pick out his ensemble for the day.
“I don’t want to go and tell him.” You say, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Are you regretting this?” Stewy asks somewhat earnestly as he finishes dressing.
“No, not at all. He’s just scary.”
You didn’t regret it at all, you loved being with Stewy and you were excited about the whole concept of this being another milestone in the relationship. He made you extremely happy and you were in love with him. But you did find your father terrifying and you knew that your siblings would probably find a way to trample on this. You didn’t want to subject Stewy to that and well any venom that might leave your father’s mouth.
“I’ll hold your hand the whole time.” He quietly promises.
It's not a cure. Or a perfect solution but it's a reassuring and loving one. It's something.
“Okay.” You whisper, you look up at him as he comes over and puts one of your hands into both of his, they’re warm and soft. He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze in his comforting hold and then brings your hand up to his lips to press a gentle kiss there.
****************
There are butterflies floating around in your stomach when you arrive at your father’s penthouse, even with Stewy firmly behind you. As you enter both of you are quickly greeted by Marcia, the perfect hostess, as usual, you can feel the butterflies with every movement and breath and you swear they’re somehow multiplying and bypassing the whole cocoon stage.
You’re too anxious to carry out a conversation with Marcia that goes beyond the polite pleasantries as even that’s difficult. Stewy carries the conversation which you’re grateful for. Part of his body is pressed behind you and his hand rubs circles gently onto your hip. Marcia immediately notices the anxiety on you. Your eyes are widened and your head occasionally turns when you become startled hearing your siblings argue and jest.
“Mon chéri, are you feeling okay?” Marcia asks you, you panic for a second tripping over words in your head and nod. Stewy looks at your face carefully, hating that you’re so anxious. It’s radiating off your body like its own energy source and he can feel it.
“Mmhmm.” You hum nervously and your voice is in a higher pitch than usual as you lean into Stewy a little more.
“Okay, okay.” She says softly at you. She gives your arm a little squeeze and then walks past you, pretending it’s for the sake of going back to greet other guests in the house but you and Stewy know it’s because of your state and she wants to give you a moment.
“We can say you’re unwell if you want to go home. We can do this another time.” Stewy murmurs into your hair as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You sigh out, and shake your head slightly.
“No, no. It’s okay, I think we just need to tell Dad and it’ll go.” He nods and chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment before giving you another kiss on the top of your head.
“Time to find Sir Roy.” He says in a more playful tone, hoping that’ll ease you out of the anxiety cocoon a little and bring a bit of positivity to the tense air that is all that can be breathed in in the penthouse.
“Are you okay?” Roman asks.
“Y-yes, yes, yes.” He looks at you, not a single line of belief is etched into his face so you continue with your voice breaking a little. “Yes! Yes, Roman.”
“You sure? Because you kinda sound and look like the ‘before’ in an ad for Xanax.” His tone’s somewhat playful but there’s a look in his eyes that has concern. It was pretty visible you were pretty anxious and on the verge of a panic attack or you’d already had one. Roman couldn’t tell but his gaze was a bit softer for a moment as he looked at you.
Roman’s gaze flickered to Stewy for a moment, Roman did think it was a bit odd how quiet Stewy was and wondered if that was a cause for anxiety but you still seemed more comfortable around him than anyone else.
“Dad?” You squeak out as your gaze locks on your father’s before Roman can ask you another question about your state.
“Yes, Porce?” He responds looking over at you curiously, the squeak catches his attention. He walks a bit closer taking in a large apprehension in your eyes.
Logan thinks you look as fragile as ever, his faint-hearted porcelain doll of a daughter is the literal thought he has, he almost says it to you. Stewy sees the thought in your father’s face and it makes him uncomfortable. He hates how you’ve always been viewed as a fragile piece of fine chinaware that needs to be kept on a shelf, locked away almost or else you’re at risk of slipping and cracking which would be twisted amusement to your family.
“Can we go into the study for a minute please?” You quietly ask as you fidget with your fingers, trying to give him the most pleasant smile you can while trying not to draw attention to yourself, despite knowing it’s useless.
He looks at you and his brow quickly furrows and then his gaze which is strongly laced with suspicion lands on Stewy.
“No, nothing’s wrong Dad, just please-”
“What is it?” He asks more firmly, his patience slipping for a moment as he glares at his future son-in-law.
His attention stays on Stewy before briefly turning back to you for a moment. He doesn’t look or sound impressed. The command in his voice has now caught the attention of everyone else in the penthouse. Their eyes focus on the three of you and you can feel it.
“Study. Please. Dad.” You breathe out. Stewy begins to start rubbing his hand in a comforting circle on your back.
“Please, Mr Roy? Just a quick chat about some good news?” Stewy asks as he continues to stand next to you for support. His voice is level, far more confident and assertive than yours. Logan looks at you again, it’s the doe-eyed eyes of his porcelain doll who rarely asks for anything that makes him give in to the request.
“Oh fuck it, fine.” Logan huffs out as he then walks to the study. You follow behind him and Stewy gives your side a little squeeze as his hand stays on your back. His body is practically pressed against your side as a reminder that he’s here. You try to focus on your breathing and take deep breaths as you head to the study.
You walk into the study and Logan leans against the desk, raising his eyebrows at you and waving his hands out in a dramatic gesture for you to spill whatever it is. Your heart is pounding so loud, it feels like somebody has gone inside of you to record it just so they can blast it in your ears like an obnoxious podcast. You can tell your father is becoming impatient as you twiddle with your fingers.
Your hands shake a little and you try to ground yourself with the calming sensation of Stewy’s hand still on your back. His other hand quickly softly holds onto one of your hands, as he fulfils his earlier promise his hand gently squeezes yours.
“Stewy and I, we’re engaged. He um, Stewy proposed a couple of nights ago. We wanted to tell you first.” You finally get out.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” You're terrified at that response, somehow it feels more chilling than if he'd been vocal with disdain. It's the uncertain nature. Stewy, rubs his thumb over your hand picking up on how you tensed up again. There’s an undecipherable blank look on Logan’s face that makes you want to melt into Stewy.
“That’s good.” Logan had looked down briefly and now he’s looked back up, his gaze is on you but it then flicks over to Stewy and stays there for a moment.
“Thank you-”
“Marrying a shark.”
“What?” You immediately, sharply blurt out as your eyes widen, Stewy’s eyes widen at that as well and his eyebrows dramatically raise so high that they nearly touch his hairline.
“No, I’m glad, he’ll… he'll look after you.” He looks at Stewy, it’s an expression that doesn’t contain disdain but you have absolutely no idea what it is. You quickly think that could be worse. “You need that. I’m glad that you’re taken care of in that way, Porce.” You and Stewy are silent at that but then your father continues again. "Are you pregnant?”
“No, we’re not. That wasn’t a factor in this sir.” Stewy promptly responds as he looks at Logan.
Stewy’s trying to be polite like he always is, polite like how his parents raised him to always be. His loving parents that are nothing like yours. He wants to say that you don’t need protecting, everyone knows about your anxiety but that doesn’t make you the porcelain doll or dormouse that they think of and treat you as. That what you have is a loving and respectful partnership of equals not designated roles of perceived weaknesses and strengths.
But he knows that would sour this moment and that it would make everything worse. You know that marrying Stewy makes it easier to step away even more from your family. In the ways that matter and are more detrimental. It’s something you’re both more than aware of.
“I can expect grandchildren though?” He asks the question seriously. The question felt prepared and he surprisingly looked almost disappointed in Stewy’s answer, which greatly surprises you. He wasn’t as cruel to Sophie and Iverson as he had been to you and your siblings but nobody would call him a warm and doting grandparent. You find the interest odd to say the least and Stewy shares that opinion as well.
“Well yes.” You’re a little more at ease but still taken aback at the whole conversation and the nature of this topic is beginning to make you feel a little uncomfortable. “Eventually… That’s the plan…”
You and Stewy had discussed children and were in agreement about that but it was still a couple of years away at least. The idea of timing was something you’d both agreed on and you were happy with it. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited about the idea of Stewy as a father.
“Good, good. Well, that’s good Porce. Well uh congratulations to you both.” He says it as he appears to be thinking something that he’s not voicing, he appears to be choosing his words carefully but he then gives you a hug.
“Well, welcome to the family officially, I suppose.” He says as he shakes Stewy’s hand. “You should tell the others, celebratory lunch now, huh.” His gaze is serious but it looks almost content, he’s not looking at either you or Stewy though. You have no idea how to interpret any of that. Then he leaves the study and closes the door behind him.
“Well-”
“That was weird.” You finish off for Stewy. He nods at that. As you’re both left in the now silent shadow of your father’s chaos. The study feels a lot more quieter and larger now that he’s gone, almost darker you think.
“Yeah, it was.” He says as he rests his chin against your shoulder and presses a few soft kisses to your neck. “How are you feeling?”
“Um.” You pause to think for a moment, you’re definitely less physically anxious now but it’s still there a bit and your mouth feels a bit dry. But you don’t know how to feel, you should feel happy and celebrated by your family in this moment and you know it could’ve gone worse, part of you was expecting that. But you didn’t expect this overwhelming sense of confusion, it engulfs you. “Better. Weird though I guess, I don’t know what to make of that all really.” You answer as you relax into his warm arms. He presses some more soft kisses to you as a response and you lift one of his hands up to your lips to press a gentle kiss there.
“I guess we break the news to everyone now?” He breathes out against your neck, it tickles a little and gets a small giggle out of you.
“I guess so.” You whisper while nodding, even though you want to stay frozen like this in Stewy’s proximity. It’s free of cruel words and unreadable gazes.
Your father broke the news almost immediately as you and Stewy were out of the study. Marcia congratulated you both and seemed genuinely happy for you. Connor immediately hugged you and he gave Stewy a hug as well. That was sweet you thought and you were grateful for Connor's kindness, Shiv had just nodded at the whole thing which wasn’t too surprising. Something was bound to be said soon you knew. You then saw the glint in Roman's eyes and immediately knew you didn't want to hear whatever was going to come out so you went in search of the wine, even though Marcia had asked some of the staff to get out champagne. Shiv quickly follows you.
“How did that go?” Kendall asks as he sidles up to Stewy, ignoring the fact that Connor was in the middle of a sentence to Stewy.
“Well he called me a shark,” Stewy says bluntly as he takes a sip from his glass, watching Shiv follow you and start a conversation. The conversation didn't look too tense yet Stewy noted. Kendall looks confused for a second as he processes what Stewy said but is brought back as Roman snorts loudly behind them and laughs like a hyena. “So you know, fucking A- considering everything.” Stewy bluntly continued.
“Fuck, that’s amazing!” Roman says still laughing, Stewy raises his eyebrows and gives him a bemused look.
"Well, it's you know something…" Connor says noting that Stewy looks impressively unaffected by the moniker.
"Do you remember when Porce went vegetarian? Marrying a marine apex predator, that's like… just so Greenpeace ally of her!" Roman teases in a feminine vocal fry register. "But hey, congratulations man for joining the gilded cage!"
"Rome-" Connor says.
***********
“So what, housewife Hosseini?” Shiv asks as she comes to stand right behind you.
“Well I’ll be wife Hosseini at least, haven't decided on the rest. Looking down on housewives Shiv?” You ask somewhat innocently while looking at the bottles of wine.
“You’re going to change it?” She asks shocked, her voice goes up and there’s a look of horror etched onto her face.
“My name?” You don't dare to look away from the labels, you know the answer, you know what she thinks but you don't want to know what the expression is on her face, you don’t want to see it.
“You’re not changing it to Hosseini are you?” She's audibly horrified at the prospect her voice heavily tinged with disgust that's clear.
“Probably, I don’t know. It’s still early betrothed days.” You answer softly, trying to ignore the anxiety your sister gives you and instead on the love you have for her. Shiv stands back for a second and chuckles humourlessly.
“You’re un-fucking-believable! You know that right?” She exclaims.
You then look up at your older sister as you pick a bottle up and start pouring yourself a glass. You do it somewhat unflinchingly, which shocks her but she does her best to hide it, you see a glimmer of it in her always piercing blue eyes though. She’s especially surprised as she’d seen how you were when you came in and started the conversation with Logan.
"Do you want one?" You ask. You're not sure what else to say to her other than that.
"No- God. Fuck off." Her tone is now irritated and she looks at you for a moment, analysing you like you're a foreign species that's never been encountered before. One that horrifies and intrigues her all at once. She pauses for a moment thinking over her words. "You know, Tom and I are planning to move in. It's basically all confirmed."
Her manner is curt, you sense another shift in the tension. It makes your shoulders tighten a little.
“Oh? That’s great news, Shiv. Congratulations, I’m happy for you both!” You say to your sister and she just continues to analyse you for a few more seconds longer than you’d like so you turn around to walk away with your glass of wine.
Shiv then goes to talk to your father and you see your brothers talking to Stewy. Tom awkwardly stands on the outskirts of the inner circle that has been formed, it’s typical fashion of your brothers to essentially, completely ignore Tom. You can’t help but feel sorry for the socially awkward, desperate-to-be-liked man. He hasn’t been in the picture as long as Stewy, Rava or Grace which doesn’t help his case either.
“Hey Tom, how are you?” You ask somewhat quietly as you come to stand by him. He jumps a little at the sudden movement and acknowledgement but visibly relaxes when he sees it’s you.
“Uh hi, good, good, good. How are you? Well obviously good!” He awkwardly laughs for a small moment and you politely smile at him. “But congratulations! That’s exciting.” He nods while speaking.
“Thank you! And congratulations to you too!” He smiles at you but his brow furrows a little at that. “About you and Shiv- she said you two are finally moving in?”
“Oh? Oh! Well, we’d talked about it a few times but she was a bit uh hesitant… I didn’t know… When did she uh say this?” He asks.
You can see the confusion on his face, a glimpse of detectable sadness. He doesn’t have an issue being this frank with you because he doesn’t view you as a threat or a manipulator. It would be an entirely different and even more painfully awkward conversation if it was your brothers.
“Just-just before Tom. It might’ve just been good news girl talk before she wanted to chat with you. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah sure. It was probably just girl talk.” He says it unconvincingly, more to himself than you.
You and Tom both know it wasn’t girl talk. You and Shiv have never done anything like that. It’s clear to both of you that this was some way to try and draw attention away from your news. You know that it’s also linked to the fact that you’ve reached a milestone before her, one that she wishes she’d gotten to before you, especially because of your father’s reaction. It was part of a Shiv mind game because every Roy child was preprogrammed to compete in every aspect of life. But in particular, for your father’s affection and praise.
“Well um, would you excuse me, please? Thank you.” He says and you nod and then he’s gone.
"Eating you alive?" You ask with a small smile directed at Stewy as you step closer towards him and your brothers. He shakes his head softly at you and smiles warmly. It’s such a comforting sight, there’s just pure adoration in his features and it’s the nicest feeling. You can’t help but smile widely at him.
Roman lets out another loud, hyena-esque laugh at your question though. "We're the shark meat here." He quips with a large, goofy smirk.
"You told them?” You question with a sigh while looking from Roman to Stewy. “He'll never shut up about it! It's going to be a lifetime of shark jokes now." You say to Stewy and he smirks at you with a slight shrug.
He doesn't really care what they say or think, it's only your voice he actually wants to listen to in this room and only your thoughts that he cares about. Your smile makes a lifetime of bad shark jokes from Roman worth it. As long as you're happy is what he thinks. Stewy also knows that this helps create more boundaries for you and a degree of separation for you to set and maintain more boundaries while getting further away from the haunted house.
"You could've snuck-swam! Swam in a shark pun or something in there at least. God." Roman responds before walking off to get a champagne flute.
“Maybe it’s time for you all to swim to the table for lunch?” Marcia says with a smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, especially evident when Roman scoffs at her.
“So?” Kendall comes over, leaning against your seat as he looks down at you as you sit down. Not everybody is in here yet and his tone is a bit playful but quiet.
“So?” You ask back, dragging out each syllable.
“You’re happy with everything?”
“Mmm.” You hum. “Why? If not, you’re going to storm the facilities for a different ring cut?” You ask with a small laugh as you tilt your head to look into his eyes, they twinkle a little as he smirks.
“Uh-huh. I already have several people on standby, with uh fucking pitchforks and everything.” He banters back.
“Such an organised and onto-it big brother must be the Capricorn in your chart.”
“Well, I haven’t prepared for everything.” He says before taking a sip from his drink.
“Oh?” You ask curious where this train of thought of his is going to go.
“Still working on a plan to take out the uh groom-to-be if that’s required. Which it’s bound to be at some stage, for my uh sake if not yours.” He teases, your brow furrows at that and he can’t help but laugh at seeing that expression on your face. It reminds him of the shock and grumpy expression that would occasionally plaster itself onto your face as a child.
“I’ll send you my next therapy invoice.”
“If any of us kids should be paying for that, it’s Roman.” He says and you both laugh at that and nod.
“You’re not wrong.” You reply as you look away from him to where Roman stands talking to Grace and Shiv.
