#she didn't have a horse but I wish she did
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adventurer!Belle aesthetic
#belle french#belle ouat#she didn't have a horse but I wish she did#(that s3 two seconds don't count)#woman was robbed of all the nice things she had in the animated movie (including a horse and a loving father😂🥲)#rumbelle aesthetic#not only mice but also moodboards#my rumbelle things#my things
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pick of the crop | logan sargeant social media au
pairing: logan sargeant x fem farmer!reader
sometimes opposites attract so much that a city boy is willing to get mud on his trainers
based on this request: Logan sargeant x reader smau, where she’s like a farmer in the country, and people are surprised that they’re so different? - @indesicivelyconfuzzled
MASTERLIST | BUY ME A KO-FI?
logansargeant
liked by alexalbon, yourusername and 611,209 others
tagged: yourusername
logansargeant: never been so thankful for a two week break in the race calendar, farm time has been overdue.
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user1: did we just unlock the farmer version of logan
user2: real ones have known farmer logan since his f2 days
oscarpiastri: ugh... couple goals i guess
yourusername: you guess?
logansargeant: you wish you were us
yourusername: let's not pit two powerful women against each other
oscarpiastri: thank you y/n
yourusername: i was talking about me and lily, y'all can fight amongst yourselves
user3: you guys are fake as fuck cause why didn't you tell me logan has a gf
user4: a farmer gf ?!?!?!?
alexalbon: so i got heat from you for @albon_pets (follow me) but your gf has a whole ass farm?
logansargeant: and what? dodger would defo take otter in a fight
yourusername: stop the violence
alexalbon: see, this is why people are confused on how you guys got together
logansargeant: i'm just standing up for my dog child ?
yourusername: leave the children out of it
user5: idk how or when this happened but i am enjoying seeing another side of logan
user6: for real haven't seen his feral side since prema
user7: two weeks on a farm will do that to you
yourusername
liked by danielricciardo, logansargeant and 3,199 others
tagged: logansargeant
yourusername: the y/ln farm takes the cota paddock, thanks @alexalbon for recommending fifi for the job of paddock drama queen
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user9: she brought a horse for her paddock debut ???
user10: idk about you guys but i am thoroughly enjoying whatever the fuck is going on right now
logansargeant: i think fifi did great (i think dan might be friends with us now)
yourusername: she's a gentle queen (omg we've made friends?)
danielricciardo: damn right you have a new friend what a STALLION
yourusername: you can ride her if you want :)
alexalbon: WE CAN?
landonorris: WE CAN?
maxverstappen1: i would like to ride the horsey
yukitsunoda0511: dan woke me up with his scream of joy so you're morally obligated to let me have a ride on fifi as well
logansargeant: well if i knew all i needed to do was bring y/n and fifi to the paddock to make friends they would've been at miami :(
user11: crying so the reports that logan was feeling really lonely were real?
user12: at least he has y/n?
oscarpiastri: cool kids have already ridden with fifi :)
logansargeant: you screamed the whole time?
oscarpiastri: semantics
danielricciardo: i'm outside williams hospitality let me in
yourusername: that was fast?
charles_leclerc: it's kinda in the job description (we're all here please let us in)
user13: the way all the teams are gonna be like where are all of our drivers and why are they all running away?
williamsf1
liked by yourusername, logansargeant and 610,994 others
tagged: logansargeant, alexalbon
williamsf1: austin you delivered !! logan and alex pick up three and four points each in logan's first points and our first double points finish of the season !!
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user14: someone tell y/n she's not allowed to go home, she's a williams employee now
liked by logansargeant
alexalbon: WHAT THE FUCK IS A KILOMETRE I LOVE YOU AMERICA
logansargeant: 🤨🤨🤨🤨
alexalbon: don't lie you love the bit
logansargeant: no i think YOU love the bit
alexalbon: today i love YOU 😘
yourusername: 🤨🤨🤨🤨
alexalbon: i guess i love you too
yourusername: i would like to think so. don't think i didn't see you swipe a jar of marmalade
alexalbon: GUILTY
user15: williams points, maybe america isn't all bad ...
yourusername: home race did pretty boy so good :))))
logansargeant: idk i think you might just be my lucky charm and can never leave my side again
yourusername: what about the children logan :(
logansargeant: fuck dem kids
logansargeant: JOKES
oscarpiastri: 📸 📸 📸 got ur ass
logansargeant: why are you here?
oscarpiastri: i want naming rights of the next babies 😬
yourusername: logan :((((((( they have feelings :(((((
logansargeant: i'm sorry :( i just love you :(
yourusername: awwwwww i love you too
oscarpiastri: so can i name the next babies PLEASE
yourusername: you wanna give logan a tow next race?
oscarpiastri: fuck no
yourusername: then there's your answer
user16: what the fuck is going on here?
yourusername
liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant and 7,103 others
tagged: logansargeant
yourusername: there's no such thing as a snooze button here
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user17: FARM LOGAN FARM LOGAN FARM LOGAN
user18: farm logan makes me weak in the knees
oscarpiastri: why are there two pictures of logan?
logansargeant: choke.
oscarpiastri: woah i didn't know comedy was illegal in texas
yourusername: to perform comedy you kinda need to be funny oscar
oscarpiastri: i am funny?
yourusername: sure ...
oscarpiastri: stop trying to look like a nice gf on the internet you make fun of him just as much as i do
logansargeant: she did say that she prefers dermot over 'my ass'
yourusername: LOL sorry logan....
landonorris: am i dumb?
oscarpiastri: yes :)
yourusername: ass is another way to refer to a donkey lando
landonorris: ohhhh. in that case i am a massive donkey
yourusername: oh that's not...
user19: y/n having to deal with more than logan and oscar will kill her i fear
alexalbon: SHEEP PLEASE BRING SHEEP NEXT RACE PLEASE I LOVE SHEEP
yourusername: you good?
alexalbon: i love sheep. sue me
yourusername: we actually host sheep cuddle session at the farm lol
logansargeant: can confirm they are very cuddly (not as much as you)
alexalbon: 1. why thank you logan 2. LILY CANCEL THE FLIGHTS
logansargeant: i was talking about y/n... but i knew you remembered our snuggle on the plane
alexalbon: i'm like an octopus in my sleep, just ask lily or george
user20: please santa bring me a cuddle session with the sheep at y/n's farm 🤞
logansargeant
liked by alexalbon, yourusername and 503,776 others
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logansargeant: 2024 williams? no. y/n's tractor? YES
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user21: country boy i love youuuuuuuuuuuu eh
user22: third pic is doing something to me that is irreversible
yourusername: lovely lovely cowboy, i might have to ban you from working on the farm cause you're too distracting
logansargeant: saying that as if you don't make collecting eggs look like the hottest thing in the world
yourusername: you looking mighty fine wrangling the cows
logansargeant: you riding a horse makes me go feral
alexalbon: OKAY WE'LL BE ENDING THAT THERE BEFORE IT LEAVES THE PG RATING
yourusername: boooooo you're no fun 🍅 🍅🍅
logansargeant: as if you aren't posting up your feet all over the timeline 🤨
alexalbon: ffs it's just double trouble with you people
user23: only time that driving a tractor is attractive for f1 drivers
oscarpiastri: you guys look like you've jumped out of a trashy romance novel
yourusername: you read them enough to know that
oscarpiastri: what is on my kindle is between me and god
logansargeant: oscar jack piastri leave us out of your smut
oscarpiastri: oh stop being so dramatic, i don't want to know what you freaks do on that farm
logansargeant: and you'll never know. don't think of my girlfriend like that
yourusername: and don't think about my boyfriend like that
oscarpiastri: you people are infuriating
yourusername: we irritating 👯♀️
logansargeant: they hate to see bad bitches winning 💅
user24: this relationship is so precious to me
yourusername
liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant and 31,503 others
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yourusername: farm update: meet the formooooola one grid!!
yuki has eaten all of my shoes :(
alex has taken station in the chicken coup
charles thinks he's a dog?
max and daniel just snooze everyday under the orange trees
george is always right at the door every morning
oscar and logan are just obsessed with each other and the goats
yes i did name the one with the prettiest coat after lewis
fernando is always sat on some poor soul (usually one of the cats)
carlos and lando chase each other constantly
lance and esteban are chill and just like cuddles
valterri drags zhou to do dumb stuff (they got stuck in a window? don't ask)
pierre demands to be brushed everyday
checo, nico and kevin are the mother hens
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user27: stop the count!!! this IS the cutest moment of the year
yukitsunoda0511: i'm sure cow yuki has a very good excuse
yourusername: i don't have any leather shoes so at least he's not a cannibal?
logansargeant: he did eat my limited edition converse though 🤨
lewishamilton: i simply HAVE to meet cow lewis he sounds like a great dude
yourusername: he's very calm and does love affection
logansargeant: he let me give him belly rubs !!
lewishamilton: that is cute (do not try to touch my stomach)
logansargeant: ... noted
user28: i will never recover from this and need constant updates please
logansargeant: cow me might be obsessed with oscar but real me is still obsessed with you
yourusername: don't tell the others but both you and cow logan are my faves - i love you
logansargeant: awwww i love you too
alexalbon: OUTRAGE
oscarpiastri: ROBBERY
yourusername: oh please ....
logansargeant: you snooze you lose
danielricciardo: awww they can't even separate us as cows @maxverstappen1
maxverstappen1: we're bffs in every universe daniel
yourusername: this is very heartwarming
logansargeant: we're still better though, right?
yourusername: oh of course
danielricciardo: ???
maxverstappen1: ???
fin.
note: two in one day? i am on a roll - i hope you all enjoy with me finally writing for logan !! i for one am glad he's getting a second season!