You then slump against the back of the chair and sink down a bit into it and look up at Kendall he laughs at that and then the humour leaves his eyes and they’re more serious as he looks down, hovering over you.
“You are happy though?” He asks again, his tone more serious than before. You nod.
“Yes. Extremely” You say as you look up at him and then poke his nose gently with a little popping noise. He rolls his eyes and laughs.
“So mature.”
“You’re the one that was offering to off my husband.”
“It was a uh you know, heads up not an offer. Plan hasn’t been finalised for it to be a formal offer.” He immediately says.
“Uh-huh. Because that makes all the difference.”
“You fucking bet it does.” He says before going to take his seat next to Logan.
**************
The rest of the lunch had gone surprisingly okay for Roy standards. You were now at the home you and Stewy shared, recuperating from today’s lunch and getting ready for dinner at Stewy’s parents. Fortunately, that would be something that wouldn’t be emotionally and socially taxing at all, especially in comparison to your family’s gatherings.
You’re in the ensuite finishing getting ready when Stewy comes over leaning against the doorframe, you give him a smile and you can see that he’s thinking about something as he watches you.
“Wait a second,” Stewy says as his eyes focus on you in concentration.
“What?” You ask looking at him quizzically.
“There’s something in your eye.”
“There’s nothing in my eye?” It comes out as more of a question than a statement as your tone is laced with confusion.
“Yes, there is. Just wait!” He says sweetly as he comes over with a smile on his face, he plants one hand softly on your hip and the other on your cheek as he looks into your eyes closely, inspecting them. Your cheeks heat up at the intimacy of the touch and the look in his eyes.
“I don’t feel anything Stewy-”
“Just wait a second honey, please.” He pretends to get something from your eye that’s obviously not there and pulls it away with a pleased smile on his face. You chuckle a little at that and his smile widens at the sound of your laugh.
His hand stays on your hip and his other quickly returns back to your cheek, his eyes are on your lips for a moment before they go back to your eyes. The sweetness in his eyes is still there but the playfulness is gone, replaced with just love and affection.
“What was that for?” You gently prod and he flashes you another smile.
“You’re just really pretty.” You giggle a little at that and he chuckles as well. “I just wanted an excuse to look at your pretty eyes again close up.” He admits with a genuine smile still on his face as he continues to look into your eyes. Your cheeks heat up again at that.
“You don’t need an excuse for that.” You whisper while looking at his soft lips. “But that was pretty smooth Hosseini.”
“Thank you, I’m glad you think so Mrs Hosseini to be.” He responds as he notices your gaze on his mouth.
He quickly tilts his head and presses his lips against yours as his thumb brushes against your cheek. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck as your mouth opens to invite him in more, deepening the kiss. You continue to kiss, for longer than you probably should if you’re going to get to his family’s place on time.
You eventually break away for air and he smiles at you, he looks absolutely smitten and that’s how you feel about him.
“We need to go soon.”
“Oh?” He asks playfully as if he’s oblivious to the dinner plans.
“If we want to make it on time, we shouldn’t be late…” He then leans again to start pressing kisses against your jaw and then along your neck. He hums in agreement against your throat at that and you gasp at that. “Stewy!”
“You’re already Baba’s favourite and I’m his son so I don’t think you need to worry.” He breathes out in between kisses. You giggle at that and nod.
“Exactly, so I can’t risk that, can I?” You say with a smirk, he sighs out against your neck and it tickles. You gently place your fingers on his jaw and guide him back up for another deep kiss on the lips.
“I suppose, we can go now.” He says melodramatically before he presses a kiss to your forehead.
“How generous of you.” You say while smiling at him while wiping some of your lipstick off of him.
#stewy hosseini#stewy hosseini x reader#stewy hosseini x roy reader#stewy hosseini x roy!reader#succession#requests#arian moayed#hbo succession#stewy hosseini x f reader#stewy hosseini x you#stewy hosseini x porce#stewy hosseini x porcelain#porcelain and the shark#stewy hosseini fanfiction#stewy hosseini imagine#stewy hosseini fanfic#stewy hosseini fluff#succession fanfiction#succession fic#succession fanfic#succession hbo#logan roy#marcia roy#shiv roy#siobhan roy#kendall roy#connor roy#roman roy#tom wambsgans#arian moayed fanfiction
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#porcelain suit#minimal#minimalistic#aesthetic#modern#alligator#gator#Florida#Florida gothic#reptiles#swamp#goth core#alligator alley#shark valley#nature#animals#animal photography
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Growing legs is hard ;_;
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Talavera Shark Wall Folk Art Mexican Pottery 30 Nautical 3D Orange Colorful ebay vintagegram
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diversity win! the mermaid trying to eat you is bisexual!
#i need to reread that one kai meyer bookseries abt magicians in venice so bad the mermaids were so cool#they had shark mouths and there was one mermaid who got herself legs and lived as a human but she always wore#a painted porcelain mask over her mouth
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jealous slashers~!✧
With Michael, Brahms, Jason, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Thomas Sawyer, Sal Fisher, & Patrick Bateman
tags: gn!reader, jealousy, creepy men, unwanted attention/touching, uggestive and mature themes, gore/blood, violence, canon typical behavior, billy x reader x stu poly, rob zombie!mikey, I know Sal isn't exactly a slasher but he's my baby and needs to be included
Alexa, play Love to Die by the Slashstreet Boys
Michael
Rest in Peace to the poor, stupid man who thought it'd be a good idea to mess with the Shape's partner, and Michael had witnessed it all. How this man shoves you into an empty alleyway, the clatter of your groceries falling. The guy doesn't get much more than a few bruises and claw marks when Michael's knife slices through the back of the man's throat, protruding from the other end in a splash of blood. The Shape watches you wipe your bloody face off, not doing much but picking up three of your four fallen bags and tugging you into his side.
Brahms
Absolutely not. Brahms is fuckin' seething from his safe space sheltered behind the walls. Heavy breathing muffled by the porcelain mask, he watches with wild eyes as some idiot decides to break into the mansion whilst you were sleeping, and proceeds to hold you at knifepoint, effectively pinning you to the bed in what little nightclothes you wore. The unwanted guest and you are certainly going to know when Brahms is upset. There's banging on the walls coming from every direction that leaves the would-be burglar panicked and you slightly more comfortable.
"You're not allowed to be here," comes the eerily childlike voice Brahms has perfected. He crawls his way out from behind the large antique mirror. "I'll make sure you never come near them again." With a sudden slam, Brahms downs the intruder with a lead pipe repeatedly bashing the object until all that remains was brain matter and gooey blood. He drops the pipe with a huff and collects you into his arms, the cool porcelain biting onto the heat of your chest.
Jason
As the protector of the surrounding forest, Jason is always watching. He's omnipotent, he sees all. He seems to know where people are at all times and he can sense when you're in distress. Your shared cabin door left ajar sends his blood boiling and his heavy footfall increasing as he approaches your home. Barging in, Jason's pale eyes lock onto you and your assailant holding you by the throat. His thunderous steps are quick, slicing through the man with his machete and proceeds to lift him up while still pierced with the blade. The man gurgles, arms weakly reaching behind him in attempts to claw at Jason. All attempts were futile. He tossed the body to the side before he gently frets over you, his large hands soothing the fingerprints tarnishing your throat.
Billy & Stu
Rather snake-like the two will wrap themselves around you (they adore your personal space) and stare down whoever else demands your attention. Billy's arm hooks around your waist and Stu wraps himself around your shoulder, tilting your chin up with a single finger. "Is this guy bothering you, baby?" Looking like a shark that's tasted blood in the water, Billy's eyes grow more wild. He's already making a mental note of who and where this guy lives. The guy raised his hands in defense backing down the more the two stared at him, walking off completely.
"We're gonna take care of him, doll," Billy promises, kissing your cheek. Stu cackles lightly, tongue sticking out. They would strike tonight.
Vincent
There's no one Vincent trusts more to watch over you when he can't than his own two brothers. He had his hands full, turning Dalton and Wade into wax people. Nick and Carly were proving to be hard to get a hold of and there was still another tourist that needed to be taken care of.
But then Bo is telling him that the person escaped and he doesn't know where you were. His two worst fears confirmed. Vincent is soon on a wild hunt, trying to find you anywhere with Bo hot on his heels. He soon locates you, passed out with a bit of blood on your head. Your eyes slowly open as he touches your cheek, catching you as you wobble into his warm embrace. He shares a look with Bo who nods.
"I've got you, brother. Keep them here with ya. Wait til I'm back, ya hear?"
Bo
Out in public, he's all cordial and kind smiles. Especially if this is an intended victim. Some random person putting the moves on his partner is a huge no-no and one Bo doesn't take lightly. That person just warranted themselves a for sure death sentence and Bo isn't feeling too kind, so perhaps he'll drag things out, yeah? Touch what's his and you got what's comin' to ya.
"Can I see, baby? That bastard leave any marks on ya?" Bo strokes your shoulders, blue eyes drifting over your frame like water. He has every intention of marking every place that person touched, no matter if you tell Bo the guy only grabbed your arm. Once he has his mind set on something, he's gonna do it.
Lester
Unlike his older twin brothers, Lester is actually pretty chill. Especially in comparison to Bo. He doesn't think much of the people he's helping get into Ambrose knowing full well it's their final destination and Vincent and Bo will take care of things as they always have. What he doesn't like is some dude making a pass at you right in front of him. Can't he see the engagement ring on your finger? It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, watching with narrowed eyes as the small group heads towards the mechanic shop in search of a fan belt.
A familiar hand on his arm calms him down instantly. He turns to you and musters a weak smile as your hands slide around his torso from behind, leaning your cheek on his shoulder. "Y'alright?" Lester nods too quickly and unconvincingly, giving you a quick kiss. "Yeah, darl', always."
Thomas
Your partner is not unlike a bear, watching with wild eyes as one of Hoyt's new catches clasps onto you, their nails digging into your arms, and pinning you to the barbed fence. The cry of pain you let out has Tommy barreling towards you, chainsaw revving to life. A deep snarl echoes behind his mask and he wastes no time cutting down the poor soul with a single swipe of his motorized saw. Tommy turns it off and picks you up in his large arms as gently as he can. With his masked cheek leaning against yours, he carries you back towards the house. Mama Luda Mae will take a good look at you.
Sal Fisher
Honestly Sal isn't one to get jealous. He's pretty level-headed and understanding in most situations. He respects your choices and he's not gonna step on any toes or do anything drastic; Sal isn't a monster. However, if he sees some guy make a creepy pass at you and clearly overstep your boundaries, he won't hesitate to swoop in, looping his arm around your shoulders. His sharp blue eyes staring at the man from behind his prosthetic mask.
"Do we have a problem here?" His voice is cold, lacking any interest in what excuse the man finds. Sal's main focus will be on you, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into your skin. His main priority is to get you away from this sicko and would totally call in reinforcements from his brother Larry if need be.
Patrick
A jealous Patrick Bateman isn't a good scenario for anyone. Especially not with his deteriorating mental state. He trusts you explicitly, with his thoughts, ideas, and recreational hobbies that most would find distasteful. So when a colleague of his gets too big for his britches and unabashedly begins to flirt with you in his presence, Patrick finds it difficult to keep his boiling bloodlust at bay. The heat of his anger is getting to his head, the fierce emotions only swelling well it's clear how uncomfortable you look in that man's company. He must see to put an end to him quickly.
|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024
"Are you alright, my darling? That man surely didn't know his place, did he?" Patrick places a hand at your back, guiding you out of the office party. "Let's get you home and into a nice hot bath, hmm? I'd rather not taste that swine on your lovely skin."
#slashers x reader#slasher imagines#michael myers x reader#michael myers imagines#jason voorhees x reader#jason voorhees imagine#scream x reader#scream imagines#billy loomis x reader#stu macher x reader#billy x reader x stu#brahms heelshire x reader#thomas sawyer x reader#tcm imagines#house of wax x reader#vincent sinclair x reader#bo sinclair x reader#lester sinclair x reader#sally face x reader#sal fisher x reader#sally face imagines#patrick bateman x reader#cherubfae 2024
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whale shark! (in porcelain)
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⭐️Fairytale Shark
Once upon a time, in an underwater realm, there dwelled a little shark princess who lived in reclusion within her porcelain palace. Every night, her heart longed to gaze at the stars above, yet her royal duties held her captive.
Nevertheless, every sunday twilight, her loyal bard friend would bring the mystical presence of the starry spirit to her, while singing magical melodies about his travels beyond the sea!
Late, as usual, but okay ~ hehe
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Silly little headcanons #1
Lucifer
Definitely has a favourite pen and everyone dreads the day he will have to change it.
He once shrunk Cerberus and carried him around in a handbag because he had to go to the vet.
Joint pains (no, I will not elaborate)
Has a picture in his wallet of his brothers and MC. Luke is also there for some reason.
Mammon
Will turn off the lights and walk out of his room. Walks back a few moments later to check if he remembered to turn the lights off.
Boops his younger brothers on the nose when he says goodnight.
Considered dying his hair piss yellow at some point.
He swears that Luke is just an annoying little chihuahua that he doesn't care about. But the pictures of him accompanying Luke to the cinema suggest otherwise.
Leviathan
He forgets to throw out socks with holes in them. So sometimes he will just walk around with socks that are barely holding on.
Has a controller that only MC is allowed to use. He will not even use it himself.
Can touch his nose with his tongue
Accidentally called his brothers "Ruri" on multiple occasions.
Satan
Has an album on his phone with pictures of him and Lucifer. Will deny it if you ask him.
Once cursed the entirety of Lucifer's record collection. The curse in question made it so the only song on any of the records was Baby Shark.
When he wants MC's attention he will go "pspspsps."
Satan has put on his blue jacket normally a grand total of 6 times.
Asmodeus
Will wear heels with just about anything. Yes, that includes sweatpants.
A lesser demon once found out about MC's deepest insecurity and started using it to insult them. Asmodeus found out and sent the demon flying through a wall.
He either sneezes like a cat or like an old man. There is no in-between.
He reminds everyone in HoL to drink water and will make sure they do so one way or another.
Beelzebub
Not allowed to be alone in RAD's art supply room. He will eat the paint if left unattended.
He only had 4 shirts until Asmodeus forced him to get more.
Takes Luke with him around RAD when Simeon can't. Also scared of any demon that looks at Luke the wrong way.
He has carried every single one of his brothers to bed more than once. Lucifer is no exception.
Belphegor
Follows the cat rule. If it fits I sits.
Don't tell anyone but his favourite blanket is the jackets of his older brothers.
Will sometimes force people to take a nap with him. Does someone look tired boom it's nap time.
Pops his back really loudly whenever he wakes up
Simeon
Will show anyone and I mean anyone pictures of Luke like a proud father.
Got scammed once and now he's afraid of opening links.
He once accompanied Beel to a workout and ended up destroying a punching bag.
Do not under any circumstances let him be alone in the candle section of a store. Purgatory Hall already has a closet full of them.
Raphael
Tried to kill a fly with one of his spears.
When asked if he wanted anything special for his birthday he requested a cake made by Solomon.
Enjoys watching butterflies flutter around. He will stand absolutely still if one lands on him and stay like that until the butterfly leaves again.
Wins every staring contest.
Luke
Has gotten lost in stores, parks and RAD so many times that he now has a bracelet with the contact info of Simeon and Barbatos. Even though he has his own D.D.D.
Mimics Simeon and Raphael to appear like a mature angel.
He will never admit it but he makes drawings for the brothers.
Luke and MC have a secret handshake.
Solomon
Immune to the pain of stepping on a lego.
Once accidentally turned himself into a rat and nearly got murdered by Barbatos.
Enjoys watching romcoms with MC.
Can and will randomly appear in MC's room tell them a horrible joke and then vanish into thin air.
Thirteen
She has the most random things in her pocket. Watch her pull out a porcelain frog from one of her pockets.
She had a buzz cut at some point.
Will drag you out of bed in the middle of the night so you can test her new inventions.
Loves playing with people's hair. It doesn't matter what texture or length it is. Just let her play with it.
Diavolo
Has a rubber duck collection.
Was introduced to vocaloid and now he won't stop singing World is Mine.
Gives the best hugs. 10/10 would hug again.
Buys Barbatos flowers every week to show his appreciation.
Barbatos
Knows how to tap dance.
Let's MC call him Barbie.
He receives small trinkets from the Little Ds.
Will cradle MC like a little baby when he is stressed or just missed them.
Mephistopheles
He enjoys soup.
He says he hates hugs. But in reality, he might even shed a few tears if you hug him.
A master of building card houses.
Once took care of a bat until it was healthy enough to live on its own.
#obey me shall we date#obey me headcanons#obey me lucifer#obey me lucifer headcanons#obey me mammon#obey me mammon headcanons#obey me#obey me leviathan#obey me leviathan headcanons#obey me satan#obey me satan headcanons#obey me asmodeus#obey me asmodeus headcanons#obey me beelzebub#obey me beelzebub headcanons#obey me belphegor#obey me belphegor headcanons#obey me hcs#obey me simeon#obey me simeon headcanons#obey me raphael#obey me luke#obey me solomon#obey me solomon headcanons#obey me thirteen#obey me diavolo#obey me diavolo headcanons#obey me barbatos#obey me barbatos headcanons#obey me mephistopheles
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Comet Donati [Chapter 8: Fool’s Gold]
Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.
Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, Aemond being very horny for one person in particular, mental health struggles, pregnancy, bodily injury, illness, death, a Targaryen family reunion, the tragedy of a hammerhead shark.
Selected Chapter Quote: “Do you love him?”
Word count: 9.9k.
Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.
Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel�� @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n @seabasscevans @tsujifreya @helaenaluvr @hiraethrhapsody
Only 2 chapters left! 💜
“I could love you for more than a day,” you tell Aegon, smiling, drowsy, sipping you blush-pink Salty Dog at the rooftop bar in Kansas City. It’s June, tornado season: a clashing of contradictory air currents, quintessentially American destruction.
“Yeah?” he says, daylight spilling out of his gaps under the night sky: the gleam of string lights reflected in his cobalt eyes, the white of his teeth, the eternal-summer warmth of his voice.
“Yeah. Not on this planet, maybe. But on another, very similar planet.”
He clinks his glass against yours; grains of salt pop off the rims and land on the table like snow, like infinitesimal diamonds, carbon shaped by pressure and time and deadly heat into something cherished. The wind tears through his nearly shoulder-length blond hair. “To other planets, and other lifetimes, and other dimensions where we are all the least-damaged versions of ourselves.”
“Aegon,” you say, and you wait until he’s done downing his Salty Dog and is looking at you again. “Someone’s inability to love you has nothing to do with your merit to receive it. It’s about them, it’s not about you. And that’s especially true when it comes to parents. If your father can’t be there for you in the way that he should, that’s his deficit, not yours. He’s the one missing pieces of himself. He’s the one who has failed. You can’t use his inadequacy to measure your worth. You should be proud of yourself for succeeding in spite of him. You should be proud of the person you are.”
He’s spinning his empty glass between his palms, amused, perhaps somewhat anxious; he is afraid of the answer. “And what kind of person am I?” He waits for one of those familiar soulless tropes to resurface, the disaster playboy, the hot loser, the paradoxically remiss eldest brother, the addict, the slut, the comic relief.
You say instead, somehow knowing that it’s true: “A good one.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Takeoffs and landings, highways and streetlights, tarmacs that stretch into the hallways of five-star hotels. You order virgin drinks when no one else is around to hear you do it. You buy prenatal vitamins and stash them in an Advil bottle. You sneak off to see a doctor while Comet is in Boston; yes you’re pregnant, yes everything looks good so far, yes you need to stop eating sushi and lifting heavy luggage. You stay out of hot tubs. You try to dodge secondhand smoke. You follow the band from city to city like children hopping on couch cushions strewn across a floor they say is lava. And now: cold porcelain, too-bright lights, crumpled on the bathroom floor of your suite in the MGM Grand. Sin City, they call Las Vegas. Like it was made for you.
You hear the swipe of a keycard and approaching footsteps, clop clop clop. When he appears in the doorway, you moan and try shield your face with your hands. You finally got your splint off last week in San Diego. “Please go away. Please.”
Aegon doesn’t listen. He gapes at you, chomping noisily on cotton candy flavored Bubble Yum. You can smell it; the sickening sweetness twists through your guts. “Damn, Stargirl. You look terrible.”
“Thanks.” You retch unproductively into the toilet bowl; there’s nothing left in your stomach to rid yourself of.
He’s wearing khaki cargo shorts, a neon green tank top, and—eternally, faithfully—matching Crocs. “Is it food poisoning? I don’t remember you being fucked up last night.”
Not that he’d know; he spent most of it snorting lines with Cregan. You lower the toilet seat, cross your arms over it, and take a deep breath. “Okay. I’m going to tell you something. But you have to not panic.”
“Sure.”
“And you have to not get wasted and accidentally announce it to everyone either.”
“That was not me talking. That was the Icelandic beer. And we’re not in Iceland anymore, so, yeah. Problem solved.”
“I didn’t want to tell you,” you say weakly, haltingly. “Not yet. Not like this. But I need somebody to help me hide it.” Just like Cregan needed someone to tell about Iris. And he chose Aemond. “Baela’s working on her ballet school applications, and I can’t burden Rhaena with something like this, and…wait…one second…” You yank up the toilet seat and heave into the bowl until the wave of nausea passes.
Aegon rubs your back, gentle and sympathetic. “Would weed gummies help?”
“No, Aegon.”
“Percocet? Oxy? Valium? I know where to get heroin in Vegas, but I wouldn’t want you mixed up in something like that.”
You gaze pathetically at him. “I’m eight weeks pregnant.”
“Oh, fuck,” Aegon gasps.
“It’s Aemond’s.”
“Oh, fuck! How…? When…?!”
“Tokyo. Club Camelot. Just once. And then we never talked about it again.”
“Jesus Christ, you love a spontaneous bar bathroom hookup.” He blinks a few times, processing this revelation. “You don’t have to have it, you know. If you don’t want to. You have options. Maybe you wouldn’t back in Kansas, but—”
“Missouri,” you whimper, staring miserably down at your silvery reflection in the water.
“Whatever. But we could fly you anywhere. If you wanted to not be pregnant anymore. If you decided to…uh…serve it an eviction notice.”
“I’ve thought about that,” you say, but it’s not quite true; you thought about it as an option, but not one of your options. “I know, logically, that’s probably the reaction that makes the most sense. But it’s not what I want.”
“Okay.” And if he has an opinion one way or the other, he’s doing a very good job of not showing it. “So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to resign at the end of this leg of the tour, and then I’m going to go home to Kansas City to raise my fatherless, clandestine bastard child.”
Aegon raises his eyebrows, chaotic blond hair falling in his face.
“That came out weird,” you admit. “But it is essentially accurate.”
“You’re just going to leave? You’re going to do this alone?”
“My parents will help me. They’ll be kind of horrified at first, but…they’ve been through worse. They’ll come to terms with it. They’ve been begging for grandkids since I was eighteen.”
“But you can’t leave,” Aegon says. And his large, murky, deep blue eyes are glistening.
“I have to go home. I have to build a life for myself. I can’t follow Comet around the world indefinitely.”
“But…but…so you’re eight weeks right now, right? So you have, like, I don’t know, over six months until the baby is born? That’s forever, Stargirl! That’s half a year! You could come to the fall shows in South America, and then visit London over the holidays, and…and…I mean I don’t even know what’s next for Comet after that, but you sure as hell don’t have to leave right now—!”
“Aegon, I could have complications because of the blood clotting gene thing. I could have a stroke, I could have a miscarriage. I need to be going to doctor’s appointments and taking leisurely afternoon walks and, like, eating vegetables and grilled chicken, not flying to a new city every couple of days while surrounded by booze and cigarettes.”
“Okay, okay, I get it.” He sighs and sits down cross-legged on the bathroom floor beside you, rubbing his face with his hands. He looks at you from between his fingers. “One of our last U.S. stops is in Kansas City. You want to get off the ride there?”
“I think that would be for the best.”
Aegon says suddenly: “Let’s get married.”
“What?” Your nausea is now secondary to your shock. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. I’ll give you healthcare and child support and whatever.”
“You genuinely think that me marrying a cokehead sex addict is the solution to this problem?”
“I’m not a sex addict. I’m a sex enthusiast.”
“Aegon, I’m not going to marry you.”
He is wounded, pouting, childlike. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want some arrangement. No matter how well-intentioned or generous it is.” I want real, constant, conventional love.
Now he smiles, faintly, sadly. “And you want a different Targaryen.”
You grab the can of ginger ale you left on the bathroom sink and sip it tentatively, averting your eyes, not answering him.
Aegon says: “Aemond doesn’t know?”
“No. He has no idea.”
“You have to tell him.”
“There is a zero percent chance of him taking this well.”
“You have to tell him,” Aegon insists, pointing to your belly, not showing yet but soon, soon, so soon. “If you’re keeping it, then that’s my family in there. You can’t just haul it off to the hellscape that is the American Midwest and push the rest of us out of its life. It can’t be a secret forever. Aemond would want to be involved. I want to be involved.”
“I’ll tell Aemond,” you promise. “But not yet. Not while I’m still on tour, not while I can’t get away from him if he…” You hesitate, not knowing what you are trying to say. Aegon waits. “He’s going to think I did it on purpose. That I was trying to use him or fix him or something. He’s going to hate me.”
“You can explain,” Aegon says, but doubtfully.
“Explain what? That I stopped taking the pill, but then forgot I’d stopped taking it, and then remembered right after we had unprotected sex that I initiated, whoops, oh and also Plan B apparently doesn’t fucking work?”
“His super sperm work, that’s for sure,” Aegon mutters. “Hope mine aren’t that energetic.”
“I’m a nobody,” you say. “And I have a lot to gain from this, even if that’s not how I see it. And Aemond…he’s so goddamn mistrustful. He’s so convinced that no one could want him or believe in him in a way that is pure. I’m afraid to tell him. I’m afraid he’s going to say things in the heat of the moment that I won’t be able to forget.” Like when he called me a slut. Like when he said he loves me.
“The getting pregnant thing sounds bad,” Aegon concedes. “And, yeah…he will most likely not react in an even vaguely sane way. Because he’s Aemond, and that clown from the It movies lives in his brain. But he’ll process it for a few weeks and then he’ll come to the right conclusion: that you wouldn’t deliberately do something to hurt him, and that he wants to be there for you and the kid. And I’ll vouch for you.”
You shake your head, your eyes faraway. “I wish I could wait to tell him until he’s in a better place emotionally. Until he has something…anything…to latch on to…a plan for what to do with his life…”
“Hey,” Aegon says. Gingerly, he turns your face towards his with one hand. His cheeks are splotchy with pink sunburn. He’s sweating out White Claws and Coppertone Sport. “I know you think you’re doing this alone, but you aren’t. I’m going to take care of you.”
You look at him with tears brimming in your eyes, hot, ashamed, blurring out your vision. “You’re so different than Aemond. You’re weightless and warm like daylight. You glow. But you do that for everyone, not just me. And I can’t count on you.”
“I love you,” Aegon says. “Not in a Jack and Rose on the Titanic way. In a different way. But I’m never going to forget about you, Stargirl. I get that I might disappear for a while, but I’m never going to not come back someday.”
You fold into him: softness, effortless proximity, cotton-candy-scented kisses smacked onto your temple, arms that circle protectively around your waist. “I love you too, Aegon.”
“Think you’ll be able to walk over with us to the aquarium at the Mandalay Bay? Criston got everyone tickets to feed the zebra shark.”
“When?”
“Um, soon. But I can buy you some time. I’ll text them that I’m busy FaceTiming Selena.”
“You’re a saint.” Patron saint of mayhem. You groan as you crawl out of his grasp and towards the shower. “I might be okay in thirty minutes. Let me try to start feeling human and wash my hair and stuff.”
“You want some help?”
You stare at him from where you are kneeling on the cold tile. “Really?”
“Yeah. You look…wobbly. You sit on the shower floor, I’ll wash your hair.”
“But I’ll be naked.”
He grins, holding up his hands in a blithe shrug. “I’ve seen it all before, Stargirl.”
“You’ll be naked too.”
“Don’t think you can tempt me into any unwholesome activities, you unwed knocked-up vixen.”
You laugh; it feels incredible. “I will gratefully accept your offer. I might not have a choice, actually. I don’t think I can keep my arms above my head for that long.”
Aegon stands, walks into the shower, starts reading bottles. “You want to smell like Japanese cherry blossoms or a coconut?” He pauses. “A fatherless clandestine bastard child conceived in Tokyo. Cherry blossoms it is.”
~~~~~~~~~~
A series of walkways connect the MGM Grand to the Mandalay Bay. Comet moseys through faux cobblestone streets in the New York-New York, complete with steam-wheezing manhole covers and operational storefronts of pizzerias, delis, bakeries, Irish pubs. The band narrowly avoids being trampled by droves of exuberant children—and you are looking at children more closely these days, watching how their parents corral them, noticing what makes them happy or sad or afraid—in the strobing, bleeping arcades of the castle-like Excalibur. In the Luxor, modeled after the pyramids of Ancient Egypt and featuring the largest atrium in the world, Criston begs everyone to pose for photos in front of sand-colored statues of sphinxes and pharaohs. “Smile big for your mom, Daeron!” Criston orders between pictures. Shelby, as always, is wearing her camera-ready, gloss-and-veneers grin. She’s also wearing a stunning floral-print maxi dress with a slit up to her thigh, looking glamorous and graceful and very not-pregnant. By the time Comet arrives in the sleek, golden, tastefully nautical corridors of the Mandalay Bay, you are exhausted and dangerously nauseous. You try your best to conceal it.
“Are you okay?” Baela asks. She is scrutinizing you as you stand in the shark tunnel of the aquarium, bathed in rippling sapphire-blue light. Overhead the captive ocean swims by: sea turtles, sawfish, Galapagos sharks, blacktip reef sharks, sand tiger sharks (hideous, in your humble opinion), stingrays, horseshoe crabs, a metallic rainbow of shimmering fish.
“Stargirl!” Aegon scolds mildly, ambling over to massage your shoulders. “I told you not to eat all those New York-New York corn dogs!” He shakes his head and smiles casually at Baela. “You can’t take these Midwestern girls anywhere. They see battered meat on a stick and lose all control.”
“How many did you eat?” Baela says, studying your sweated, queasy, generally unwell appearance.
“I don’t remember. I don’t want to talk about corn dogs right now.”
“You think it might be food poisoning?” Aemond asks. He has appeared in the shark tunnel with a plushie grey beast clutched in one hand. He’s lurking several yards away, but his forehead is creased with curiosity, with concern. His right eye flicks to where Aegon’s hands rest on your shoulders—disapproval? appraisal? fascination? envy?—and then back to your face.
“No, just gluttony.”
“It’s one of the seven deadly sins, you know.” Aegon counts on his fingers. “Gluttony, and pride, and lust, and…uh…uh…oh, right, greed…and uh…”
“What is this, Bible study?” Baela says.
“You’d know all about gluttony, you whale,” Jace tells Aegon.
Aegon shouts back: “I am like a whale, Jace! I am a rare and celebrated mammal!”
Jace mimes shooting Aegon with a harpoon. And then, when Cregan turns to glare at him, he grabs Baela’s hand. Jace’s face is at last fully healed and he has no interest in jeopardizing that. “Come on, baby. Let’s go see the Komodo dragons.”
“Don’t vomit on any sea creatures!” Baela chimes as they leave. Soon only you, Aemond, and Aegon are left in the shark tunnel. Rhaena and Luke are petting stingrays at the touch pool; Cregan, Daeron, and Criston depart to take their turns feeding the zebra shark. And Shelby is…actually, you’ve lost track of where Shelby is. Hopefully getting mauled by something.
“You should see a doctor,” Aemond tells you, stepping closer, although gradually, meanderingly, as if by happenstance. “You look…not great. You might need IV hydration or something.”
“Seriously, I’m okay. I’ll live.”
Shelby peeks irritably into the tunnel. “Honeybunch! Hurry! We have to take a selfie with this fish in the background so I can caption it I’ll love you inFINitely!”
“Will you give me two seconds, please?” Aemond snaps. She retreats with palpable unwillingness. Then Aemond offers you the plushie: a hammerhead shark, you see now. Aegon takes a few steps away from you both and pretends to be enthralled by a sawfish as it glides over the dome of the tunnel.
“What is this?!” you exclaim, delighted. Your nausea has momentarily abated.
“It’s your souvenir for Las Vegas. You can keep it right beside your sika deer from Japan. Hopefully they get along.”
“It’s so cute, Aemond! And very unexpected. Thank you.”
“No big deal,” he says. “I saw it and thought of you, that’s all.”
You pet the tiny hammerhead shark, downy and soft and grey like a storm cloud. “These were in the other tank, right?”
“Those were scalloped hammerheads,” Aemond corrects you. “This is a great hammerhead.”
“Wow. Pretentious.”
He laughs, a miraculously beautiful sound. And as you gaze at each other, painted in sapphire light and the shadows of fish, you remember everything about Aemond, the way he tasted, the sounds of his whispers and his moans, the indescribable fullness as he eased himself carefully into you. And you think: What would happen right now if there was no Shelby, no Aegon? Would he touch me? Would he kiss me? “There are actually no real-life great hammerheads in this aquarium. Not anymore. They don’t do well in captivity. One was flown here back in 2001 and she was on display for a while, but then she died unexpectedly a few years later.”
“She died?” You cradle the plushie shark in your arms. Suddenly, without warning, there are tears welling up in your eyes. You are distraught. You are consumed by irrational pregnancy hormones. “And she was the only shark of her kind here? So she didn’t have anyone who could understand her? She must have been so lonely.”
“Um, yeah, I guess. But sharks really don’t have emotions like people do, they’re mostly brainstem.”
“It’s still awful.” A tear slips down your cheek and falls onto the plushie shark before you can swipe it away.