#f1#f1 x you#f1 instagram au#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 social media au#logan sargeant imagine#logan sargeant#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant social media au#logan sargeant x you
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Meeting and Treating an Injured Mizu
Pairing: Mizu x Reader
Tags: fluff, angst, blood, injury, first meeting, developing a crush, showing off, kissing, literal sleeping together
A/N: I love her a lot, I can't get her out of my head.
You were getting ready to sleep when you heard hard banging sounds on your door. Since it was late at night you suspected trouble, not someone being in trouble. The last thing you suspected was an injured!Mizu covered in blood, with an equally bloody sword collapsing into your arms. You heard about the blue eyed samurai but you figured it was just a tale, that it wasn't a real person but there she was, bleeding out in your arms.
When she wakes up the first thing she does is look for her sword to defend herself with. You wouldn't dream keeping it from her but you also didn't leave it by her side for this exact reason. As grateful as injured!Mizu is that you helped her she had no plans to stick around. There are a lot of powerful people hunting her, and you're just a civilian, you shouldn't deal with her problems.
You weren't even supposed to see her, she wanted to... burrow your horse and leave, but as luck would have it the horse got away from her, which then lead injured!Mizu to waking you up. It may have been a bad strategy but with how much blood she lost she did good walking all this way.
Injured!Mizu insists that she can leave right away, just give her a clean set of bandages and she'll be out of here. She's surprised when you told her to stay a while. Well she has to repay you for scaring off your horse of course, you're not letting her off the hook that easily. That would make you a very poor healer. While she's here she needs to follow your rules.
As annoyed as injured!Mizu is with you she can't deny that you patched her up pretty good. And you are a healer so you'll probably do a better job then her too. Quickly shows how stubborn she truly, slapping your hand away when you try to take a look at her wounds and saying she can unwrap the bandages herself, you just need to apply the medicine. She keeps her guard up around you even with a fever, always glancing at her sword.
Despite her injuries she's still up early every morning to train but she doesn't use her sword but it's scabbard as per your orders. It's lighter and there's less ways for her to injure herself if she begins to feel sick. When injured!Mizu notices that you're watching her with great interest she smiles to herself, amused that you could look at her in awe when she's used her techniques to kill people. But she suspects you already know that.
When she gets a little better she starts to chop wood for the fire, for cooking, for warmth, early in the morning. Injured!Mizu can still wield an axe with one hand, although that isn't that odd when you take into a count that she's in really good shape. You try not to stare too long though, that wouldn't be appropriate, she's a stranger and on top of that she's a patient.
Before she got better you used to eat together in silence but after she got better injured!Mizu got a bit more talkative. She kept her past and most of her identity hidden but she talked about her travels to many towns and villages and the people she's met. Most of her stories end with her getting in a fight and having to leave. Hopefully she leaves on good terms with you.
You notice that she has trouble sleeping and despite her insisting otherwise you manage to talk her into sharing your bed. Injured!Mizu is scared she might bleed all over your bed, and you if her wounds open up. However you can tell by the blush on her cheeks that there's more to it than that. Given how she never mentioned dating anyone you assume she hasn't slept next to many people. She hardly sleeps at all the first night, only on the third does she begin to relax a little.
A big part of you wishes injured!Mizu stayed longer, but a week is already too much for her while she's on the run. She's grateful, she really is, you're a wonderful person and she's lucky she feel into your arms, but she can't stay forever. This is for your own good too, your own safety.
Injured!Mizu may not have had many crushes but she can tell that you've been giving her heart eyes while she was working. Of course she'd notice you staring, she probably has heightened senses too. Since you're crushing on her would you take a kiss on the cheek as payment? Mind you this is a once in a life time thing. So rare. How could you say no to such an offer?
When others arrive asking about injured!Mizu, about a blue eyed samurai passing by here you tell them you've seen someone like that in the past few days. But of course when they ask not only do you ask for payment, enough to buy yourself a new horse but you also point them in the opposite direction.
#blue eye samurai#mizu#bes#blue eye samurai x reader#mizu x reader#mizu blue eye samurai#bes x reader#blue eye samurai imagine#mizu imagine#bes imagine#blue eye samurai headcanons#mizu headcanons#bes headcanons#blue eye samurai fluff#x reader
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Toy Horses Outside the Brothel
You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn't realize that war could change you both. (angst, depictions of abuse, poverty, prostitution, canon-typical themes, death, war, time jumps)
A/N: This is dedicated to @runnning-outof-time ! Thank you for giving me guidelines and for reading my work before anybody else did. You’re amazing and I wish I could write Tommy as good as you do.
Want to be tagged? navigation | main master lists | PROTECTION MASTERLIST
BIRMINGHAM, 1900:
Tommy first met her when his father took him to the docks. Arthur Shelby Sr. told impressionable young Tommy that there were kids he could play with by the docks. Tommy agreed, wanting to impress his father. On the way there, right outside of what looked like a house with many rooms, was her.
You were lonely and something in Tommy told him to play with you instead. Besides, the boys were too big around the docks. Arthur Shelby left him right outside the establishment and threw a shilling to you. You picked it up, stuffed it in your pocket, and looked at him.
He smiled at you widely, a tooth missing from his mouth and extended his hand towards you.
“I’m Tommy,” he said. You reciprocate the gesture, telling him your name and shaking his hand. You were more reserved, Tommy noticed. He was so used to the ruckus in their house that he expected every child to be as energetic as them. “Why did my father give you money?”
“He wants me to play with you while he’s inside,” you said. “I don’t have many toys but…I do have this,” you said, showing him your wooden horse toy. They were your prized possession, one of the few gifts that your father sent when he promised the world to your mother.
“Oh! I love horses,” he said. “Do you? I like watching horses,”
“Yes,” you replied. “My mother said that my father owned many. I’ve never met him though. Where do you watch horses?”
“That’s alright. Fathers hit kids. See?” he said, showing you a bruise on his side quickly. “My mother puts ice on it and it tickles. We watch it in the races. My mum takes me for my birthdays. She usednto ride a white horse before. She told me. Do you go to school?”
“No,” you shook your head. “But my mum taught me how to read and how to write. Sometimes, Big Johnny teaches me arithmetic. One plus one equals two,”
“You’re smart. Who’s Big Johnny?”
You hummed, making the wooden horse gallop on the murky ground. People in the house all told you that you were. If only poor Mary Magdalene had the means to send you to school. If only. You stop your movements and move your toy towards Tommy.
“Here,” you said. “Big Johnny is the man who runs this place. He’s kind,”
“You won’t have a toy,” he replied.
“It’s okay. I have more but they’re in my mama’s room. My father sent them. Sorry if it’s dirty,”
“Thanks,” he said. It’s the first time anyone has ever given him something without asking for it. He keeps it with him; keeps the memory of a girl who watched him intently while he played with a toy horse. That’s why when his father exited the house, with less money in his pocket, Tommy asked if he could come again next time.
-
When the house closed, you ran to your mother’s room. You usually had to stay out until five in the morning, sleeping on the sacks right in front of the brothel until your mother woke you up. She’s been seeing less men these days…always cooped up in her room, asking for you. She didn’t mind if you stained her bed with sweat and grease. She’d ask how your day was and you told him about Tommy, the boy you met earlier.
“I’m glad you have a friend,” she coughed into her white handkerchief. The blood stain was normal now. You were worried at first, but your mother told you to never tell anyone. You just never knew how serious it all was when you slipped once. You were talking to Big Johnny; he was teaching you how to subtract.
“If I help you, are you going to pay me?” you asked, perched on his lap. He had been the only father figure in your life. He’d help your mum surprise you for your birthdays and give you some money every now and then.
“Pay you? You’re robbing me,” he kids. “What do you need the money for?”
“I’m planning to buy mum a present. A nice handkerchief,” you said. “The one she has has blood—“
“What is it, bug?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing.
“Nothing,” you shrugged, smiling sickly sweet.
“You have to tell me,” he replied. “It’s your—your safety,”
It was your turn to look confused.
“But mum told me to never tell anyone,” you whispered, heart racing. What did he mean by it? “Why would I not be safe? I’m safe. I have mum with me,”
Big Johnny ran his hand through his hair, then his chin. You knew that it was a sign of his agitation, so you relented.
“You can’t tell anyone,” you whispered. “But mum has been coughing up blood for a while. She said it’s fine. You won’t take her from me right, Johnny?”
“Fuck, kid,” he sighed, stressed at the sudden turn out of events. “No more arithmetic today, okay? I’ll go talk to your mum. Just go outside or play or whatever,”
“Is everything okay?” you asked, panic rising in your throat. It constricts while you keep yourself from crying. “Mum will be so mad at me! Please don’t tell on me,”
“Do you know why she’s coughing up blood?” he asked, his voice serious. He knew that you had to be talked to in his “adult voice” for you to listen. You knew that he needed to be stern for you to listen.
“N-no…” your hair falls messily as you shake your head, picking on your nail beds.
“She’s sick, bug,” he said. “If we don’t do anything about it, you could get sick too. The two of you might die,” he explained. “Look, kid…you have a bright future ahead of you, alright?”
“What will you do?” you asked. “You can’t take her from me! Please, Johnny. My mum is all I have,” you cried, tears started flowing once the first one dropped.
Johnny couldn’t do anything else. He relented but locked your mother in her room. Whenever you went in, he made sure you had some face mask on to protect yourself. You only saw her for a few minutes every day. Parting her was painful and Johnny had to console you while you cried. He gave up his bunk and slept in his workspace so you won’t have to sleep with your mum.
A week later, your mum died of lung cancer.
It was too late, the doctor explained. Johnny let you stay in his bunk, never mind the fact that he had no space for himself now. He didn’t mind. You were his top priority. How is he going to raise a child in a brothel?
-
Your mother always told you that as long as you were with her, you would never be lonely. There was no burial, just her body being thrown and burned with the rest of Birmingham’s garbage. It made you wonder what your body would be like dead. You decided to never end up like her, one way or another you were getting out.
Tommy continued to visit you, but he knew that you were different now. It has only been a week and you’ve grown up so fast. When he arrived, a box of your toy horses was prepared for him.
“What’s this for?” he asked, eyes brightening up at the sight of the box. His father threw a shilling your way again.
“It’s for you. I don’t want to play anymore,” you said. “I kept one white horse for me but you can have them.”
“Why not?” he asked, galloping the toy you gave him last week. “Thank you. I don’t have my own. I always have to share with Arthur, John and Ada.”
“My mom died…you were my first friend and you never met her,” you said, tears falling on the ground. “I’ve been living in Big Johnny’s room,”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “My Aunt Pol says that friends are there for each other. I’m…I’m your friend,”
You smiled a teary smile, appreciating the underlying message behind his words. He’ll be there for you. But until when?
-
BIRMINGHAM, 1905
Fifteen, you were fifteen. You haven’t even turned fifteen for a week and you were working. The owner of the house told Big Johnny that if you wanted to keep living there, you would have to work too. Johnny had no place for himself, no house—his money all went to you. Your clothes, the books you’ve read, the food you ate. He'll get you a cake with a candle along with a pound for special occasions. If you were lucky, some of the girls would give you something. Tommy’s dad stopped coming and so was the shilling you got.
He stayed, though. He’d talk to you about school and how he wanted to leave.
“You’re lucky you’re in school,” you said, watching Tommy smoke a cigarette. You were never a fan if them, seeing as your mother died of fucking lung cancer. “You have to stay,”
“I’m not built for it though. They’re all so boring,” he said, blowing the smoke away. “If only I could work like you. Why are you dressed so nicely anyway?”
“The owner told me to work,” you shrugged, pulling the strap of your dress back on your shoulder. “Johnny asked the boss if I could help him with the girls and management, but he said no. Wanted me to work because it will bring more money in,” you bitterly replied. “I want to go to school but the fucking boss wanted me to present myself as a Cherry Girl. You wanna know what that is?”
“What?”
“A fucking virgin.” you shrugged. “Said many men will pay for someone like me. Today’s my first night and Johnny cried a little bit when he saw me. I’d kill and die to go to school, Tom.”
“Shit, love, I’m sorry. I was being insensitive,” he offered. “Hm, maybe you’ll bag one rich man you know? Some rich bloke from London and he’ll take you. Besides, at least you smell nice,”
“This shit is awful,” you countered, sighing. You blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. “Fuck, I said I wasn’t going to cry tonight.”
“Hey,” he said, sitting closer to you. He wraps your arm around you and lets you stay there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll stay in school and do well, okay? I’ll study so hard; I’ll take you out of here. Let you live in a mansion with lots of space to run in. Fuck, I’m sorry, love,”
“It’s not your fault, Tommy,” was your weak reply. “I’m just…I told myself that I would never be like my mother and now, I am,”
“You’re not her,” he whispered, tightening his arms around you.m, never mind if the grease and sweat of his clothes mixed with your perfume. “You’re not her.”
-
BIRMINGHAM, 1906
“Fuck, Tom. You can’t stay here while I’m working,” you scolded. You were lying, you appreciated the fact that Tommy was here. He’ll wait until you finish your shift, until you meet your quota. It was always quick, though. You had a rich patron that covered your every living expense.
“My patron’s coming,” you told him, and he tenses. He remembered the way you cried to him after your first ever shift last year. How some old fuck didn’t even bother. He finished and threw you some coins. He remembered his rage when you told him about this new guy. He’s quite scary but he pays the most, you said. “He doesn’t like seeing me with other men,”
“I’m a man now?” he quips, a smirk on his lips. “It’s not like I can afford it. I’m broke. Besides, I’ll act like a bodyguard, yeah? All I ask for payment is a day out with you. Aunt Poll is cooking something on Sunday. Want you to eat something that’s not whatever is being cooked here. We can go on a picnic. I met a girl who worked at this mansion, and they have lots of flowers in the garden. Shit you’ll like,”
You offered him a slight smile, nodding.
“Will your aunt be okay with…me eating your food?” you asked. Tommy took notice of how insecurity laced your voice. His suggestions of meeting his family have always been met with resistance. He understood. Although Polly has been insisting on meeting the girl he’s been spending his time with, he couldn’t risk his father recognising you and then, treating you like trash.
“Of course. She’s been more annoying. Told my mum about the girl I’m seeing,” he said. “I’ll be the first boy to take you out, hm?”
“Shut up,” was your only reply.
Sunday comes and you asked your boss for a day off.
That day, Tommy took you to the garden with Polly’s chicken stew and his mum’s fig cake. Tommy didn’t let you work, he set down the food and opened the containers.
“The best meal you’ll ever have,” he said while you sat. “I should’ve done this earlier. What have you been eating?”
“I’m lucky enough to be fed. Johnny gets me some food out of the brothel sometimes.” you said. “Thanks for taking me here. I love it.”
“I knew it,” he said, spooning out your portion and giving it to you.
“I want to have a house with lots of flowers. Different coloured blooms all year round.” you said.
“The caretaker of the garden says that we can pick some flowers. Do you want to take some home?” he asked. You nodded, a flush on your face. How could someone not love him?
BIRMINGHAM, 1908
“How have you been my angel?” he asked, twirling your hair in between your fingers. “Can’t believe I missed you last week,” he mumbles, kissing your shoulder. You giggled. “I was in London and all I could think of was you,”
“I’ve never been to London,” you told him. “Are you going to take me there?” you asked, wide-eyed. He’s been your patron since you reached 18. He was quite younger than your usual customers. He always came to visit when you were seventeen but never looked at you. As if that made it better.
“You haven’t?” he asked. “I’ll take you there, Angel. I’ll show you the whole world. Hm?”