Aemond is alarmed. “Are you…crying? About a shark that died like twenty years ago?”
“It’s sad, bruh,” Aegon sniffles, conjuring up some tears in his large, oceanic eyes. “The only one of her kind, bruh.”
“Honeybunch?” Shelby whines, appearing once again at the mouth of the tunnel. “Honey Bunches of Oats?”
Aemond sighs. “Yeah. On my way.” And he goes to meet her. A squall of giggling, bewitched children rush into the shark tunnel, pressing their eager little palms to the glass. Aegon’s manufactured tears have vanished and he is typing out a WhatsApp message to someone.
You think, picturing Shelby’s Vegas-themed fingernails skating across Aemond’s skin, flaunting parts of him while shunning others: I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.
~~~~~~~~~~
When Comet returns to their floor at the MGM Grand, there are three strangers waiting for them. Strangers to you, rather; not strangers to anybody else. Certainly not to Criston. The middle-aged woman—auburn hair, vast dark eyes, high cheekbones—rushes to throw her arms around him.
“Thank you for taking care of them,” she is saying, as Criston holds her and blushes a dark hectic pink. Then she turns her attention to Daeron and Aemond, touching their faces and their hair, asking if they are sleeping well, what they have been eating, what their favorite parts of the tour have been thus far. Aegon has not moved from your side. He fidgets awkwardly, shuffling in his Crocs, slurping on the Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino he bought from a Starbucks in the Excalibur. One of the strangers—a weathered older man in a grey suit, tall and vigilant like a wolfhound—examines him with a cool pale gaze. Aegon evades it.
The third stranger, oddly, comes directly to you. She is delicate, nimble, light eyes and hair like watercolors, soft and edgeless. She makes you think of birds: sweet songs, hollow bones. She takes your hands in hers and beams like she’s known you for years, like you are old friends. “You must be the one Aemond has told us so much about.”
Aemond? Me? You smile apologetically. “I think you mean Shelby. She’s over there.”
“Here I am!” Shelby waves from where she is parked determinately beside Aemond.
“No, I know who Shelby is,” the stranger says; and her dreamy, girlish voice is perfectly neutral. She might as well be making some throwaway comment about a squirrel in a tree, a fish in a koi pond. “I mean you. The girl made of stars.”
He talks about me? To people back home? Aemond turns away when you glance at him. Shelby is simmering. You tell the stranger: “That is very poetic. And flattering.”
“Stargirl, this is my sister Helaena,” Aegon says. Then he gestures to the others. “And that’s my mother Alicent, and the frightening bloke who looks like a mob boss is my grandfather Otto.”
“What on earth are you drinking?” Otto chides Aegon, wrinkling his dignified nose.
Aegon is stung, although he tries to hide it. “It’s a Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino. It’s delicious.”
“It’s a milkshake for adults. It’s diabetes in a cup. Put some effort into taking care of yourself for once, it’ll make you feel better.”
Aegon says flatly: “Yeah, I’m so glad you guys stopped by.”
“Are you here for the concerts?” Daeron asks, buoyant as usual.
Alicent looks to Criston; he smiles bashfully in return. “Well, Criston mentioned that you’d be in town, and your father just so happened to have a convention to attend here over some of the same days, so I figured…why not drop in and surprise my wonderful, accomplished, handsome sons?” Her prominent umber eyes drift to you. Helaena is still clasping your hands. “And their…friends.”
“Dad’s not around?” Aegon says cynically.
Alicent stalls. “Well…honey, you know how he is. He’s very, very busy. But he promised he’d try his best to make it to one of the shows.”
“You know, it’s strange. He never seems to be busy when Rhaenyra has her little art gallery openings.”
“So!” Alicent chirps, deflecting. “Criston said there was a pool. Is there a pool?” She pats the massive beach bag slung over her left shoulder. “We brought our swimsuits!”
The MGM Grand has an extensive pool complex featuring drink bars, multiple whirlpools, a waterfall, and a lazy river. Even in September—those last gasps of summer in the Northern Hemisphere—the temperature in Las Vegas hovers in the 90s. As you slather on sunscreen and nibble sparingly at an order of fries, Alicent and Helaena cannot disguise their interest in you. Alicent asks about your hometown, your family, your education, your time with Comet. She seems puzzled by your unmistakable fondness for Aegon, but otherwise smiles pleasantly and chuckles at your (carefully selected, intentionally tame) stories from the tour. Alicent strikes you as someone who is composed and warm on the surface but a jumble of frayed threads below; if you tugged on the right one, she’d unravel until all her seams split open and secrets poured out like dark water. Helaena doesn’t say much, and what she does say is strange, truthful but disjointed, like a line from a poem or a song; but she keeps touching you, a hand on your wrist or on your ankle or absentmindedly tracing the lines of your palm. From several chairs away, Shelby watches this with a toxic glower, for surely she as Aemond’s aspiring baby mama should be the beneficiary of his family’s attention. From behind his sunglasses, Aemond tries to act like he’s not staring as you spread sunscreen over your collarbones and chest and thighs.
“I’ve got drinks!” Aegon announces, appearing with a loaded tray. He weaves between chairs to deliver the beverages. “A pina colada for me…a strawberry daiquiri for Rhaena…a Twisted Pink for Luke…a margarita for Mom…no!” he barks at Daeron as the youngest Targaryen (for now, for the next approximately seven months) tries to grab a red slushie. “Not that one!”
Daeron is confounded. “But it’s a strawberry daiquiri. Isn’t that what I ordered?”
“Yeah, but that specific daiquiri is Stargirl’s.”
“What makes it different?”
“Extra whipped cream,” Aegon says without missing a beat. He passes it to you. Nonalcoholic is what it actually is: sweet and refreshing and without any bite whatsoever.
“Why are you being helpful?” Criston asks Aegon suspiciously, squinting, full of dread. “You’re never helpful.”
Aegon grins. “I’m just a helpful guy.”
“You’re freaking me out,” Criston says. “Cregan? I’m scared. What’s he up to?”
Placidly, sucking on a frozen hard lemonade through a hot pink straw with multiple loops, Cregan shrugs. Sunning themselves beside him are three Victoria’s Secret models. “Cregan?” Romee Strijd croons, reaching over to comb her fingers through his hair. “Could you rub more sunscreen on my back, please?”
Otto is stretched out on a pool chair and reading the Business section of the New York Times. Jace, Baela, Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron are gathering up their inner tubes and heading into the lazy river, a swift crystalline blue current that reminds you of Aemond’s clear right eye. Alicent gets up to go talk to Criston; they speak in low voices, less secretive than sacred, like each believes the other to be a relic necessitating great care. Shelby is now scrolling through her iPhone. Aemond is still watching you. The speakers are playing Somebody’s Heartbreak by Hunter Hayes.
“I was hoping you could fix me,” Helaena says suddenly.
You don’t understand. You think you must have misheard her. “What was that, Helaena?”
“Aemond says you fix people. That you’re a saint.”
“I’m certainly not a saint.” I’m just an unwed mother from Missouri. Who wears Cookie Monster pajama pants. “And even if I was, I don’t think anything about you needs fixing.”
“But I’m not normal.” And her eyes glisten with it: this knowledge that can’t be escaped, a lifetime of whispers and rumors and being hopelessly misunderstood.
“No, you’re not.” You won’t lie to her. What good would that do? What cure can come from dishonestly, even when spun from compassion? “But Freddie Mercury wasn’t normal. Neither was Jane Goodall. Einstein, Montessori, Dali, Tesla, da Vinci, Curie, Shelley, Newton, they were all extremely, undeniably not-normal. And guess what? Aegon’s not normal either. And neither is Aemond. And neither is anyone else in Comet. They might not be the same brand of not-normal as you, but I can guarantee you they are all bona fide freaks of nature. Because that’s what it takes to make something new, to leave a beautiful mark on the world. Being not-normal is painful sometimes. But that’s not a reflection on you. It’s an embodiment of how small-minded and cruel all those normal people can be. You don’t want to be like them. You’re above them, you can see things they can’t. You keep flying. Don’t worry about the dirt down here on Earth.”
And only now do you realize you have an audience, peering over with wide eyes: Alicent, Criston, Shelby, Aemond, Aegon, Cregan and the Victoria’s Secret models, Otto wearing the first smile you’ve ever seen from him. Helaena, calmed and content, goes to sit by him; he begins braiding a green ribbon into a lock of her hair.
“For the record,” Aegon says. “I am definitely dirt.”
You laugh as you gaze up at him, shielding your eyes form the sun. “No you aren’t. Not even close.”
He offers you a hand. “Ready to get in the lazy river?”
“Yeah, I think so…” You finish your daiquiri, climb off your chair, shed your black swimsuit coverup, and walk over to the pile of inner tubes that Criston collected for the band. You can feel Aemond’s eyes on you as your bare feet pad across the cement. He moves a towel over his swim trunks and then stares at the palm trees, trying to appear nonchalant.
“Honeybunch, let’s go in the water too,” Shelby says.
“Um. In a minute.”
The rushing current has brought Jace, Baela, Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron back around again. From his inner tube, Jace splashes you and Aegon as you approach the steps that descend into the lazy river. “Finally daring to enter my watery domain?! I’m the king down here. I’m Poseidon. But if you want to battle me for my throne, you’re welcome to try.”
“Don’t you start bumping people!” Aegon yells, jabbing his index finger at Jace. “You keep your little scrawny chicken limbs to yourself!”
“Aww, someone call Greenpeace, we’ve got a beached whale over here…”
“Careful,” Aegon says, grabbing your arm to stead you on the steps. “They’re slippery.”
And Aemond observes this, lighting one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes and inhaling a deep breath of smoke, his face lined with scars of the past and furrows of worry for the future.
~~~~~~~~~~
Twenty-four hours later, the band is enjoying dinner down the strip at the Wynn’s buffet: eccentric modern art and elaborate fruit sculptures, prime rib and crepes made to order, gelato and pasta, sushi you can’t eat. Alicent, Helaena, and Otto are here with Comet. So are the Victoria’s Secret models. So is Selena Gomez. She sits next to Aegon, teaching him the Spanish words for various foods and giggling as he butchers them. When Justin Bieber’s Sorry comes on the speakers, she rolls her eyes and stabs aggressively at her shrimp.
You were violently ill until 3 p.m. and then mercifully improved. Upon arriving at the buffet, you caught a whiff of the Alaskan king crab legs and were at once ravenous for them. You demolish plate after plate, sucking hunks of meat out of cracked shells, licking up dribbles of drawn butter from your fingers and wrists. Aemond—relegated mostly to fresh fruit, chunks of bread, and a vegan ratatouille—ogles while trying very hard to act like he’s not. Jace pulls one-dollar bills out of his wallet and throws them at you.
“You could have an OnlyFans,” Baela says. “Forget a real job. Make millions splattering yourself in crabmeat and butter for sad horny men. You could do a whole series…shucking oysters…dismantling lobsters…”
You imagine your child in kindergarten: So where does your mommy work? She stays home and films herself eating seafood in her underwear. “I don’t think I have the disposition for a celebrity lifestyle. You know I’m always hiding from the paparazzi.”
Alicent chuckles as she takes a bite of her roasted quail. “Yes, I remember the photos! Always tucked behind Cregan or Aegon. Except those times when you were walking with Aemond. That was so sweet of you, encouraging him like that. I’m sure it meant the world to him. Ever since…well, you know…it’s a more stressful experience for him now.”
Aemond, self-conscious, busies himself with stirring his ratatouille. “It was really my pleasure,” you tell Alicent.
“Pleasure, huh?” Jace teases, wiggling his eyebrows.
Baela asks you once again if you’ll ride the New York-New York rollercoaster with her tonight. You pretend to be terrified of rollercoasters. She counters that you definitely rode rollercoasters at Grona Lund when the band was in Stockholm. You try to gaslight her into thinking she has misremembered this. Aegon jumps in with (doubtlessly fabricated) statistics about how many people are killed in rollercoaster accidents.
“Really?” Baela says. “Five million people die on rollercoasters every year?”
Aegon knows he’s made a fatal error, but he is committed. “Yup.”
“You’re telling me that more people are killed by rollercoasters than live in the entire state of Oregon? And no one has addressed this problem? This epidemic of amusement park calamities?”
Aegon shakes his head spiritedly. “Nope.”
Now Shelby is saying something to Alicent at the other end of the long table. You don’t listen too closely, because you’re in the habit of mentally muting her. Still, you can’t help but catch snippets. It’s about the importance of public figures being good role models. “…So it’s probably for the best that she’s not interested. Young girls are very impressionable, you know.”
“Oh?” Alicent is replying, polite but noncommittal, perplexed. Criston brings her a miniature creme brulee from the buffet’s sprawling dessert section.
“Don’t you agree?” Shelby asks you, and the table goes quiet. She smiles sweetly, innocently, all beachy waves and highlighter sheen.
You lower your crab leg. “What exactly am I agreeing with?”
“That people who accept the responsibility to be in the spotlight should be the sort of role models that the youth can look up to.”
“Um, not really, no. I think a popstar’s job is to be a popstar, not to impersonate Mother Teresa or stop global warming or anything. They’re not running for president. But I mean, yeah, I guess they shouldn’t be murderers, so I agree like 1%.”
Aemond glances over at where Shelby sits beside him, not knowing what she’s up to, not especially invested. She sniffs, a dismissive, haughty little sound, like can you believe how uncivilized this bitch is? “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter since you aren’t planning to pursue fame anyway.”
“Lovely Shelby,” Jace says, taunting her. “Are you implying that our supernaturally poised and responsible Stargirl would set some sort of nefarious example for the little girls of planet Earth?”
“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Now Shelby is staring fixedly at you, cold like deep water.
You glare back defiantly. She couldn’t possibly have found out about the baby. Aegon would never have told her, and no one else knows. “Because…?”
“Because of what happened when you were in high school.”
Nothing changes for almost anyone else at the table, but it does for you: your mind goes blank, your skin goes cold, your stomach lurches, you are fifteen all over again. It’s not the fear that anyone in Comet would think less of you for it; you don’t think they would. Alicent might, Otto almost certainly, Cregan’s flock of models could carry the gossip anywhere—and surely this is Shelby’s design—but Comet would not condemn you. No, what paralyzes and disgusts you, what empties your veins and fills them with ice, is the truth that you are not the one choosing if and how to tell them, you are once again powerless and exposed, you are the curves and hollows of bare flesh they’re reading like a newspaper headline.
How…? Aemond…? But no: he looks just as horrified as you do, this is the last thing he expected, he didn’t think she knew, his eyes fly to yours and stay there, frenetic blue emotions but no words.
The others peer around the table. Aegon is frowning at Shelby, but he doesn’t know what she means, he doesn’t know how to help…because you’ve never told him. “What about high school…?” Luke says uncertainly.
“It’s not difficult to find,” Shelby tells you. “All someone has to do is Google your name and Kansas City, then comb back through a few pages. There are old Tweets and Facebook posts about it. Pictures, even, if you search long enough. Can you imagine how parents would feel about their daughters’ favorite boy band associating with someone like that? Popularizing that sort of behavior? It’s unacceptable. It destroys innocence.”
Your hands are shivering violently. You take one deep, shaky breath. “Actually, what happened was—”
Aemond lunges to his feet. “Don’t,” he commands you, holding up a hand. Then he turns to Shelby. His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, stormy, cutting, wrathful. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Aemond!” Alicent gasps.
Shelby blinks up at him. She is bewildered; she has miscalculated. She had no idea he knew. Her eyes dart from Aemond to you.
“No, don’t you dare look at her,” Aemond seethes. “You don’t look at her. You look at me.”
It takes effort, but Shelby manages to comply. She gawks at him, dismayed, flinching away from his rage, his scar, his sightless left eye like the lethal atmosphere of Neptune. She cannot hide how she truly sees him, how she will always see him. As something broken, pitiful, less.
“What the hell does she have to be ashamed of?” Aemond asks Shelby. “She doesn’t use people. She doesn’t sell false versions of herself. She is kind, and wise, and forgiving, and beloved. And what are you? A professional liar. A manipulator, a snake. Someone who knows how to pity but not how to cure.”
“Aemond—”
“Stand up.”
Shelby is petrified, shellshocked. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to put you in an Uber, and it will take you to the airport, and I honestly don’t care where you go from there. But you can’t stay in Vegas. And I never want to see you again.”
“Aemond, please!” Shelby cries. She still hasn’t moved from her chair. There are tears flooding down her cheeks: despair, defeat. You could almost feel sorry for her. Almost.
“And if you fight me,” Aemond says. “Or if I hear a whisper of you trying to disparage anybody at this table, I will end you, Shelby. Every app you use to edit your photos, every so-called friend you’ve worked to sabotage, every sponsorship you haven’t disclosed, I’ll expose all of it. I’d call up the fucking Rolling Stone if they cared enough about you to publish it. I will end you. Now stand up.”