“You will?” you asked, faux excitement in your voice. He loved this; you knew. He loved that you were a fragile little bird in need of saving. He loved that you’d listen to him talk about his father. He’s the sappy kind. He liked to hold hands, talk, and make love. He’s paid you more than anyone else and gave you a hefty allowance. Big Johnny didn’t have to think about your safety anymore. “I want to go to the city! Buy everything that I see and just…breathe a different air,” you said.
“Fuck, baby, I’ll take you there and buy you everything you ever lay your eyes on. I’m not fucking around. I’ll take you there,”
“You will?” you asked. “I don’t like the idea of you leaving me. Did you know that? Sometimes, when you leave, I have to lock myself in my room and refuse everyone,” you lied. You locked yourself in because your quota was already met. You were just saying these things to keep him coming back. A little bit of pretending never hurt you. It meant a bigger tip, more money.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Of course,” you said. “You’re my hero…”
Somehow, you didn’t find yourself lying when you told him. You felt dirty, you felt like your mother when she thought your father would give her the world. But Simon paid big money to have you alone for multiple nights a week. No other customers were to ask for services.
“I’m your hero, alright…you’re my little bird. I’m dead set on taking you with me to London. Once I get my inheritance, I’ll show you the world and get you out of these slums.”
-
BIRMINGHAM, 1909
“You don’t have to do this anymore,” Tommy said. You were well enough to have your own place somewhere near the docks now. Johnny had given you some furniture that the house wasn’t using anymore, helping you fix the tables and the chairs that you would be using. You didn’t have to live at the brothel anymore and it was all thanks to Simon.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Tommy,” you chuckled. “Do you like my place?” Tommy looked around, flowerpots littered your house.
“I’m serious.” he asked. “I’ll have you safe in Small Heath,”
“And my job? What will pay for this place? I finally have enough space for my flowers.” you asked. “I can’t just leave. Come on, you have to see the view on my balcony.”
You dragged Tommy’s hand to the balcony to show him the view. You were a little far from the docks now but from your balcony you can see it. The blue water, the usual chaos…you were smiling so freely, so beautifully. Tommy stills, unspoken words lingering in the air. You could realise it too…you’ve been realising it slowly. The world was in your hands. You could seize it if you wanted it. It fills Tommy with determination. It pumps through his veins, and it rings in his ears. Determination, consistency, and power. Three things to play with the world…three things that he’ll have. He could get you a bigger house. If he played right, he could have it all.
“This is why I got this place,” you said. “I mean, there were others but the view of the docks…I used to think everything about it was so ugly, you know? So grey, so evil…so grotesque but from the vantage point, everything is different,” a soft smile played on your lips when you let go of Tommy’s hand. He already missed your touch. “I can’t leave my job now because I wouldn’t have this,”
“I’ll work for it,” he says proudly.
“Tom, I know you’re not happy with how I earn money. Fuck, I’m not happy too. I hate that job. I know you hate it when I turn down your offer. But I have nothing else. You have to support your siblings. Don’t you get it? We’re all whores, Tom. We just sell different parts of ourselves. Mine just so happens to be my body.”
It enrages him and you could see it. See his face fall apart, how his jaw ticked.
“I’ll do it.” he said. “I’ll fucking do it. You think I’m fucking around when I tell you that I’ll protect you? I will. I’ll make a name for myself and protect you. I’ll fucking protect you; I swear on my life.”
“I know you will, Tom,” you said, inching closer. “But can’t you just be happy for me? This once?”
“We could add a little chair right here,” he relented. How could he ever tell you how much he hated himself for not being enough right now? “I’ll bring some of Polly’s flowers. You’d let me stay here?”
“Only if you’re being nice,”
“What if I’m too tired to make the trip back to Small Heath? Can I stay here?” he asked.
“Sure,” you shrugged. “But only if you have food for me or something,”
“Or something? You’re not letting me stay for free? I’m your best mate,” he chuckled. “I mooch off you all the time,”
“You have more than I do. It’s time for me to mooch off on you,”
“Yeah? Well, I want yours,” he said. “I’m glad though…that you don’t have to live there anymore. You’re safer here,”
“Thank you, Tom,” you smiled, sitting by the railing of your balcony. “I’m glad too.”
“I’ll make sure you’re protected,” he promises.
“How?”
“I’ll protect you.”
-
BIRMINGHAM, 1910
Tommy gave you the number of his telephone years ago. You were shaking, something bad had happened and you didn’t know who else to turn to. Big Johnny was too busy breaking up fights in the bar beside the brothel. You walked home shakily. Tommy called the brothel earlier to tell you that he couldn’t make it tonight because of some gang business. It was fine, of course. So, you went to the market to buy some supplies. You just didn’t know that he would be there.
You were waiting for someone to pick up the phone, biting your perfectly manicured nails.
“Who’s calling?” a woman asked from the other line. Her tone was snippy, and you knew she meant business.
“Hi,” you cleared your throat. “I’m looking for Tommy Shelby?”
“Who is this?” she asked, confused as to why a woman would suddenly call Tommy in such a manner. She was used to Tommy’s girls calling, an embarrassment usually hinted when they spoke. But this new girl had no shame.
“I’m a friend of Tommy’s,”
“Tommy has many girlfriends. You’re going to have to be specific,” she said, intrigued.
“Oh, of course,” you said. You told her your name. “Is he there?”
“Tommy!” you could hear her voice call. “Some girl is on the phone for you!”
“What, Poll?” he asked, scowling.
“Pick up the phone, Tom. Your friend is asking for you,” she said, passing the phone to him. She didn’t leave the room immediately, sitting on the nearby chair instead to listen in.
“Tommy Shelby,” he says, and you breathed a sigh of relief.
“Tommy,” you whispered. “He was there…he was there.”
“Who, love?” Tommy asked. Polly noticed how his voice softened, how his stance relaxed. “Do you need me there?”
“He was one of my customers before,” you forced out. “He was always…rude and rough,” you choked. “I hate this fucking job, Tommy. I fucking hate it and he treated me like an object today just because he paid for my services years ago,” you sobbed. “I’m sorry. I know you were busy but I fucking hate it,”
“Shh…it’s okay, love. It’s okay. I’m going over there, and you could tell me,” he said. “Will that be alright?”
“I—yes,” you nodded, wiping your tears hastily. “I got some of your favourite fruit from the market today. Didn’t know you have an expensive taste,”
He chuckled softly.
“I’ll see you, alright?” he asked. “Keep the doors locked. I have my copy,”
“Okay, Tommy. Stay safe for me?” you asked.
“Of course.” Tommy put down the phone until he heard you end the line. He sighed and went to go get his coat until he saw Polly with an eyebrow raised. “Fuck, I didn’t see you there,”
“Who would? You were too lovestruck to notice anything,” she teased. “That’s the girl you’ve been seeing?”
“We’re friends, Pol,” he clarified.
“She’s the girl from the docks, then?” she asked. Tommy nodded. “Fuck, that’s rough. She’s a whore,”
“Don’t,” he said, an edge to his voice. “Don’t call her that. I’m trying to build something for all of us, Pol. For her. She hates her job…she fucking hates it and I can’t do anything about it,”
“You don’t have to save her, Tom. You can’t save everyone,” she said but she knew that Tommy was stubborn. Everything that she’ll say will fall on deaf ears.
“It’s all her,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll get her out of there if it’s the last thing I do.”
The walk to your place was unnerving. Thoughts swarmed in his head. If he only had it in him to murder the man who dared to look at you. He’s never made peace with how you earned your money, but he still happily showed up after every shift. You never talk about your customers, and he didn’t like to ask.
“Tommy, you’re here,” you greeted. He could see how swollen your eyes were; how red they were.
“Of course, I am,” he replied. “Are you okay?” He hangs his coat on the coat rack and walks towards the couch where you were seated.
“I am now,” you sniffed. “I’m sorry for making you worry but this job…people reduce me to such an object. I didn’t even know his name, you know?”
“I know, love.” he said, his heart beating inside his chest. What was it? What was the beating?
“Tommy, I’m going to make a request. It’s absurd and we haven’t done it yet…”
“What?” he whispered, unsure.
“Can-can you hold me?” you asked. “You don’t have to but…I have no semblance of what it’s like to be loved anymore. I want to pretend. At least for tonight, somebody out there loves me.”
“You don’t have to pretend,” he said. “You’re my friend. Of course, I love you.”
You only smiled, snuggling closer to Tommy. You were his friend…only a friend. How else would he look at you differently? You still had to pretend because the love that he was willing to give was not the love that you were looking for.
-
BIRMINGHAM, 1911
Multiple knocks on your door woke you up. Someone was screaming your name outside and you felt yourself panic. You took the gun that Tommy gifted you last year and crept down the stairs. You opened the door slowly to reveal two men—one older and one younger. The younger one had a smirk playing on his lips while the other looked panicked.
“Who are you?” you asked, tightening the gun behind your back.
“Arthur Shelby,” the one with the beard replied. You nodded. “I’m Tommy’s older brother. This is John,”
“Where…where’s Tommy?”
“He asked us to come get you,” John replied. “We mean no harm.”
“What happened to him?” you asked. “Come in,”
The brothers entered your house and watched you lay your gun on the table. An unspoken threat.
“Tommy’s not in a good place,” Arthur replied. “Well, he’s asking for you. He’s having these…episodes. I don’t fucking know what thr fuck they’re called but sometimes, he calls for you when he shuts down,”
“It's even worse today,” John added. “Our mother died,”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” you said, offering a small smile. “Will you let me dress better? I’ll come with you,”
You met the brothers outside of your house, your gun secured on your skirt.
“Are you Tommy’s whore?” John asked as you walked.
“John!”
“I’m not his fucking whore,”
“So, why is he always at the brothel by the docks?” he pressed.
“We met when we were kids. Your dad used to visit the brothel with him,” you shrugged. “I never understood why your father took him there all the time. It’s a dangerous place,”
“Why were you there?”
“My mother worked there. I was born there. I grew up there,” you shrugged. “Tommy was my only friend growing up. Your father stopped coming but Tommy still managed to show up,”
“I see,” Arthur replied. “You’re the girl who gave him toy horses when we were kids, then. He never let us touch them. Even now, he has them lined up on his wall,”
“Yeah, I was. I gave it to him a week after my mother died,” you recalled.
“I’m sorry for calling you his whore,” John said. He realised now that your relationship with Tommy was deeper. It was more meaningful than he realised.
“It’s okay,” you let out a small smile. “It’s a fair assumption,”
Minutes of silence passed by, and your group stopped in Watery Lane. You’ve never been in his house before; you never had the time to do so. You were also quite ashamed to show yourself. How could you prove that you weren’t after Tommy’s money if that's exactly what you are after men?
The door of the house opens, and you assume it was Polly. The same woman who you talked to on the telephone before.
“He’s in his room upstairs. Last door to the left,” she said.
“Thank you,” you rushed to where Tommy was. You didn’t bother to stay and eavesdrop. You were there for Tommy. You knocked on his door slightly.
“Stay the fuck away from my door or I will kill you,” he shouted. You cracked the door open slightly.
“It’s me, Tom,” you said. He rose from his bed and rushed towards you, flinging his arms around you. He pulled you closer. “Hi,”
“She’s dead,” he murmurs against your hair. “My mum’s dead. My dad left. I didn’t even like him, you know? He always hit the three of us. I thought it would be better if he just fucking left but my mum died because he left. Now, I don’t have her.”
“I’m so sorry, Tommy,” you said. You knew he was still struggling after his father left many months ago. He was shaking in your arms, trying to grasp you tightly. Trying to be closer. “I’m so sorry,”
“I…I don’t know what to do,” he said. “You never got to meet her. She’d love you; you know?”
“That makes us even,” you saw a small smile on his lips. “I’m here now, Tom. You could rest,”
“You’ll still be here when I wake up?” he asked meekly, like a child.
“I’ll be here,” you nod, caressing his cheek softly. He nods, yawning after he evened out his breathing.
“Shit, love. I’m so tired,” he yawned again. “Let’s both go to sleep. We deserve it. I’ll see you when I’m awake?” he asked, adjusting your position on his small bed.
“I’ll see you,” you confirmed, snuggling closer to him.
-
“Tommy’s playing a dangerous game,” Polly commented from downstairs. It has been met with no resistance.
-
BIRMINGHAM, 1914
“Good afternoon, Pol,” you smiled. You were invited for Sunday dinner, and you decided to bring cake from the bakery that Tommy liked. You’ve only met them last year, but you’ve become such an integral part of their family that people knew you were closely associated with them. Even Simon.
“Oh, you didn’t have to bring cake,” she said. “We’d rather you spend it somewhere,”
“It’s alright,” you said. “I wanted to do something nice,”
“Keeping Tommy levelheaded is nice enough. Seriously, what did you do?” Ada asked, chopping the vegetables. She was reluctant at first but now, she couldn’t go a week without ranting to you. Girls’ night is what she called them.
“I don’t know,” you chuckled. “May I help?”
“If you could kindly chop the carrots, please,” Polly said. You set yourself and rolled your sleeves, peeling the carrots first. “Tommy and the boys went out for a while. They said it was some business with the Blinders. While they’re out, how are you?”
“Oh,” you nodded. “Me?”
“Of course. Ada has been talking my ear off about some guy she’s so secretive about,” she scoffed.
“I’ve been working less,” you confessed. “I’m helping out on the counter. Helping Big Johnny with the money and the accounts. I work a few times a week now. Simon’s been frequenting the brothel and well, you know what Simon does. It helps that he doesn’t stay long. The brothel pays me for my assistance. I can buy you cake every week now,”
“Don’t do that. Finn will be spoiled rotten,” Ada says. “Besides, you deserve nice things for yourself, you know,”
“I know but I can’t help it,” you said with a soft smile. “I like doing nice things for you,”
The boys soon come through the door, spilling with laughter. Tommy makes a beeline towards you as soon as he spots you.
“How was the afternoon?” you asked, bumping your hips with him.
“It was good,” he said. “Finn got into a fight with some kids, and we had to deal with it.”
“Is Finn okay? I brought cake.”
“Just a bruised ego,” he chuckled. My favourite?”
“Of course,” you said. “But let’s pretend that it’s for Finn, alright?”
“It’s always for Finn,” he groans. “He has you wrapped around his finger,”
“He does. He’s such a charming kid,” you praised. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Taking a bath before dinner. You have me for now,” Tommy said. “Can I sleep at your house later?” he asks in a softer tone. He’s been sleeping at your place ever since last year. He said you make him sleep better.
“You know it’s never a problem,” you said. His presence made you feel safe. He made you feel secure. “Will we leave together?”
“Yes. I’d like to sleep as soon as possible,” he says, dropping his forhead on your shoulder. You only chuckled. “I’m so tired. So, so tired,”
“Who are they fooling?” Ada asked in whispers. “Are we sure they’re best mates?”
“They’ve insisted on it for years,” Arthur shrugged. “I don’t think they’re aware,”
“I don’t think so either,” John says. “But Tommy throws a fit whenever she has to meet that Simon prick. Calls him a rich bastard.”
“He is a rich bastard,” Ada nodded. “She says he just came into his inheritance. Ammunitions,”
“Shit. She hit the jackpot, then,” John commented. “Wonder how that’s gonna go?”
“There’s nothing to wonder, John,” Arthur says. John could only nod his head.
-
You stumbled inside your house around half past midnight. You were both quite tipsy, having drank Pol’s stocks of wine. The Shelby Company Ltd. has been gaining more popularity now, along with the Blinders. Hell, Tommy even posted two Blinders to guard you. “For when I’m not around,” he said.
“Pol’s going to kill me for giving Finn too much cake,” you giggled, leaning on him.
“I reckon you’re banned from Sunday dinners,” Tommy jokes, taking his shoes off. He takes note of how you’re dressed today. “You know you can remove all the fucking things on your body right? Rouge…the jewels. Where’d you get them? Is the rich bastard buttering you up?”
“I like it. Dressing up makes me happy,” you frowned. “I’m allowed to like nice things, right?”
“Right,” his jaw ticked. It should be him who's giving you these gifts…showing you a lavish life. He hated it. “Later?”
“Later,” you nodded. “When I’m banned from Sunday dinners, you wouldn’t let me be left out, right?”
“‘Course not,” he shrugged, pulling you to your bedroom like he owned the place. You didn’t mind. You were happy to see that he was comfortable in your home. “You’re my best girl.”
“That’s what you say to your horses,”
“You’ve got really good horse sense and you’re always on your high horse,” he says, peeling his coat away. He was rummaging in your chest now, looking for clothes he might have left until he settled on a simple white shirt and pyjama pants.
“Yeah, yeah. You and your horse wordplay.” You entered the bathroom to dress down. Just like Tommy, you settled in his shirt and pants. They were more comfortable than singlets and you certainly didn’t want to make Tommy uncomfortable.