Trembling, sobbing, this time Shelby obeys. Aemond and a flock of security guards—two of Shelby’s, two of Comet’s—escort her out of the buffet. He is only gone for a minute or two; the table is silent except for slurps of drinks and the occasional squealing of silverware against plates. When Aemond returns, he immediately goes to you. He rests a hand on your shoulder—gently, protectively, the same way Criston does—and murmurs so no one else can hear. He is so close the air you breathe is filled with him: smoke, cologne, dissipating fury.
“I am so sorry. I had no idea she would do that. I don’t think she’ll speak of it again. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” you reply in a stunned little squeak.
“Good.” Then he looks fiercely around the table, pausing to lock eyes with every single person. His meaning is clear. You will not ask questions. You will forget this happened. He sits back down beside Shelby’s vacated seat and pops a red grape into his mouth.
“Damn, Stargirl,” Jace says after a moment. “So you’re a serial killer.”
Everyone laughs, and the nightmare is over. It breaks open like dropped glass. “Don’t worry. I only murder obnoxious, curly-haired brunettes.”
He winks as he licks chocolate mousse from his spoon. “I wouldn’t mind being added to your body count.”
“Shut up,” Baela groans. “Shut up, shut up…!”
You excuse yourself. You walk out of the buffet. The Wynn has a gorgeous hallway that passes through a garden of whimsical ornaments, flowers, trees, and string lights. Too suddenly for you to change course, you realize what’s going to happen; you stumble into the greenery and vomit five plates’ worth of Alaskan king crab onto a Ficus tree.
“Need a napkin?” Aegon asks; he has followed you. “I don’t actually have one. But I could take my shirt off and give you that.”
Still hunched over and spitting, you shake your head. “No, I’m okay. I’ll use a leaf.” You don’t make eye contact with him. You don’t want to invite unwelcome questions.
“Relax,” Aegon says, rubbing your back. “I’m not going to ask.”
You are relived but skeptical. “You’re not curious?”
“I figure if it was something you wanted me to know about, you would have already told me.” He smirks. “I do think it’s interesting that Aemond knows something about you I don’t.”
“He gets one secret, you get another. You’re even.” You thought you were done. False alarm. You resume vomiting on the Ficus tree.
“Goddamn, that is disgusting. You want a Percocet or something?”
“I think that would be less than ideal for the baby.”
“Oh. Right.” He considers you with great sympathy. “A lot of discomfort over something that’s the size of what, a chicken nugget?”
“Yeah, probably.” You rip a leaf off the tree, wipe your lips, trudge back to the buffet bathroom to sanitize yourself as best you can.
When Comet’s fleet of Escalades arrives back at the MGM Grand, you loiter in the lobby hoping for Criston to appear. You shoo away the band when they try to wait for you, and once Aegon catches on he ensures that they file into the elevators and zoom up to their floor. You need a minute alone with Criston. You need to arrange your imminent departure from the tour. Criston, oddly, does not come inside. You give him five minutes and then head back out into the arid Vegas heat, dry, ancient, barren. One of the Escalades is still idling in front of the hotel. You open the door. Criston and Alicent are in the back seat: he’s on top of her, her legs and arms curled around him like ivy, the hem of her chic mom-appropriate sundress pulled up to her waist, her lips famished and moaning against his.
You scream, they scream, you slam the Escalade door shut. Seconds later, Criston bursts out of it. He is wearing only his hastily pulled on boxers and a half-unbuttoned white shirt.
“I’m sorry!” you blubber. “I, uh, I didn’t see anything! Um, I mean, I didn’t see that much—”
“You can’t tell anyone,” Criston pleads.
“I definitely will not.”
“Her husband…he’s…he’s not a great guy, you know? And Alicent, she’s…she’s so…she’s so incredible but so sad, she’s been through hell this past year, and after Aemond was hurt we…uh…well we spent a lot of time in hospital rooms together…and I just love her hair and her eyes, and her devotion to her family, and the way she smells…”
“I really, really, really do not feel entitled to nor desire the details that you’re sharing with me right now.”
“Okay.” Criston tugs at the collar of his shirt, catching his breath. “What were you doing out here anyway?”
“I have to talk to you about something, but it can wait.”
“You’ve already interrupted us at this point. Just go ahead.”
“Alright. Well. I’m leaving Comet.”
“No!” he cries, distressed. “Really? Why?! Is it something Jace did? What did Jace do? Because I can let Cregan know and he’ll—”
“No no no, nothing like that. It’s just time for me to go figure out my own life now.” Time for me to find a permanent job, have my baby, re-traumatize my parents, the whole American Dream thing.
Criston sighs. “I was hoping you’d stay on through the South America dates.”
“I can’t, Criston. I appreciate all that you’ve done for me and how welcoming everyone has been, this has been a fantastic experience…um, overall…but I really do have to go home now. Can we fill out the paperwork and make the Kansas City shows my last stop with Comet?”
He nods reluctantly. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get it taken care of. We can do signatures in a few days.”
“Aegon is the only other person who knows I’m leaving. I don’t want anyone else told yet.”
“Got it. You keep my secret, I’ll keep yours.”
These secrets are multiplying, you think as you enter the MGM Grand and Criston climbs back into the Escalade. Like cells, like storm clouds. Upstairs in Comet’s hallway, Selena Gomez is in a war with the vending machine; it has snagged her Starbursts and refuses to release them. You don’t offer to help her shake the machine—heavy lifting, not good for the littlest Targaryen—but you do use your flip flop to reach up inside the machine and knock the Starbursts loose.
“You’re the best!” Selena high-fives you. “Aegon tells me you’re a really talented therapist.”
“Oh no, no way, not yet. I mean I’m really new at it and I don’t have a lot of confidence in my abilities but I am learning a lot and maybe one day—”
“The work you do is very important,” Selena says; and she seems to mean it. She is so beautiful in a vulnerable, benign way. It is difficult to not be starstruck.
“Thank you,” you manage.
“Watch out for him,” she says quietly, discretely. “Anytime his parents visit, he’s a little extra fucked up for a while.”
“I’ll do my best.”
She smiles, lays a palm briefly against your cheek, floats down the hallway and is gone.
~~~~~~~~~~
On their last night in Las Vegas, Comet adds a cover to their usual lineup of songs: Animal by Neon Trees. It was Luke’s idea, which means it was probably Aemond’s. Aemond wanders the lofty catwalks and shadowy hallways making his notes, his comments, his white amendments on night-black paper, stars freckled across the void. Alicent, Helaena, and Otto join you, Selena, Baela, Rhaena, and the Victoria’s Secret models in the front row. Otto dances with Helaena, spinning and laughing; Alicent cheers for Daeron and watches for glimpses of Criston as he studies the performance from just off-stage. Aegon fumbles no less than five lyrics. Cregan has come up with this new trick where he can remove his boxers on-stage while keeping his pants on. He gifts the aforementioned boxers to a group of soccer moms who in the commotion rip them to tiny, sweaty, treasured shreds.
After the show, Alicent, Helaena, and Otto catch a flight back to London; Selena takes a limo to Los Angeles. Jace’s suite at the MGM Grand, per tradition, is soon engulfed in voices and music and smoke and amply flowing alcohol. Criston is chatting with Aemond, who has a Bramble in one hand and a smoldering cigarette in the other. Cregan and the Victoria’s Secret models are playing Jenga with Luke and Rhaena. In Baela’s absence—she’s working out in the hotel gym—Jace is consoling himself with plentiful Vespers and some barely-legal fangirls; he is introducing his tattoos to them one by one. Daeron is toasting Yuenglings with friends at the bar. And Aegon is like he always is: here, then gone, then here again, and finally gone, like a comet, like a tornado that touches down without warning and vanishes just as quickly. You lose track of him. It’s not your fault. He comes and goes like an act of God.
In the hallway, several suite doors are open, including Aemond’s. You slip inside; no need to watch out for Shelby anymore. You find his notebook on his nightstand—the same place you keep your souvenirs in your own bedroom—and you engage in your least-honorable hobby. You’ve been sneaking looks at his lyrics since Paris. You open the notebook and rifle through onyx pages to the most recent, starlight-hued entry:
I was closest to the sun, like Icarus, swimming in your light
You are the only person I’d let melt my wings
Worry a line into your face, I think about it for days
Don’t talk to me about what the end of summer brings
“He’d kill you if he saw that,” Luke says from the doorway, grinning. “Well, he probably wouldn’t kill you. But he would not be thrilled.”
You snap the notebook shut and place it back on the nightstand. “Please don’t tell him. I am but a humble fangirl.”
“I won’t tell him. But you should ask permission.”
“I don’t think he would give it to me anymore.”
Luke is gazing at the notebook now, his face distant. “It’s screwed up, right? I only got into Comet because of Aemond. He fought for me and he won. But when he was the one who needed help, I couldn’t do the same.”
“Luke…” You open your hands: sorrow, futility. “You must be the least blameworthy person in this whole goddamn mess. You tried to fight for Aemond when no one else would. You make him feel valued. Every single day I watch you remind him of his place here in Comet. You’re the only person who does that.”
“I can’t do this without him,” Luke says softly, fearfully. “I don’t know how to write a song without his advice. I don’t know how to end a show without being able to ask him what I did right or wrong.”
“I think you’re more capable than you believe you are.”
Luke is troubled. “Am I hurting him by wanting him to stay?”
You contemplate this for a while before you choose your words. “In my opinion, Aemond needs to know that his contributions to Comet were real and they he will always be welcome here. But he also needs to find a new purpose. He’s a guest in the band. He’s not a part of it anymore. He can’t go back to who he was before the accident, he’s learned too much about how people treated him when he was hurt. Even if he got up on stage again for a farewell performance—which I think would be beneficial for him—he’s never going to be a full-time popstar again. He needs something else. I don’t know what that thing is, but he needs to be free to find it.”
“I understand,” Luke says. He’s quiet, mulling it over. And then, brightly: “Want to play Jenga with us? Cregan is so bad at it. Or he’s letting us win, I’m not sure which.”
“That’s super sweet, but I think I’m going to go lay down. Maybe take a half-hour nap and then see who’s still conscious for me to hang out with.”
“Are you okay?” Luke asks abruptly.
“What? Yeah, of course, I’m just exhausted. I think the tour is wearing on me.”
“You haven’t looked good for a few weeks now,” Luke says. “I don’t mean that in a rude way. You just seem sad or sick or something. Or both.”
You give him your best reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Luke. I promise.”
He smiles back. “Good. Enjoy your nap!”
“Enjoy your Jenga!”
You drag yourself back to your suite, a human-shaped pile of concrete and lead. What had Aegon said? A lot of discomfort over something that’s the size of what, a chicken nugget?
“We’ll be back in Kansas City in a few weeks,” you whisper as you collapse onto the bed, one hand resting on your not-showing-but-soon belly. And as your eyes drift shut, you realize how good home sounds, better than it ever has before. Is that nesting? Is that just getting older? You don’t want to leave Comet. But you do want your real life to begin.
You are nearly asleep when you hear him come in: the swipe of a keycard, the clopping of Crocs, a clumsy dive onto the bed that rocks the whole mattress.
“Hey,” you say, eyes still closed.
Aegon doesn’t answer. You sit up and look at him: sprawled face-down, hair in disarray, sunshine yellow Crocs still on his feet.
“Aegon?”
He doesn’t reply, doesn’t move. You reach out to shove him. His eyes are closed; he is limp. He’s not breathing.
“Aegon?!” you shriek, shaking him, hitting him. There’s no part of him that is glowing now. The sun has set, but the moon is full: his skin is silvery-white and bloodless. You’re screaming for anyone who will hear you.
Cregan is the first to arrive; he was out in the hallway leading all three of the Victoria’s Secret models back to his suite. And then it all happens very quickly. Cregan is dialing 911, Aemond is dragging Aegon off the bed and onto the floor, Criston sprints to get something from his room and returns with two small white devices that he’s ripping out of their packaging. Aegon’s skin is turning blue. Criston feels for a pulse, doesn’t find it. He’s telling Cregan what to relay to the 911 dispatcher: no breathing, no heartbeat, Narcan being administered. Criston cradles Aegon’s head and tilts it backwards so he can dose him with the nasal spray. Then Criston looks at his wristwatch and begins chest compressions. You are pinned by shock and horror to the wall. You can hear people out in the hallway, voices and footsteps, clamoring and rumors.
There is Jace’s frantic voice: “Is he okay?!” Cregan pushes him back outside.
“Come on, Aegon,” Aemond is saying, patiently but firmly, slapping at his brother’s face, pinching his cheeks. No blood rushes in to darken the battered flesh. “We’re all here. We’re all waiting for you. Come on back.”
“One minute,” Criston notes as he glances at his watch. Forever, it feels like.
“I’d give him another,” Aemond says.
“Second dose of Narcan,” Criston tells Cregan as he stops compressions and administers another round. And that does it: Aegon gasps, jolts, comes alive again. His skin transforms from blue to white to pink. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Criston hisses, and buries his face in his hands, trembling with relief and adrenalin. Cregan is informing the 911 dispatcher that the patient is back from the dead.
Aemond lifts his brother so he’s sitting upright and holds him, smoothing back his hair, murmuring to him words too hushed to understand. Aegon says, dazed: “Did I do it again?”
“Yeah. Yeah you did. But you’re back now.”
“I’m sorry, Aemond.”
“Stop—”
“I’m so sorry. I should have been at soundcheck.”
“Stop, Aegon. It’s over, it’s done. None of us knew what would happen.”
There are glittering, glass-like tears on Aegon’s face. His voice is choked and heavy, so heavy. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”
“You’re hurting me now.”
“One of these times you should just let me die.”
“But then who would torment Father? I don’t have nearly as much talent for it.”
Now they are both laughing, and you see that Aemond has a few tears of his own: only from his right eye, only from the one that fate spared.
Criston says, almost apologetically: “Aegon, we have to take you to the hospital to get checked out.”
Aegon sighs. “Yeah, I know. I remember how it goes.” Aemond and Criston help him to his feet. He can’t walk on his own; they half-carry him out into the hallway where EMS is just arriving. And once Aegon is on the stretcher and being ferried away—with great fanfare, everyone gathered in the corridor to wave him off—Aemond comes back for you.
Together you ride in one of the Escalades to the hospital and stand outside the transparent windows of the room while a lethargic, irritable Aegon is hooked up to machines and Criston talks to the doctors and nurses, vigorously reprimands him, makes a phone call to Alicent so she hears it before TMZ can report the story.
“I haven’t helped him at all,” you say to Aemond. “Not last June. Not now. Never.”
“That’s not true. You don’t know where he started.” He watches you, this man who sees so much and yet so little, who maybe loves you but sometimes hates you and is the father of a soon-to-be child that you already feel you know. “Do you love him?”
“Yes. But not in the way you mean. I would kill for Aegon, but I’d never marry him.”
Aemond chuckles, like this is a ludicrous combination of words. “Has he asked?” And then when he sees your face, too exhausted and woeful to censor itself, his jaw drops open.
“He wasn’t serious.”
“A strange thing to joke about.”
“Not for us.” It would be strange if Aemond joked about it. Because I could actually see myself marrying him. Not in another world, in this one, if only the stars aligned just right.
“Look, I think I have to apologize,” Aemond says. “Because I might have…misinterpreted things. The way you make me feel is…I can’t describe it, you know? It’s like, light, and warmth, and music, and I made the mistake of thinking that was only for me. But you do that for everyone, right? It’s not just for me. It’s never been just for me. And you’ve been so goddamn gracious. You’ve never asked me for anything. You’ve never put yourself in a position to use or take from me. You knew what I needed and you tried to give it to me. So thank you. I know I said that I understood you better in Reykjavik, and I was wrong then. But I understand you now. You help people. You heal people.”
You turn to him, startled. “You aren’t like everyone else. That’s not how I think of you.”
He is intrigued, perhaps hopeful, perhaps too afraid to hope. Pity is familiar. Love would be something else. “No?”
“No.” Truths, like birds with clipped wings, struggle in vain to take flight. “I have to confess something.”
“Go on then.”
I want you. I love you. I want to have this child with you. But I’m so fucking scared that you won’t be able to handle it. And at last, cowardice: “I’ve been reading your lyrics.”
He smiles. “That’s fair, I guess. Everything I’ve written since June has been about you anyway.”
Criston emerges from Aegon’s room. His dark hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead; his eyes are damn near vacant. He looks like he’s aged ten years in the past hour. “He wants to talk to you,” Criston tells you. “I don’t think he’ll be awake in five more minutes, and he might not remember any of it anyway. But he is insistent.”
“He usually is,” you say, and go in.
Aegon is dressed in a pale blue hospital gown, no neon. His feet are bare; you can tell because one of them is sticking out from under the blankets. His hair is slicked back from his face. He is afflicted with a slew of twisted wires and beeping monitors. But he is still Aegon: beautiful, bright, generally harmless to anyone except himself. He blinks blearily up at you. “No one has ever loved me, and it’s because I don’t deserve it.”
“Millions of people love you, Aegon. I love you.”
“For more than a day?”
“For all of them.”
He grins, then presses his right palm to his chest. “Starboy,” he says. Then he points at you. “Stargirl.” His gaze drops to your belly. “Starbaby,” he declares at last. “Not my Starbaby. But a Starbaby nonetheless.”