He was already waiting for you on the bed when you came back. He pats the space beside him. You obliged. You were looking into each other’s eyes with small smiles, Tommy’s finger trailing down your arm absentmindedly.
“I…” words died in his throat before he could get them out. “I…”
“What is it, Tom? Are you okay?”
“I’ll get you out of here,” he rasps. “I’ll get you out of there and I won’t let you work a day in your life anymore.”
“Tommy,” you sighed. “I can’t—can’t leave this job. It’s all I have,” He tightens his arms around you, afraid that you’ll ask him to let go.
“I know but once I come back from the war—“
“The war?” you asked, removing his arms around you. “War?”
“We enlisted,” he clarifies, trying to gauge your reaction. “Once I come back, I’ll be so fucking rich. I’ll have you. I’ll keep you and you won’t have to lift a finger. We’ll live in a mansion and have servants. Just like what we used to talk about,”
“Tommy, you’re going to war?” you asked, standing from the bed. His eyes watched you settle down shakily on the single chair by the bed. “Fuck. You’re going to war. You’re going to leave me,”
“No, love. Come on, I—“ he grunts, sitting up from his relaxed position.
“It’s war, Tommy! They change people…I don’t want to lose you; do you not get that? Are you not happy here? Is that why you're throwing your life away?”
“I’m not throwing my life away,” he says, a frown. “We’ll be drafted one way or another because we’re poor. Might as well do it now than be forced. Some of my men will still watch over you every now and then. They’ll still make sure that you’re safe. We’ll send letters. Alright?”
“Letters,” you scoffed. “And what if the letters stopped coming?”
“Don’t say that, please,” he begs. “I’m doing this for all of us. The business will be handled by Polly and when I’m back, I’ll make it even bigger. Alright? You have to trust me,” You didn’t even want to ask about the business. You didn’t want to ask why more men wore peaky caps. You didn’t want to ask what the Shelby Company Ltd. really was. Not now.
“I know you will, Tom,” you said. “But I’m scared. For the first time since I’ve known you, you won’t be here. I’m scared,”
Tommy lays his hand on your shoulder. Words he couldn’t say lingered in the air. I’ll marry you once I step foot in England. He didn’t know what else to say; didn’t know if there was still something to say. So, he kneels before you and makes you look at him. You were crying. So afraid, so alone.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“When will you be leaving?”
“I have two more days,” he says. “Will I still see you?”
“Yes, of course,” you said. “You’ll come back for me?”
“Of course. I have a picture of you already in my pocket. I have to make sure to come back to you,” he said. “and everyone else, of course.”
He fishes a necklace from his pocket, his mother’s locket.
“Here,” he said, showing it to you. It was one of the last pieces of jewellery she owned. “Mum gave it to me. You know I’ve always worn it. I want you to wear it now. Think of it as a loan, yeah? You’ll give it back once we see each other again,”
“Tommy, I—“
“I want you to accept it. I want you to see you wear it now. I want to see you wear it before I leave. But most of all I want for us to stay the same,” he says, holding you and kissing your hair softly. You couldn’t push him away. You’ve longed for this your whole life. To be held, to feel loved. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.
“I’m sorry. So, so, so fucking sorry.”
“I don’t think you’re wasting your life away,” you cleared your throat. “I’m so—I’m so proud of you and your bravery. I’m so proud of you but I can’t be fucking happy for you. I don’t want to wake up every day knowing that you’re not here. I don’t want to have to guess if you were alive or not.”
“I am,” he promises. “I’ll be alive. I’ll come back as your Tommy. Just…wait for me, alright?”
You clung onto Tommy two days later by the train. He whispered that he would come back. He said that he will make sure of it. He breathes in the smell of your hair—roses. He envelopes you in his arms once more and turns to leave, never looking back. You knew, in your hysterics, that if he comes back from the war, the same old Tommy you used to know would never be.
PART 2 PART 3
TAGLIST: @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius @trixie23 @everythingelseisextra
#tommy shelby x reader#thomas shellby x reader#tommy shelby#peaky blinders x reader#peaky blinders#hurt/comfort#tommy shelby angst#thomas shelby angst#cillian murphy
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Mizu was wrong to let Akemi be taken because they both deserve better
First, a confession. When I saw this for the first time:
I was relieved. I knew that was what Mizu was going to say and I felt like it's what I would have said in that situation too.
When Akemi does this:
I cringed, because if we know anything about Mizu, it's that she (1) isn't quick to make friends (though to be fair, even though Akemi did try to kill Mizu, so did Taigen - multiple times! - and look how that turned out lol), and (2) doesn't take orders.
So when Akemi and Ringo and later Taigen get angry at Mizu, are they being unfair?
Sure, Mizu isn't obligated to treat Akemi - or Taigen or Ringo or anybody else - nicely, or to serve them, or to be honorable, or be a hero to them, or whatever. No human being is obligated to any other human being. We all have the choice to do whatever we want to anybody else. But the point of flawed characters in storytelling is the tension between those characters and their potential. Their growth into someone who can choose the higher, harder path, who chooses to be obligated to others, who chooses kindness and compassion.
Because Mizu's problem isn't revenge. Nobody is preaching at Mizu that revenge isn't the answer. Her circumstances do suck, her life has been incredibly unfair, she is marginalized, and as far as we and Mizu know for most of the season, she is a child born of violence and no one is saying that that violence doesn't deserve to be repaid in kind.
Mizu's problem is isolation. And the fact that she thinks she has no responsibility toward her fellow human beings, because her hatred of her own circumstances and her having no life outside of her quest devours everything else. This is a problem because it turns Mizu into the worst version of herself. A version that hurts the people who like Mizu, the people who care about her.
Practically, Mizu has just taken on an entire army almost by herself. She's hurt. She's exhausted. If she were to defend Akemi now, it'd be yet ANOTHER fight, this time against horsed and armored samurai.
But that's not the reason Mizu gives Ringo. Mizu's ability or willingness to fight isn't even on her mind. All she says is, "She's better off."
"She's better off" is Mizu deciding what's best for Akemi. Akemi's entire story is about her being a caged bird longing to fly free.
One after the other, every man and woman in Akemi's life makes her decisions for her. She has to grovel and smile prettily and lie through her teeth just for the chance to be heard. Mizu judges Akemi for being a rich princess who isn't being more grateful for what she has, all without understanding Akemi's situation, and without any curiosity for why Akemi feels the way she does. From Akemi's perspective, Mizu is just one more person (one more man!) in a long lineup who ignores Akemi's wishes and (casually!) makes a decision for her that impacts Akemi's life greatly.
In the end, even Seki concludes that Akemi should get to decide what's best for Akemi. What others think that Akemi SHOULD want does not matter compared to what Akemi wants for her own life. As Madame Kaji said - Madame Kaji, who despite calling out the weirdness of Akemi's situation as well as the childishness of her decision to run away - is the only person Akemi meets who doesn't try to make decisions for Akemi, but instead only challenges Akemi to work for and be worthy of what she wants - she needs to decide what she wants for her own fucking self, and then take it.
Mizu being born female does not make her automatically wiser for letting Akemi be taken, and it does not preclude her from having a hand in giving Akemi back to her jailers. A patriarchy that Mizu knows full well would stop Mizu from achieving her own goals if she didn't present as male.
Mizu is still understandable here. She just had to kill Kinuyo, a disabled girl sold by her father into prostitution, a girl in a situation so far beyond Akemi's worst imaginings that I can practically feel Mizu's world being rocked just by comparing them in her mind the way she most likely is. That still doesn't make it right for Mizu to let Akemi be carried off to be sold into marriage by her father against her wishes. Those "good options" Mizu thinks Akemi has don't exist, no more than they ever existed for Mizu. Akemi and Mizu both have to get creative, make the best of their circumstances, take dangerous risks, and break rules in order to have any control over their own lives.
Even on my first watch, when at first I thought that Mizu had made the right decision and that Akemi was being unreasonable, Akemi screaming Mizu's name while being dragged, LITERALLY DRAGGED, back to her father was haunting as hell.
Mizu had the power to help Akemi, and simply chose not to.
Mizu lets Akemi be taken, Akemi who has just begun to trust Mizu. Mizu calls Ringo weak and quickly - seemingly easily - turns her back on him. Mizu values her quest over Taigen's life, after Taigen has endured days of torture to protect her, and she not only risks his life in the process, but doesn't tell him that Akemi is engaged to someone else, or that she came looking for Taigen, or that she is in danger.
Mizu's sword breaks because it is too brittle. Too pure. Too singleminded. Mizu only melts down the meteorite metal when she mixes the metal with objects from parts of her life that have nothing to do with her quest. Objects from the people she cares about, and who care about her.
All I'm saying is - Mizu doesn't have to be a hero. But she is the better version of herself when she reaches out to help and connect with others. When she's just a decent, kinder human being. And I think that's what this story is telling us that we should want for Mizu.
#blue eye samurai#mizu#akemi#bes#I have so many more thoughts about Mizus tangential relationship to honor and heroism but that is for another post#also reviewing these scenes made me realize that when Mizu calls Ringo weak she LOOKS POINTEDLY AT HIS (LACK OF) HANDS#she legit calls him weak for his disability after EVERYTHING THEY'VE BEEN THROUGH#like Ringo was def disappointed that his master chose not to behave like the (nonexistent) samurai ideal#but what made him ANGRY was the weakness comment and I did not clock that before#also to be explored more in another post#a third thing to explore in another post is how both mizu and taigen have wronged akemi on the basis of Edo period society being A Society#though Mizu starts to correct her own mistake by going back for Akemi - its Taigen whos on thin ice lolol
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Ma'am
Aitana Bonmatí x Royal!Reader
Summary: You steal your father's plane
You adjusted your sunglasses so they covered your face properly as you stepped off the plane.
Taking the private plane without permission wasn't one of your worst deeds but, with one of your brother's absolutely slammed by the public, it wasn't like you could become the least favourite child for something as small as this.
"Ma'am," One of your security detail said," Might I just say-"
"If this is a complaint about anything other than the heat, I don't want to hear it."
He chuckled. "I was going to say, ma'am, that we should hurry along to get out of this heat."
You laughed. "Good idea."
You slipped into the car, instantly kicking off your shoes and rummaging through the side compartment for a snack.
"ETA is thirty-five minutes. We've already called ahead so it should be smooth sailing from here."
"Thank god." You stretched out on the seats and stared out the window. "Did you hear back from my brother?"
"Yes, ma'am, His Royal Highness wishes you a good trip and has already informed your father that you're out on business as a favour to him."
You scoffed. "A favour for William, as if."
"Best not to shoot a gift horse in the mouth, ma'am."
You rolled your eyes, shooting off a text to Kate. "He's only doing it because he knows I'm seeing Harry soon. Honestly, the rivalry between those two is horrendous."
"I don't think I can comment on that."
You ignored him. "I mean, this tug of war is so stupid. I don't need to be bribed to know which one I prefer over them. Which is, just for the record, neither. Urgh. Men suck...No offence."
"No taken, ma'am."
You waved a hand dismissively. "You know what I mean. I think they're both trying to get me to babysit for them."
"I don't really think that they need you to babysit for them."
"It's the thought that counts." You sighed and sat up straight, shooting off another lazy text to Kate to make sure that William didn't narc on you.
The streets of Barcelona sped past you and soon you were exiting the car.
The training grounds didn't look that impressive although you were neither a football expert nor an architect so your opinion on that matter probably couldn't be trusted.
A man was stood outside, waiting for you.
"Her Royal Highness, Princess y/n of England. Ma'am, this is Joan Laporta, the president of Barcelona FC."
He dipped his head. "Your Highness, it is a pleasure to have you here."
"Pleasure to be here," You replied, shaking his hand.
He led you through the hallways, explaining everything to you even though you were half listening. You peeked in to see the men in their gym session but quickly left for the pitches to watch the women.
"As you can see, ma'am," Joan continued on," We pride ourselves on excellence here. We strive every day to be the best."
"Your women's team certainly live up to that," You replied, staring out across the pitch to the group of women running drills.
"Yes. We're very proud."
He seemed to realise that you had no interest in speaking to him anymore as he led you across the pitch to the group.
Your bodyguard cleared his throat again to announce you. "Her Royal Highness, Princess y/n of England."
You smiled in greeting, striding through the group (who parted quickly) to whom you had travelled to see. You cupped the back of her neck and drew her in for a soft kiss.
"Hola."
"Hola, amor."
Aitana drew back with a smile. "I thought you said that you were busy."
You shrugged. "I cleared my schedule. Stole Dad's plane."
"Can you do that?"
"What are they gonna do? Arrest me?"
She laughed, rolling her eyes as a hand came to rest on your hip. She leaned closer. "You kissed me in front of my teammates."
"I'm pretty sure they knew you had a girlfriend."
"Si, but not who my girlfriend was."
"We're hard launching." You shrugged again and gave her a blinding smile.
You turned that smile to her teammates, still beaming.
Many of them were in a state of shock, mouths hanging open comically. You didn't recognise any of them apart from the two English players.
You were there that day at Wembley to hand them their medals with William for the Euros and you were also there the day Lucy Bronze received her MBE.
You smiled politely at both, soaking in the warmth of Aitana's hand on your waist.
"Ma'am," Your bodyguard said, suppressing his own laughter," Perhaps we should go inside. We've been travelling all day."
"Right, yes."
You threaded your fingers through Aitana's and dragged her away, leaving the rest of the Barcelona team to scramble after you both.
Aitana lagged slightly, letting you take the lead and you could hear her whispering quietly to Keira Walsh.
"You're dating Princess y/n?" Walsh said in a hush," This isn't something that you can just spring on us."
You could picture Aitana turning red. "It just happened. We met at the semi-final game against Chelsea and hit it off."
"With a princess. Aitana, how did you manage to 'hit it off' with a member of the royal family?"
"She's quite charming." You winked. "And I was quite happy to be charmed."
Aitana's blush deepened. "I fell into her. It was very embarrassing."
"To you," You teased," I found it hilarious. Oh, what was it I said?"
Your bodyguard spoke up, his voice incredibly deadpan and dry," You said that you'd never had a girl as pretty as Miss Bonmatí fall for you like that, Ma'am."
"Oh, yes. That's what I said. Then I asked her on a date."
"And then I told you that your father wouldn't be happy if you snuck around instead of coming straight home, Ma'am."
"Which of course, I took offence to because I'm an adult and not a stupid child. So I took Aitana out and never quite let her go."
"I thought you were meant to be in London for some fancy dinner," Aitana cut in before her teammates could badger you with more questions.
"The guests cancelled, some kind of medical emergency. I nicked Dad's plane. Good surprise?"
She grinned at you, somehow shuffling closer. "Si, very good surprise."
"Great, then we're gonna get you home to pack. I've got Kate and Will covering for me and free reign of the jet. I'm thinking a few days in Greece? Or maybe Italy? We'll decide on the way."
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「Feel the magic ๛ l.n」
part xv
✧.* adjusting to your new lifestyle has never been easier with lando by your side
✧.* just something peaceful and sweet after the last chapter 🥰 this is a psa for the people who wanted to be on my taglist but never got tagged, i didn't forget or ignore you, I simply am unable to tag you and therefore removed you from the list feel free to ask me again so I can take a look at it. Taglist is open Love ya ❤️
✧.* prev part - next part
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y/nusername
liked by maxfewtrell, landonorris and 761,542 others
y/nusername summer break(ing bones) ☀
tagged: landonorris
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norry4 well at least you can joke about it 😭
carlandooo good to see you're doing okay! <3
hamilt44n love that the color of your cast matches with your nails 😂
y/nlandooo so happy to see you're doing great and are spending time with your family!
bott_ass please I'm so happy to see you living your farm life again, it's been too long since we got to see the animals 😭
sharl16 I can't explain it but the duck and y/n have the same vibe
landonorris who's that handsome guy?
y/nusername Mickey 🐴
landonorris I wasn't talking about the horse
y/nusername well I am..
norrizz pls get married, have babies, grow old together, stay together forever 😭😭😭
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y/nusername posted to their story
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y/nusername
liked by landonorris, pierregasly and 699,561 others
y/nusername with the man of the house 🐱
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yukisan wish I could spend all day in bed..
hamilt44n girl we don't get to see what she does all day and so what, give her a break 💀
norrizz my girl is chilling like she should!
maxmaxmax oh to be an animal in y/n's household :(
landonorris that should be me in your bed
y/nusername shouldn't have fled the country then
landonorris someone's gotta make a living..