“You can’t leave me,” you say softly, tears falling down onto his blankets. “I can’t do this without you. Not just the tour. Everything. I can’t live in a world without you in it. You can’t leave Comet. You can’t leave me.”
And Aegon murmurs, petulant like a child as he drowns in sleep: “You’re leaving me first.”
#aemond x you#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond x reader#aegon x reader#aegon ii#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon ii x you
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yes yes yes i wanna see the barbie fic!!! i know im gonna love itttt -barbie anon
Porcelain and the Shark: Barbie Hosseinis
Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x f (Roy) reader
(reader has anxiety, no use of y/n, physical descriptions or other names but does have the nickname Porcelain/Porce - due to family viewing her that way not because of complexion)
Word count: 2.6K
Prompt: porce forcing stewy to take the day off to take her and the kids to see barbie… he buys the kids a new barbie toy each and buys porce some cute barbie merch… porce relates to barbie’s existential crisis…. and gets just a touch sad at the parts about mothers and their daughters… stew cheers her up by reminding her that she’s an incredible mom to the kids and she goes and sees oppenheimer with him the next day as a thank you. that’s all xo 🫶
Chapter/content warning: 18+ MINORS DNI, established relationship, wholesome fluff, existential crisis mention, some not great Roy dynamics are alluded to. Not beta read sorry!
Authors note: thank you so much for sending this through Nonnie and your patience, you're an angel! i really hope you enjoy this, please let me know what you think! There's a slight change, I actually don't think Stewy would be super into Oppenheimer for a few different reasons. I hope that's okay?! I hope you all enjoy this, I am sorry for the absence lately, enjoy and let me know what you think, I love engaging with you all via comments, reblogs, and asks! Live for them! Lots of love to all you tumblr hotties (you're all hotties) let's pretend the gif is a barbie reference lol.
********
You’re kneeling on the floor in Tillie’s room as you help your young daughter change into her outfit. It was cute but you hadn’t expected it to be so complicated to put on. Mainly because Tillie was so excited, wriggling and bouncing as she chatted, she couldn’t stay still for very long. After a couple of minutes you’d been able to finish up her outfit and kissed the top of her head as you finished putting her hair in the neat bun she’d asked for to match her new but beloved doll sitting next to her.
“Wow! You look amazing and you’re both matching! How cool!” You excitedly say to Tillie who giggles and nods.
“We’re both ready for space now!” Tillie exclaims as she grabs her astronaut Barbie doll.
“You can play with your toys now that you’re dressed, practice for space. I’m going to check on dad and Jonathan now, okay sweetie?” You place another kiss on top of her head and she nods, happily focusing on her toys again. It makes you chuckle how quickly she goes back to playing now that your interruption of dressing her is over.
You start to walk towards Jonathan’s room but pause when you hear Stewy’s voice coming from his home office, you think it’s odd that he’s in there as this was a day that he was meant to be completely offline from work and just for family. Changing the route to Jonathan’s room you walk to his office until you’re leaning against the door watching him. Stewy’s pacing back and fourth in his office as he continues his call with an earphone in. He looks at you and with a small smile before taking a sip from his morning cappuccino in a ridiculously tiny cup as he hums along to whatever is being said on the opposite end of the phone.
“Uh-huh, yeah, well yeah, we’ll just need to circle back to that later. Uh-huh, I’ve gotta go. Mmm, yeah, sure, bye.” He quickly ends the call, removing the earphone and placing it on his desk before turning to look at you as he carefully places his coffee cup down on the desk.
“You’re not in pink-” You start.
“Neither are you.” Stewy immediately quips back with a small teasing smile as he looks you up and down adoringly.
“Well no, I haven’t changed yet. I was getting the kids ready.”
“Okay, go get ready I’ll finish up whatever needs finishing up and then you can head out.” He says as he comes over giving you a kiss on the forehead.
“We head out.” You correct, emphasising the word as you’re already not a fan of the direction this was headed in.
“Honey…” Stewy says with a sigh and it’s clear that something has come up, he needs to cancel. The guilt is written all over his face like a ghost came up and tattooed it on as soon as you walked into the office.
“You promised.” You say rather bluntly. The work-life balance is important to you and after experiencing all that your childhood had to offer in terms of swinging between sheltered neglect and highly-criticised surveillance. You refuse the notion of having your children growing up without a father or experiencing the wonder and insult of what it’s like to have a father miss out on what’s meant to be memorable and special family days. You know Stewy isn’t like that, he’s just busy and he’s always there but you still can’t help but take it personally.
It almost feels like a childhood defense and you feel your lip quiver a little as you look at him, knowing he had promised this and now he was going to break the promise to you and your children.
“I know baby, but something’s come up at work and-” He continues with wide eyes, trying to diffuse the situation as he can see how upset it’s making you.
“I’m not happy about… I’m not happy about this Stew.” You admit quietly as you look down while leaning against the wall more.
“I know. I know. I’ll make it up to you and the kids, we’ll do something later on. I’ll buy them some more toys.” “You’re not becoming that father who uses money and presents to make it up to children.” You say softly.
“I won’t do that.” He chuckles and comes over to you and wraps his arms around you softly. “I love you and you’re so pretty, you know that right?” He presses a few soft kisses to your jaw and neck.
“You’ve said it before…” You whisper back, as he holds you in his arms.
“Mm… Good. I just wanted to remind you.” He whispers against your neck and you feel his breath and words tickle your neck.
“If you’re not coming, you’re the one who needs to break that news to their cute faces and you do owe them. And me.” You can’t help but sigh in his arms as you relax into him, finding comfort in his presence as you always do despite how you’re annoyed with him over this.
Stewy nods as he listens to your words, and caresses your back gently. “I’ll try…” He whispers, you know it’s less likely that he’ll actually end up working through the day and bailing on the much anticipated Hosseini family event of seeing the Barbie film with your young children.
Tillie then calls out for you and Stewy, you smile at him, squeezing his hand and walking with him, hand-in-hand into Tillie’s bedroom. Tillie jumps up when she sees her dearly loved parents walk into her bedroom and runs over with her doll. Some children had dinosaur phases, or princess phases but Tillie was one of those children who became obsessed with space as soon as her eyes could take in the moon and what it was. She had an astronaut Barbie in her hand which had become one of her most prized possessions since Stewy had recently brought it for her. It was in her hand at every playtime, bedtime, and seated next to her at each meal.
As Tillie jumps up to hug her parents, it is then that Stewy sees her outfit in full… Tillie is wearing an astronaut costume in pink. One that you’d spent a lot of time trying to find the right person to commission it and they had excelled. She was a cute little astronaut just as she wanted to be and it was perfectly in theme with the Barbie film that she was excited to see as well.
She ran over to her father and Stewy quickly picked her up, you could see his heart melting as he took in the sight of his precious daughter in her outfit, she looked adorable and Stewy loved how she was so young but already had dreams that were so out of this world.
Stewy swayed slightly while holding Matilda, he kissed the top of her head and smiled widely at her.
“Oh my God, look at you… this outfit is amazing….” Stewy said to Tillie with a smile. He pressed another kiss to her head and held her a bit tighter as he kept swaying with her. “Oh my…. Look at her! Look at her!” He said with the largest, most loving eyes to you and you couldn’t help but smile widely and nod. She was always cute and precious but this was an exceptionally cute look of Matilda’s. You also always appreciated seeing this moment between Stewy and Tillie, he was so in awe of her and she was in equal awe of her father as well. A polar opposite to what you and Shiv had known but it was what you wanted for your children, it was what every child deserved.
“How could you say no to that cutie, Stewy? You tease playfully, already seeing him mentally cave by her.
“I can’t… I can’t… I’ll make a call and then we’ll see Barbie, huh?” He says to Tillie and gives her a little nose bop which makes her giggle loudly and excitedly.
“Go change, dad Ken, not work Ken!” Tillie says with another giggle as she tries to boop her father on the nose in return. Stewy smirks and nods, kissing her forehead again as he swings her gently with a smile.
“What am I going to wear though? I need some pink, huh honey?” He asks Tillie and she smiles and nods.
“I brought you a pink turtleneck, it’s out in the room honey.” You say softly with a happy smile as you look at him, you couldn’t resist the chance to get him in theme and you always had a weak spot for Stewy in a turtleneck so this was just as much a treat for your family as it was for you. All just for different reasons.
“You’re a prize, babe. Thank you. Isn’t your mommy the best? I mean look at you and soon look at me and I’ll be just as cute huh?” Stewy kisses Tillie’s cheek and then puts her down and gives you a soft, loving, grateful kiss on the lips to say thank you for organizing that.
Stewy goes off to change and he looks so handsome in his pink turtleneck, you feel your cheeks immediately heat up as he comes back out. He kisses your cheek and whispers a sweet thank you.
************************
You, Stewy and your little Hosseinis all watch Barbie, everybody dressed up in theme in pink and looking like charming Barbies, Kens, and Allens. The children are all thoroughly engaged in the film and its bright visuals, there’s plenty of humor as well that’s sneaked in to appeal to adults which gets genuine laughs from you and Stewy.
You’re not quite surprised but you struggle for a moment as you feel quite touched, sensitive and yet vulnerable throughout several scenes of the film. This concept of identity, and having an identity that is separate from the men in your life, along with one that is separate to your identities as a wife, a mother, a sister, and a daughter. You can’t help but get teary at many of these scenes and think about what something like this means for your children, especially sweet Tillie, and the relationship between mothers and daughters. You love Tillie with all of your being, is that enough you wonder? It certainly wasn’t with your parents but that wasn’t the right love and you know it’s different with your children, you don’t let the thoughts in that your parents probably felt the same at some stage in. You’re already getting teary-eyed in this film, surrounded by those dearest to you, you don’t think you can quite handle an existential crisis right now.
Stewy notices your eyes becoming glassy with tears during these scenes and he snuggles a bit closer to you, pulling you into him more to gently kiss your cheek and squeeze your shoulder and hand. He caresses your arm gently from the first scene that brings you to tears and then throughout the rest of the picture.
“Hey, you’re a great parent… They love you more than anything, I’m in awe of you. You’re such a great mom.” Stewy promises as he whispers into your ear. You smile at him and tilt your head to kiss him softly on the lips.
*******
The children loved the film and it was a great family day that didn’t end in terms of quality time right after the movie finished. The children were all now tucked in bed and you were lying in bed now and Stewy had just finished brushing his teeth and was coming to lie in bed.
“Hi.” He whispered as he laid on the bed and looked up at you.
“Hey.” You smile back at him and can’t help but feel your cheeks heats up again, you loved him in the pink turtleneck but you also loved him out of it and any tops, just as much.
“And thoughts on the film that made all the men so angry?” He asks.
“I mean, it was a bit gentle on men, huh?” You say as you tilt your head to look at him.
“Uh-huh, far too gentle. It should’ve challenged my masculinity more than it did.” He says softly as he kisses your cheek and then your jaw gently with a smirk. “Ken did kinda feel like that incel-pipeline justification, right?” He says as he pulls away and looks at your face, Stewy starts to caress your arm gently as he leans back on the pillows.
You nod and smile. “Exactly! And you picked that up!” He chuckles at that and his cheeks heat up a bit as he continues to caress your forearm. “It still had some good stuff in it, Tillie really enjoyed it, ‘Yay space!’ Is going to be a new catchphrase for a while.” You say with a smile as you gently caress his cheek in return and giggle a little at the thought. That line alone and the acknowledgement of a Barbie in space was more than enough to make the day for Tillie and seal it as a classic for her.
“Astronaut Barbie was my favorite. Tillie and I have that in common now.” He says playfully and you can’t help but chuckle some more at that.
Stewy then leans back to grab his phone to do something that his mind has just thought of, you can’t help but feel curious.
“What are you doing?” You as with a smirk.
“I’m going to get one of those ‘I’m Kenough’ hoodies delivered to Kendall’s.” He says with a smirk as he taps away at his phone. You can’t help but laugh.
“That’s so thoughtful of you, he definitely needs it.” You laugh.
“Exactly, he really does.” Stewy says playfully, he finishes up, showing you an order confirmation email and then puts his phone down and kisses you softly on the lips.
“Since you’ve seen Barbie, does that mean I have to be your date to Oppenheimer now?” You ask as you look up at him. Stewy immediately scoffs and then laughs.
“No!” He laughs.
“No?” You ask with a small chuckle.
“I’m a dad, I’ve been exposed to the magic and art of Barbie and Bluey, why would I need to see Oppenheimer? Also it’s three hours long? It’s not for children, why would I go through those three hours?” He asks.
You smile and nod as you caress his cheek. “Very good points.” You whisper.
“How boring and convoluted must a film be to be three hours long? And if I have that much time for something shouldn’t I spend it with you and our angels?” You can’t help but smile widely at that.
“Isn’t it mandatory bro viewing now? What on earth will you talk about in the office on Monday?” You ask playfully before kissing him softly on the lips.
“I won’t watch a film because of peer pressure, if I felt insecure, I’d just read the Wikipedia plot and honey, I don’t get insecure.” He says proudly right before leaning over, closer to you in order to kiss your lips. The kiss starts off soft at first but Stewy quickly deepens it, he playfully nibbles on your lip as the kiss deepens on both your ends and Stewy steals a moan from your lips as you run your hands through his hair.
#stewy hosseini#succession#chaitheticsasks#stewy hosseini x reader#stewy hosseini x roy reader#stewy hosseini x roy!reader#porcelain and the shark#requests#hbo succession#arian moayed#stewy hosseini x f reader#stewy hosseini x f roy reader#stewy hosseini x you#stewy hosseini x porcelain#stewy hosseini x porce#porcelain and the shark asks#porcelain and the shark headcannons#porce and the shark#succession fanfic#succession fic#succession fanfiction#arian moayed fanfic#arian moayed fanfiction#arian moayed characters#barbie movie#barbie 2023#the barbie movie#barbie fanfic#barbie fic#barbie movie fanfic
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Meet Me at the Sea: Prologue
Meet Me at the Sea: Prologue
Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader
Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.
Trigger warnings: None.
Word Count: 1.1k
A/N: Here it is! The new series that absolutely no one asked for, but I decided to give to you! But seriously, I'm really excited for this one because it's been in my head for months, so long before fanfiction even crossed my mind. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. 18+ ONLY!!! You can find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where I will be posting updates there as well.
Series Masterlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List
You had always been fascinated by the ocean, drawn to it really. You supposed that most people were. The ocean was where all life originated, after all, and perhaps there was some innate desire to return to where one once came from. A desire so strong that it was embedded into the very fabric of one’s being to be passed on to future generations.
That’s what you mused, anyway. You, however, had very little experience with the sea, having grown up in a land-locked area of the country. The closest you had ever been to a large body of water was the local lake in the nearby state park. The closest you had ever been to the ocean, were the times you had successfully convinced your parents to take you to the aquarium in the city. You would spend hours there, entranced by the different creatures. You’d stare as the all the fish and different sharks swam above you in a timeless dance that you so desperately wished you could join in. Your favorite part, however, was always the stingray pool. You loved how affectionate the creatures seemed to be, eagerly swimming closer to the surface so that your fingers could glide down their backs. You could stay there forever if the aquarium didn’t have a strict closing time.
Your love for the ocean translated into your every day life too. You had several figurines from your visits to the aquarium, but your prized possession was a stuffed cownose ray your parents had gifted you oh so many years ago that you had affectionately named “Rusty.” This often surprised people, who assumed it would be the porcelain figurine your grandmother had brought back from one of her overseas trips for you
The mermaid was beautiful, yes. Her skin glowed with how pale she was, hair floating like she was still in the water. Her tail was painted a light blue that almost looked silver. You adored the figurine, of course, but she was certainly no rusty.
So, it came as no surprise to anyone who had met you that you chose to pursue marine biology in university. Your parents had been so proud when you had been accepted into Duke University, but they had also been hesitant.
“That’s a long way from home,” your father had reminded you. “If something happens, it’ll be hard for us to come and get you.”
“Your father’s right, dear,” you mother had frowned. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
And you had been. You had never been more sure of anything in your entire life. So, you had packed what you could and your parents drove you out to your new home for the next four years. You had made several friends during your time at school, but the one that stood out the most was Bob Floyd.
Bob was a quiet guy, but he was funny and quick as a whip. You had met him in one of your biology courses freshman year, and you found out quickly that he was also studying marine biology.
“What got you into the field?” he had asked you.
“I don’t know exactly,” you had hummed. “I suppose I’ve just always loved the ocean.”
You turned to him. “What about you?”
“Me?” He laughed. “Oh, I grew up on the coasts. Right here in North Carolina, in fact. My hometown is just a couple hours away from here.”
“Oh, so you’re a local,” you grinned.
“I suppose you could say that,” he smiled.
You two had been inseparable ever since. Well, at least during the school year. You would take small trips with your girlfriends during weekend breaks, only flying home for the longer ones, much to Bob’s annoyance.
“When are you gonna take me up on my offer to just spend the summer at my folk’s place?” he huffed in a laugh. You rolled your eyes playfully at him from where you lay sprawled out on his bedspread, several textbooks scattered around you. Bob was seated at his desk, textbooks also cracked open as the two of you studied for finals. “I’m serious, y/n. It’s senior year, and I’d really like if my best friend would come hang out with me for the summer.”
“I don’t want to be a bother,” you started, stopping when Bob scoffed, shooting you a scowl.
“You’re never a bother. And where’s that same attitude when you’re over here eating all of my poptarts?”
“That’s different,” you giggled.
Bob glared playfully at you. “I beg to differ. Besides, you’d be doin’ me a favor. I’m always so bored when I’m at home. I could really use the company.”
“Wow, what a ringing endorsement,” you joked, Bob rolled his eyes. “I’ll think about it, alright? I want to see what my parents have planned.”
As it would turn out, your parents had planned a trip abroad for the whole summer, and you were left with no other option but to accept Bob’s proposal.
“Don’t sound so happy,” he had laughed. “You love the ocean, and the house is right on the beach.”
“I am happy,” you countered, loading your bags into the back of his car. “But, I’m worried that I’ll just be an imposition.”
“For the thousandth time,” Bob said with a dramatic roll of his eyes, “you are not an imposition. My parents love you, remember? Sometimes, I think they like you more than they like me. Do you really think they would have let me invite you if they didn’t? Hell, I had to fight’em to keep’em from inviting you themselves.”
Bob’s parents were a sweet couple. Susan was a stay-at-home mom turned entrepreneur, while Richard was a tech developer, and both absolutely adored their only son. They had latched onto you the second Bob had introduced you to them during one of the home football games they had driven up to see, and now they considered you the daughter they never had.
“How did they react when you told them I was coming?” you asked him with a grin. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Pretty sure there’s a mountain of balloons waiting for us when we get there,” he mused, closing the door to the trunk. The two of you rounded the different sides of the car before getting in. Once your seatbelt was fastened, you looked up to see Bob giving you a peculiar look. You returned it with a confused one, and he looked down pointedly at your lap.
“Rusty does not sit in the back,” you said, hugging the stuffed ray closer. Bob let out a little laugh as he held his hands up in surrender.
“You sure you remembered everything?” he asked you as he started the car. You nodded, shifting in your seat to get more comfortable.
“I’m sure.”
“Alright then,” he grinned, turning to you. “Let’s get goin’.”
#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin#jake seresin x reader#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake hangman seresin x you#top gun hangman#jake seresin x you#top gun maverick#jake seresin fanfiction#jake seresin fic#hangman top gun#hangman x reader#jake hangman seresin imagine#hangman#hangman imagine#mmats#meet me at the sea#mermaid!siren!jake#mermaid au#siren au
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Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 1
Summary: Charlotte begins her new life at Arrow House, where things prove to be more daunting than she thought. The first bits of Tommy's past are uncovered
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: Tommy being a violent insolent ass. Usage of period accurate ableist terms for a disabled person
Author's note: SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY! Life and health got in the way and I had a massive writer's block for this story. This one is more to law background for what is to come but I promise it will be worth! Next chapter is already on the works and I have it mostly laid out
Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark
《 Prev part - Next part 》
The clattering of broken porcelain disrupted the peacefulness of the Friday morning, the shards of white and the remnants of breakfast spread over the hand woven carpets. Thomas had launched the plate with masterful precision in what Charlotte could only describe as an adult sized temper tantrum akin to a spoiled toddler. The teacup had followed a similar fate, ruining the expensive fabrics furthermore.
Charlotte had been working for a little over three weeks in Arrow House, and so far, things had progressed worse than she had originally anticipated. Enough to make her reconsider her vocation.
Thomas Shelby proved himself to be an almost unconquerable adversary, resisting tooth and nail every effort she made to help him in any way, shape or form. He refused aid in leaving the bed and dressing in the mornings, choosing instead to spend the best part of an hour struggling and cursing while Charlotte watched from the side, exasperated at his bullheadedness, but always within reach and ready to jump to his aid. He preferred his hair and beard to grow long and scruffy rather than allow her to give him a trim and shave; when Charlotte told him the castaway look didn’t suit him, he didn’t even cast a shadow of a smile. Any medicine served by her hand would be unjustly spilled or discarded, and even something as innocuous as a glass of water would be treated as if Thomas had been served poison straight from the bottle. She often had to sip or taste foods in front of him to prove she meant no harm.
That morning, he had refused to eat for the second day in a row, demanding to be served only whiskey or gin and his pack of cigarettes. He had been cross from the moment he woke up, all because Charlotte had laid his clothes on his bed within his reach to make it easier for him to dress unaided and grant him a piece of the independence he craved. She had even set a basin and cloth in a stool by the bed so he could have a morning wash to the best of his abilities.
Exhausted already with his mulish behaviour, she sat in front of him, ready to convince him by all means necessary, including force, to get him to have a bite. But no sooner had she sat next to him, he had flipped over the carefully arranged breakfast table, sending scrambled eggs and tea in every direction and destroying a most lovely set of blue crockery. Splatters of food stained the white apron and foresleeves of her uniform. A muscle ticked in her jaw, but she refrained herself from throttling Thomas and instead stood up slowly, hands laced and an amiable smile tugging at her lips, showcasing a patience that had begun to wear thin.
“You have to eat, Thomas” Charlotte spoke slowly, as if that way that man would somehow understand and change his attitude; but sooner would pigs fly than Thomas Shelby agreeing with anyone other than himself. He ought to be commanded on his determination to be obtuse.
“And I said I don’t want to” He quipped, watching in near amusement as Charlotte dropped on hands and knees to gather the broken porcelain inside the empty water basin, using the cloth to protect her hands and wipe the food. She knew she could just call a maid in to do the dirty job, but back in the old days, nurses acted as caretakers, maids, cooks and everything in between. She didn’t see the point of calling a girl all the way from downstairs for so little; and besides, she didn’t want witnesses on her failure to control her patient, nor subject another innocent soul to undeserved wrath.
“You need to eat to take your medicines, Thomas. Or you will ruin your stomach” The first couple of days he tried to force her to call him Mr. Shelby, but she quickly shot it down. Long gone were the days when she would have called him Sergeant Major Shelby and she would have been Nurse Tindall. They were Thomas and Charlotte, whether he approved or not. She would not give him even the slightless space to think himself superior to her in any way.
He waved his hand, dismissing her concerns as mere nuisances, as he did with every other thing she did for him. Thomas rejected the medicines daily, especially the pain medicines, but Charlotte knew better. Her sharp eye soon noticed how the liquid inside the bottles would remain the same and then suddenly drop a considerable amount overnight; Thomas didn’t retain enough usage of his legs to walk long distances unaided, but he surely had enough strength of body and mind to stagger towards the cabinet where she kept the vials and bottles. He drank his fill, even if he denied it, and surely more than he should.
“I’m not taking those fucking things” He snapped “Now get out of my room” He maneuvered the chair towards the doors leading to the veranda. If allowed to, any day he would move his bed and desk out there and just spend the rest of his days staring at the trees and the horses trotting in the paddocks, feeling the kiss of the sun in his skin and enjoying the breeze carrying scents of earth and trees. The first days, she offered Thomas many times to take him out for a walk in the gardens, or even take him to the paddocks; but he shot down every attempt with a ridiculing sneer and some less than kind words
Frustrated but not yet defeated, Charlotte tossed the last of the broken porcelain into the basin, perhaps with more strength than she should, and carried it downstairs towards the kitchens. As she descended the grand staircase, she made a conscious effort not to look at the paintings. For whenever she walked past them, she felt Mrs. Shelby’s penetrating gaze following her steps.
Her portrait outshone all the others, hanging front and centre overseeing the foyer. Blonde hair curled fashionably, clad in an emerald green frock with golden trimming and covered in jewels, from the impressive necklace to the heavy earrings hung with pearls. The frame stood as tall as two people, engraved mahogany wrapped in gold leaf. Her icon dominated the house, seen in multiple photographs and smaller paintings in every room. But none matched the opulence of that one, and none unnerved Charlotte as much.
She had the portrait, but she didn’t have the person. In three weeks, not once had she come face to face with Mrs. Shelby. True, her duties limited her only to the second floor and occasionally the kitchen, but surely a wife would come to visit her husband every now and then? Charlotte never asked, as she had no reason nor true desire to know of her whereabouts, and simply assumed she was away, perhaps visiting family or on a trip to the new world.
But even then, it puzzled her to think she would leave behind her young son. Little Charlie, who lived his days surrounded by nannies since no one seemed to have time for him. Thomas seldom saw him; only when someone brought the toddler directly to him did he gift the boy some insipid paternal love in the form of a ruffle of the hair and a pinch of the cheek. These encounters distressed the boy, who pouted and whined most of the time, as if feeling himself endangered by Thomas’ presence. A child so isolated from his father he no longer recognised him as a source of safety.
As Charlotte entered the kitchens, she came face to face with Mrs. Gray. The woman seldom left the house either, but unlike Thomas, for vastly different reasons. She spent her day, morning to bedtime, divided between meetings, phone calls, paperwork and more meetings. Arrow House housed the family’s race horses
and she spoke daily with the trainers and the vet, as well as with a pudgy, bald man who came exclusively to deliver a foal. Men also came to the house, seeking to see Thomas but never making it pass the impenetrable barrier of his formidable aunt. They always spoke outside, as far as possible from prying ears, and left as swiftly and quietly as they came, more often than not pocketing paper envelopes or packing suitcases in the trunks of their cars. Charlotte never asked, having taught herself quickly to turn a blind eye to whatever happened under the roof that wasn’t supposed to. She had been hired to care for a man, not to keep tabs on the family affairs.
But Charlotte suspected she also wanted to keep an eye on things, mostly on how Lottie and Thomas got along. It did not go unnoticed, how often Charlotte found her lingering outside the double doors or standing halfway through the grand staircase, always within earshot, but always with an excuse perched upon her lips should she be caught. Perhaps she just wanted to ensure Thomas behaved; or maybe stood at guard ready to catch Charlotte before she could flee the job in panic.
Now, she sat at the large wooden table sipping tea and nibbling biscuits, the newspaper spread in front of her. Despite her high status within the house, she could often be found having her meals downstairs alone, eating roasted goose and lamb chops and drinking oak aged whiskey while sitting on benches of coarse wood and warmed up by the cooking stove, her finely made clothes impregnating in the smell of smoke and onions. Charlotte knew the Shelbys had come bottom to top, but sometimes it appeared they hadn’t quite settled there comfortably. At least Mrs. Gray seemed to enjoy climbing down a few rungs in the ladder every now and then.
Charlotte avoided eye contact with her at all costs as she fetched the garbage bin, her back turned to hide the basin from view as she tipped the food and shards inside. She tried to do it silently, but nothing could mask the unmistakable sound of broken porcelain and guilt.
“He did it again?” Her voice broke through the silence, making Charlotte flinch instinctively, although the words only carried shame and tired exasperation, feelings shared by both women. Still she felt like a child, caught by her mother failing miserably at a task she promised she would accomplish easily.
She straightened her back and turned around oozing improvised confidence, smile never faltering as she faced her employer, the basin perched in her hands in a way that hid the porridge stains inside. No one would dare look at her and think that Thomas had slowly but steadily driven her to her wits’ end. No, they had to just take one look at her and immediately be assured that everything was perfect. She had to be the image of calm and composed, even when she just wanted to rip out her hair.
“Just a mishap, Mrs. Gray, nothing to be concerned with. I misplaced the tray and knocked it over when I stood. I promise it won’t happen again” The smile widened just enough to appear reassuring, perfectly matched with her soothing voice. She would sooner concoct a dozen lies than admit she might have found her match in the likes of Thomas Shelby. Charlotte was not foreign to difficult patients; men too prideful or obstinate to welcome help even at their lowest point. But they all bent the knee sooner or later. Everyone had a limit, a line that once crossed forced them to admit defeat. She just had to find Thomas’ line, wherever it drew. Surely no mortal man could be so obdurate.
The corner of Mrs. Gray’s lips rose in a half smirk, a glint of bemusement in her features; she knew liars and tricksters when she saw them, even if they only carried good intentions on their false words. She could smell them from fifty paces.
“You must have launched yourself from the seat then, since I could hear the plates crashing from down here. As if it flew across the room purposefully” Heat rose to Charlotte’s cheeks but she did not waver in her stance. Her lips parted to speak, but Mrs. Gray beat her to it, standing up and rummaging through the cupboards.
“Sit.” The order was spoken softly, but an order nonetheless.
Lottie swallowed “There’s no need. I left Thomas alone and-”
“He can survive for fifteen minutes, and you look like you need a cup”
Defeated, and secretly glad to have a break, Charlotte abided, taking a seat and leaving the basin carefully hidden under the table. Soon a cup of tea steamed before her, Earl Grey with no milk and three sugars. She stirred it with the spoon tiredly, letting the metal heat up in her hand, but she couldn’t find it in her to bring it up to her lips as a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over her.
A comfortable silence lingered, broken only by the occasional servant who headed to the kitchen, but turned and left the second they saw the two women sitting there. Peering through her eyelashes, Charlotte noticed Mrs Gray didn’t even look in her direction, more focused on her breakfast and her newspaper, waiting for the younger woman to speak first. Lottie sipped her tea, hoping the soothing liquid would undo the knot she felt in her stomach every time she found herself in Mrs. Gray’s presence.
“He is difficult” She admitted, feeling like an officer admitting to the general that they had lost a battle. The battle, but not the war; she hadn’t sunk so low yet “And you warned me so, and I believed you because I saw it myself when I met him. But I thought he was just another veteran embittered with life that just needed the nudge in the right direction. I thought- “
“That you could help him” She completed the sentence with an understanding nod, as if she had seen the words written across Charlotte’s forehead. As if those piercing, dark eyes granted her the power to read others’ minds. And more than once, Lottie believed the Shelby matriarch possessed some skills that could only be described as magic or a sixth sense. She saw beyond the range of the normal eye, that much she could tell. And now the woman saw through Charlotte as easily as if she had been made of glass.
“But now he has proved to be more than you can chew'' The words didn’t come off as reproachful or taunting. Mrs. Gray didn’t seem to find joy in the admission of her defeat; rather she sounded empathic, as she could easily understand her plight. And she did, considering that she had been the one burdening the weight of her nephew’s care in between the cracks. Only she knew to a personal level the difficulties that came with caring for the ailing; worse even when they are your family.
Charlotte took a long sip, letting it soothe her nerves. Because if she freed her mouth to speak, she might say something she would regret; such as that maybe she overestimated her abilities for the job. Common sense told her that no amount of money could be worth being subjected to such treatment, but the sense of duty that pulled at her whenever she stared into Thomas’ eyes overpowered said logic. He had given all he had for the sake of duty, and Charlotte could not deprive him of the care she could provide him just because he behaved like an insufferable prick.
“Has he always been like this?” The question left her mouth without permission. A question that had been circling in her head since the first day. War had changed them all, but such an attitude had to have a foundation. She had managed to rip out smiles from men who had been maimed, disfigured and ruined beyond help. Thomas only reciprocated her efforts by giving her the overwhelming desire to smack him around “I know he is angry, and he is entitled to it. But…” She shook her head “He is unlike anything I have met before”
“Tommy has that effect on people” Mrs Gray replied “He always had a special talent to be unsettling to others for various reasons. Even as a teenager. And he never withstood being seen as weak or defenceless.” She pushed aside the breakfast and newspaper to lean in closer to Charlotte, those deep eyes of hers fixed upon the young nurse.
“Before all of this happened, back when he was…normal” She grimaced at that word, and so did Charlotte. He was not abnormal, just different “He prided himself in dominating every room he stepped in. In the fear and respect he inspired on others. People looked at him and they lowered their eyes and shut their mouths. They moved out of his way when he walked and tipped their hats in his direction. No one spoke before he did. If he told a man to act like a dog, you can be damn sure that man would bark and wiggle his tail. No one went against him”
Mrs. Gray leaned back again, hands laced before her, her multiple rings making quiet sounds as she wrung her hands tightly “Having people looking down at him, seeing him as a broken and useless thing, it is something he cannot handle. As if all the power he once held slipped between his fingers like sand. So he overcompensates with his temper.If he cannot make you look up at him, he will make sure you feel inferior to him” The words resonated with Charlotte, and they made sense, in a sick way. If he could not tower over others, he could only diminish them to keep them under his foot. And he redoubled those efforts with Charlotte, who acted unwilling to bow her head.
“Is he the same with all his family? I mean, how does his wife stand him?” Another embarrassingly indiscreet question she didn’t mean to pronounce but could not be taken back now. Besides, the opportunity to sate her curiosity had presented itself so easily she could not let it go to waste. Whoever he had married, the poor woman had earned the key to the pearly gates for putting up with him.
Mrs. Gray’s expression darkened, her lips downturning into a scowl and her shoulders tensing noticeably “She doesn’t. She didn’t” She sighed slowly, taking her sweet time to pick out a cigarette from the golden case “When his problems began, Tommy distanced himself from her. He refused to share her bed. You can imagine why” She took a long drag, exhaling the smoke through her nose as she stared at the wall behind Lottie “She didn’t try to bridge the gap; if anything, she made it bigger. I suppose when she said in sickness and in health before the altar, she hadn’t expected sickness to be like this. No respectable woman wants to be married to a cripple” Contempt and bitterness laced the words, her lips scrunched like she had tasted bile.
“One day she left, as simply as that, fled in the night like a common criminal. Took the jewels and the money and boarded the first steamboat for America. Didn’t even think to take her son with her” Mrs. Gray spoke of the act with undeniable hatred; a hatred only a mother could muster, witnessing another mother abandoning her young child without a second look.
The revelation shocked Charlotte, and a wave of sympathy flooded her suddenly. To lose the ability to walk, to lose his superiority, and also his wife? Even though it did not justify his actions entirely, it did allow him some slack. Any person in his position would harbour anger towards the world, but that didn’t mean he had to release it on every soul that crossed his path
“What happened then?”
“Sent a lawyer to handle the divorce for her. I thought Tommy would fight her with everything he had, but he didn’t. He simply agreed to give his signature on the condition she left Charlie to him. And she did. Signed off her rights to her own baby for some American cock” She spat aside, as if riding herself of venom; as if speaking of that woman would be enough to poison her
Charlotte sat there baffled, still processing the information she had just received. To think that the woman whose face she stared at every day had abandoned her family, her husband and son, and yet her picture remained up there in the wall, in the place of honour like a venerable goddess. Tommy had given her the divorce to set her free, but he refused to let go of her memory. Out of love or to preserve it for their son she couldn’t tell. Pity crept into her, as much as she didn’t want to. It showed in her eyes and her face, in the way her posture dropped and how her hands lowered to her lap.
“What a horrible thing” She lamented, her tone dropping an octave as she shook her head in disbelief “How could she do something like that?”
“Not many are willing to be a lifetime caretaker. You should know that better than most” She snuffed the cigarette on the table, leaving a little darkened mark along countless others, no doubt all of them of her own creation.
“Charlotte, there is a reason why I chose you to come instead of putting up an advertisement and letting candidates flock in like birds. You are resilient, I can tell just by the way you smile every morning at Thomas even when he yells and curses and breaks things at your feet. He is difficult and you are strong willed” The hint of a smirk returned to her face, a certain mischief glinting in her eyes “I know Thomas will eventually give in to you. Just give him more time”
More time. How much more? She could only take so much, and even the most cheerful person in the kingdom would find themselves chipped away by constant berating and mistreatment. But she had made herself a promise, to pick up this lost cause and not drop it. Mrs. Gray counted on her and trusted her, otherwise she would not have made her privy to the secrets of Thomas’ life. And that pulling she felt, that unexplainable and irrepressible sense of protection she felt for him, whether he liked it or not.
She had never been one to believe in otherworldly things, but she knew, unconsciously, that she had been put in Thomas’ path for a reason. A duty she could not abandon. Because if she dropped his cause, there may be no one else to pick it up.
Charlotte finished her tea and took a deep breath. The conversation had renewed her vigour and boosted her confidence in the task ahead. She stood from the table and smoothed down her apron
“I won’t give up on him, Mrs. Gray. I know he needs help and I will be there for it, no matter how much he pushes me away”
Mrs. Gray smiled; not a smirk, but a sincere smile.
“Good to hear. He will need someone now more than ever”
That little bit puzzled Charlotte, her eyebrows furrowed and head slightly cocked to the left
“What do you mean by that?”
Mrs. Gray stood up, a new cigarette perched between two fingers. She let expectation build up as she went through the process of selecting a match from the box to light her cigarette
“A doctor is coming in a few days. A new therapist from London, expert in wounded veterans he says”
She flicked the butt of the cigarette with her nail, as if debating whether or not to continue.
“He thinks he can make Tommy walk again”
#marsie writes#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby x you#tommy shelby x oc#tommy shelby x fem oc#tommy shelby fanfic#tommy shelby series#tommy shelby one shot#charlotte tindall#female oc#tommy shelby#thomas shelby#peaky blinders#don't hold my hand (i'll break your heart)
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Deus ex machina | A.S
Summary: When three armed men broke into yours and Arthur's house, you knew you were doomed. You locked your newborn into a room and prayed he'd be spared. When Arthur told you to hide and got rid of the invaders, you didn't believe it. It felt like an unrealistic, badly written book. But life isn't a book, and if Arthur had such skills, there clearly was much about his past you didn't know.
A/N: This was requested by @call-sign-shark <3. I'm kinda nervous because 1. I'm writing for an Arthur professional 2. I finished this with a TERRIBLE headache, so I didn't proofread it. Anyways, hope you enjoy it!
Prompt “All this time I've been hoping you wouldn't recognize me” + Arthur Shelby.
Even with shaky, sweating hands, you protectively stood in front of your baby's crib. The stiletto you held was the only weapon you believed to have in the house. The room's door was locked and it was the only barrier between you and the war zone outside.
The shadows of three men behind the front door were all you saw before Arthur told you to hide. Then, all you could do was listen, the men's heavy steps, what you assumed was them going through the drawers, how they broke every porcelain decoration and how they knocked down your beloved bookshelf.
If this was a book maybe you wouldn't be so scared, you'd be sure if they got to the room you'd be able to fight, finding strength in the darkest side of motherhood, staining your hands with blood for the baby's sake. However, it wasn't, and even if you'd kill for your child if needed, you knew the chances of getting out alive were few.
To complete the disturbing scenario, you could barely hear Arthur's steps, as if he was gone from the house, abandoning you and the child for his own survival.
Walking closer to the door, you pressed your ear to the wood surface, holding your breath to hear clearly.
“Where's the bastard?” one of the men said.
The dialog continued in a foreign language and suddenly, you jumped away from the door, holding the stiletto in the direction of the noise. Your chest moved up and down worryingly fast as you heard what you assumed a machine gun sounded like.
Shouts were heard followed by a single shot and strong stumbles. Everything went silent. Looking back to the crib, you wondered if you should unlock the door, all the diverse possibilities of what could've happened messed up your mind but eventually, when no other sounds were heard, you knew there was no other option.
Walking out the room as silently as possible, you had to stop the urge of vomiting at the scenario in the living room.
Two men's dark blood covered your beautiful mat, their eyes were still open, glassy and lifeless, not matching the surprised expression on their faces. In the hallway to the kitchen, laid another one, with a knife wound in the ribs and another in his throat.
Before you could call for your husband, water sounds attracted you to the bathroom. There he was, breathing heavily, frenetically washing his hands with a gun near his feet.
“It wasn't supposed to happen,” he drawled, looking at you through the mirror.
You immediately teared up, not sure of how to proceed from there, he had just risked his life to keep you safe but also, he kept this side of him hidden for years. Whoever this man was, it wasn't the Arthur you married. Only when his hand washing got too aggressive, you snapped out of trance.
“It's okay,” you whispered, taking his hands on yours, you washed the blood away while he rested his head on your shoulder.
He brushed his face against your cheek, his mustache scratching your sensitive skin. Intertwining your fingers with his now clean ones, you squeezed his hand tightly.
“What the fuck was that, Arthur?” you got courage to ask.
“I had to do it,”
“I know, but what-” you looked at the gun at your feet, “What the hell is that?”
Staring at it, the world got quiet for a minute, Arthur's blue eyes burnt on you as yours saw nothing but the gun, as if it had come out from a trench itself. To be honest, you wouldn't know how to accurately describe a weapon that was used at war, perhaps it'd be rusty and permanently damaged like the soldiers to handle it.
Or perhaps it wouldn't, so trying to keep the mess your life had just become the clearest as possible, it'd be fairer to say the gun came out from one of the books in the living room, brutality ripped from the pages when the invaders knocked the shelf down.
And of course, as if in the last chapter of a book, the hero Arthur Shelby remembers the gun he conveniently had at home, a little souvenir from his years as a soldier that now would be used to save everyone. What a beautiful, extremely unrealistic ending.
Except that your life wasn't a book and if your husband had reason to keep a machine gun in the house, then he wasn't who you thought he was.
His wet hands gently wrapped around your arms, “It's alright now, love, I'll just call Tommy and we'll know what was that about, eh?”
“Tommy? There are three dead men in my living room and you want to call Tommy?” you scoffed, “Call the police!”
“We can't do that,”
“What?! Are you serious?!”
“Love, I-” he gulped, “I can explain, alright? Come to the kitchen with me and I'll explain everything, we'll have a nice cup of tea and I'll explain,”
“I'm not going out there,” you argued, surely the bathroom wasn't proper to have such a conversation, but you didn't think seeing those corpses again for a single cup of tea was a nice exchange.
“Stay here then, I'll come back in a second,” he walked to the door, looking back at you with apologetic eyes before adding, “I'll be back, alright?”
He was away for only a few seconds, returning with an old newspaper in hand.
“Remember when we just moved and you read the newspaper every day? Remember a Thursday morning you thought it was weird they didn't deliver any?”
He handed it to you, the headline talked about a club being invaded and a man being murdered, below there was a blurry picture of Arthur and John, they looked much younger than the publication date and the journalist explained local gangs were always prime suspects, but were never caught due police bribery.
“All this time I've been hoping you wouldn't recognize me,” he explained.
You gulped, leaning on the sink and putting the newspaper down. How should you even feel about this? Disappointed? Angry? Fooled? Your stomach sank as you squeezed your eyes shut and when you opened it again, Arthur was right in front of you, cupping your face between his calloused hands.
“I never meant to lie to you, I didn't know how to tell and- You'd leave me if I-”
He stopped talking as you pushed his hands away. This time you leaned on the wall a few steps away from him, you touched the gun with your bare feet, even with Arthur's explanation it still didn't make any sense to you.
“Forgive me, love,” he pleaded.
Any answer you could think of was silenced by the baby's cries upstairs. Your throat tightened and you sighed, “Clean this mess, I'll tend the baby.”
“So am I-”
“When you know what this was all about, we'll talk again.”
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let mommy take care of you...
toby. aka mommy, aka mindless slut, aka clueless horny puppy.
twenty years of age. she/he. trans male. new to this side of tumblr. asks and dms are open for good girls & boys, and for anyone who wants to turn me into a real milf.
woah! important stuff!
this isn't a strictly nsfw blog. i will post about my interests and personal life. however, please only follow if you are 18 or older.
while asks and dms are open, they're not only open for dirty talking. i greatly prefer to be on friendly terms with anyone i get intimate with. so, don't be afraid to come into my dms to tell me about your favorite game, or how your day went. we can talk about those things just as much as we can talk about me using your holes for my pleasure.
i am a huge attention whore. praise and compliments are very welcome, and i like to return them as well. i also really enjoy receiving threats.
i only have experience with subbing & bottoming, but i am very curious about domming & topping.
some other things i'm curious about are puppy play, somno, cnc, knifeplay, anal, overstimulation, the list goes on... honestly, i'll try anything once! but i know for certain that i loooove rough sex, being bitten and marked up, being degraded, being ordered around, begging, breeding others, nursing/breastfeeding others, giving and receiving praise, and giving oral. and... natural smell & sweat. mmm.
i'm an affectionate person by nature, even to platonic friends. expect lots of compliments and pet names. if that makes you uncomfortable, please let me know.
call me mommy, slut, whore, skank, cumdump, cumslut, princess, whatever suits your fancy. if i don't like a title or term, i'll tell you.
i will sometimes reblog hard cnc, or posts that use the word rape.
i'm not into fauxcest, i just like mommy as a title because i feel it suits me. not interested in calling anyone my daughter, son, or child, or roleplaying as such.
one of my hard limits is drugs/being drugged. please don't talk about drugging me. i don't mind seeing it, just don't apply it to me.
woah! personal stuff! and sexy pictures!
i'm not juuust a hot body and perfect tits. i also have, like, interests. i love horror, film, music, literary fiction, video games, porcelain dolls, paranormal lore, and sharks. feel free to talk to me about any of these topics, or anything i reblog.
if you want to talk off tumblr (this messaging system sucks ass), you can ask for my discord. i also have twitter if you'd like to be mutuals there. we can also play overwatch or dead by daylight together- i might make you sit on a vibrator or cockwarm a dildo while we play.
ask for pics or videos if you'd like. be as specific as you want. i aim to please!
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So i started Ezra because of this dream i had,
Ezra Drabble <3
MINORS DNI
CW: GN! Reader, yandere themes, sadism against reader, violence against reader,non con, non con exhibition, asphyxiation, burning, poisoning, names used against reader(trash,), hand job(kinda)y/n receiving, not proof read, praise, torture, puke,
(He’d be like this after we get together)
he’s chasing you, his gang close behind.
They let you have the lead after stripping you bare for the world to see.
You find a house where someone lets you in, the lady is nice.
She has so many lovely children, all playing harmoniously, or helping her cook. It smells delicious.
You have no time to enjoy it.
She throws a robe around you, before going back to her cooking.
Her kids, thankfully, are ignoring your presence.
Maybe something should have clicked that this was nothing new to them. But you have no time to think before the door practically flies off it’s hinges, revealing Ezra, leg still raised.
Not hesitating to run and hide you end up in the woman’s cold porcelain bathtub. You pull the shower curtain around you as if to shield you… But you’re breathing so hard it’s painfully obvious where you are. like bleeding in water and he’s the shark.
He bursts through that door too, and rips you out of the shower, wrapping you in the vinyl as he rips it off the rings.
Hands grip tightly around your plastic covered throat, there’s no air, and it suctions into your mouth when you try and gasp. You writhe and wriggle around but you can’t find the way for your hands to even reach your face.
The only sounds are a cacophony of your guttural screams and the horrible rubbing of the plastic. You think you hear his voice, but the meaning is lost.
You’re thrown to the floor once on the brink of blacking out. The grout between the tiles scrapes your skin.
As you gasp and force yourself up he plants a boot to your back and forces you back flat onto the floor, knocking the only wind from your lungs.
“Stupid trash, thinking you could escape me,” spit hits your back and you cringe.
He pulls you up by your arm, twisting your shoulder harshly, you feel something pop and squeal. “Please!!! No more!!!!” You try and break free, your feet slipping on the tiles. He practically purrs while watching you struggle against him powerlessly.
“You can take it.” His smile is venomous.
You’re brought to your knees as Ezra flicks his lighter on.
The flame is brought below your arm, you pull as hard as you can as you roar in agony.
“shhhh, shhhhhh, you can take it,” he coos sickly sweet for such a horrendous moment, but the praise mixed with the pain does something to you… You can’t help the flame burning itself against your arm, just the same as the one ignited in your belly.
“Fff-fuck!! Hurts!!!!” You writhe.
“It’s okay, shhhhh,” His hand drops the lighter as his other pulls you into his lap. Even with the flame removed, your arm is in excruciating pain. You twist in his grasp and it’s still not enough to free you. He pulls you so tightly against him, the only space between you is his clothing. “Shhhh”
His now free hand palms your center, and the mix of immediate pleasure and immense pain force an orgasm from you, a shuddering scream leaves you. as you shake and come down, tears and shuddery pained sobs fill the room.
He sits there, all the while with you tightly embraced in his lap, he pets your head and coos over and over little mantras of, “You did so good, I told you, you could take it, shhhhhh, shhhhh…” right into your ear.
The pain in your arm isn’t subsiding.
He reaches behind him, grabbing something that rustles like a brown paper bag…
“Wh-What are you getting?” You sniffle through groans.
“Somethin’ special, but you can take it… can’t you?”
You nod as his hand pats you on the head.
“Wait… What is—” You stop, eyes wide, and frozen before you start to scream and flail again. You try desperately to peel yourself away from him, but his hold around your wait is too strong. “PLEASE EZRA DONT!!!” You beg.
He takes a fist full of the white powder, you don’t know exactly what it is, but you know it’s hazardous.
“No No No NO NO NO NO!!!” you repeat head shaking from side to side, as his hand chases you.
His palm makes contact at last, and you gasp in a mouthful of the powder, instantly your mouth and throat is burning. There’s no way you’ll get it all out, you panic severely, hyperventilating, and shaking, as you try and spit and cough it out.
“Shhhhh, it’ll be okay, Y/N, shhhhhh,” He picks you up with him and takes you to the bathroom’s sink.
His fingers dig into your throat holding your mouth open and reaching your gag reflex. You throw up so much blood, and stomach acid. It hurts.
“Please…” is all you have left to say, blubbering little pleas as his fingers slide deeper, emptying you. The white porcelain is speckled and streaked in red.
“You’re doing so good,” He runs a hand down your back in a soothing motion.
He pulls you back into his body and embraces you, kissing you on your forehead before enrapturing your bloody, poison covered lips with his own.
#read the tags#oc ezra#my oc#yandere#oc x reader#oc x you#yandere x reader#yandere x you#my fic#tw yandere#dead dove do not eat#bully oc x you#yandere bully oc#bully x victim#bully oc x reader#bully yandere#bully yandere x reader#yandere bully#bully x reader#bully oc#bully#tw
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