landoscar girl it's in the middle of summer why you cuddled up in thick blankets 😭
norry4 man of the house? Lando has left the chat 😂
grussell63 something tells me lando doesn't have a say in this house 😂
landonorris you're right
grussell63 im sorry 😭😭
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y/nusername
liked by cecilemoulin, maxfewtrell and 701,761 others
y/nusername 🧜🏻♀️
tagged: landonorris, cecilemoulin, maxfewtrell
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maxmaxmax now who's idea was it to have a boat day knowing damn well y/n can't go in the water with her cast 😭
fewtrelllando the besties back together once again 🥰
julieeeexo couldn't they find something else to do..idk, something that can be done with a cast lmfao
y/nusername it was my idea and I did dip my feet in the water, that was enough to cool me down 😉
norry4 don't know why y'all are freaking out, let them do their thing
cecilemoulin great great great great great day ❤️
maxfewtrell did you have a great day?
bott_ass good to see y'all back together, I was getting worried 😭
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Feel the magic taglist: @celesteblack08 @mrsmaybank13 @cha-hot @judesgfirl @roseseraj @kissesandmartinis @jpg3 @amulhermaisfelizdomundo @marialovesf1 @silkenthusiasts @luvrrish @laneyspaulding19 @emily-b @formula1bby @buckybarnessweetheart @strawberrychita @iifloweringnightsii @buendiabebeta @babyvinnie @mishaandthebrits @hockeyboysarehot @ironmaiden1313 @justdreamersdream @dreamsarebig @for-our-moony @sadg3 @gaslysainz @goldenharrysworld @okqur @baw-sixteen @dark-night-sky-99
Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs @ireadthensuetheauthors @celestialams @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @harrysdimple05
-> tags further in the comments
#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#lando norris#lando norris x oc#lando norris smau#lando norris au#lando norris fanfic#lando norris imagine#lando x reader#f1 x reader
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if you lie down with me || e.w.
summary: there's one thing you and ellie don't have in common: immunity.
warnings: not beta read, swearing, blood, canon typical violence, death by suicide, ellie has concerning ideations, smut, oral, scissoring, multiple orgasms, angst!, crying during sex, arguing, probably more
word count: 6k
a/n: i know, i'm sorry for using this photo 😭 actually i'm sorry i wrote this entire thing
The end never feels like the end, does it? When you wake in the morning, the air is as fresh as the day before and the sun streams through the window at the same angle. You smile fondly at the incessant banging on your door, and at her urging tone when she tells you to get out of bed. “We have patrol,” she says, like she's said a thousand times before. What makes today any different?
The gravel road feels the same as it crunches under your boots as she leads you to the gate. Her auburn hair shines the same in the light, the same way you've admired since you were fourteen and she had just settled in Jackson.
You were helping out in the library, arms full of books stacked above your head. You struggled trying to keep them up with one hand and shelve them with the other. She noticed you from the corner, where she sat with a pile of beaten comics and a Walkman. “Need some help?” she asked, standing up from her spot on the ground. She took half the books from your pile and put them wherever you told her. After, when you asked her about the comics she was reading, her face lit up and she knew that you'd be a part of her life until death. Finally, someone was interested in knowing her.
The friendly faces of the watchmen at the gate were the same as they were yesterday, a week ago, a month ago, a year. They waved at you and wished you good luck as you mounted your horse and rode alongside Ellie onto the trail. The way she shoved her pistol in her back pocket and slung her bow over her shoulders was always the same. The way your horse galloped evenly alongside Shimmer did not deviate from the norm.
When she spoke up, her words were usual.
“Look, babe. A hummingbird,” she said with glee, pointing to the frosty trees.
You smiled at her excitement. “Poor thing, it's so cold out.”
“Don't you remember?”
“Of course I remember, El,” you laughed. “How could I forget?”
How could you forget? It was a humid summer afternoon, shortly after Ellie had turned sixteen. You had snuck out of Jackson to explore a creek you had found the day prior on group patrol. You so badly wanted to show Ellie, to share every part of you with her. You didn't know what to call it, but you assumed it was just because you were really good friends.
The soft rush of the water and the gentle breeze across your skin contrasted to the beating sun plastering your hair to your skin. You and Ellie sat with your backs against a wide oak, watching minnows skip through the water.
“Do you think animals have feelings? Like us?” Ellie thought out loud.
You hummed, “I do, but not as complicated as ours.”
She nodded in agreement before her eyes drifted to the source of a new sound, a gentle humming. She saw the gentle bird sucking nectar from a flower, tapping your shoulder gently and pointing.
“Look, a hummingbird,” she whispered.
“Woah!” You beamed, “I’ve only seen them in those nature books in the library. That's so cool. Did you know the sound actually comes from its wings?”
As you watched the hummingbird, she watched you. “It’s really pretty.”
You agreed. She said your name, but looked away from you.
“Yeah?”
“I think I like girls.”
You let the words settle in the air.
“I think I do too.”
It was the first indication that something else could happen between you and her, something less platonic than you would've thought. After that, neither of you said anything about it, confident in the fact that something more could exist in the spaces between.
It was the same confidence you had today as you followed her through the Wyoming woods, putting your trust in her. You took the same path almost every time you went out on patrol, knowing your way around, knowing the landmarks of the area. You knew you were getting close to the danger zone when you saw your favourite tree, the one you and Ellie would lean against by the creek, telling each other secrets into the night, crossing your heart to never tell another soul. Each of you knew that the other’s soul was the only one that mattered, anyways.
It was just over a year ago that you’d both carved your initials into that tree, reminders of that early morning on patrol bringing a smile to your face.
You had stopped for a moment to take a short break against the tree, letting your horses get some rest. Ellie leaned up against the tree as you pet Shimmer. The sun shone despite the snow and the brisk weather, illuminating your features gently. She admired the curve of your lips and the shape of your eyes, imagining her fingers tracing your skin under lamplight late at night. You looked up at her when your name tumbled from her lips.
“Yeah?” You said, continuing to pet Shimmer.
“I like you.”
The air stilled and your hand faltered, breath hitching. But what if she didn’t mean it like that?
You forced a laugh. “Well, I’d hope so. We’ve been friends for how long?”
“No, I…” she struggled for the right words. “I want to be more than friends. I like you. Like…romantically. And stuff.”
She played with her fingers, shuffling her feet back and forth in the snow, not meeting your gaze.
“Ellie, look at me. Please,” you whispered. She raised her eyes to yours, but still kept her head low, not bringing it up until your hand cupped her jaw. She moved her hand on top of yours, trapping it there, wondering if it was just a dream.
She closed her eyes tight when she saw you leaning in, praying that you weren't messing with her. When she finally felt your lips ghosting across hers, she leaned into you. Your touch was fire on her skin, leaving a red blush in its wake. She pressed your mouth to hers hungrily, never wanting this to end.
“I like you too,” you mumbled against her lips.
When you finally broke for air, chests heaving, you were both beaming. Ellie nervously reached into her pocket for her pocket knife, flicking it open. She held the blade against the bark of the tree, grabbing our hand and putting it on the hilt, sliding hers over top of it.
She guided your hand as you carved your initials into the tree, trapping them inside of a heart. It was cliche, but it meant everything to you.
It was the same tree that, a year later, you and Ellie passed on almost every patrol. The same tree that symbolized your everlasting love for each other. The same tree that stood since the dawn of your and Ellie’s time.
You rode casually in comfortable silence until you got to the watchtower, negative memories plaguing both you and Ellie. The floorboards still held the echoes of your voices yelling, still soaked in your tears.
Four months ago, when the rabbits were still brown and the path was clear of snow, you'd come through this watchtower to find two clickers. It caught you both off guard, as Jesse and Dina had just cleared it as safe the day before.
Ellie, always being the hero, snuck up behind one, taking it out easily, and lunged at the other. The second one, however, pinned her to the ground, and she held it by the neck, its arms clawing hers.
The sound of your pistol rang out as the body slumped on top of Ellie. She rolled it off and got up from the ground, chest heaving.
“Well,” she said, brushing dirt from her jeans, “that was pretty close. Thanks.”
When you didn't respond, she turned to see you standing with your pistol still in both hands, brows furrowed as you watched the dead body of the clicker intently. She called your name.
“What is it?”
You shook your head.
“Come on, tell me-”
“Every fucking time, Ellie,” you said, shoving your pistol back in your pocket and turning away from her. “Why do you have to run head-first into danger like that every time?”
She didn't say anything, gaze on your back as she watched you turn back around.
“What would I have done if you had gotten bit?” You said, voice a little watery. “Say something.”
She stumbled over her words, not knowing what to say. “I don't try to, you know, it’s just…” she sighed.
“You know, Ellie, sometimes I think that I value your life more than you do.”
The words hung in the air between you two, both of you knowing that you were right. Knowing that she could've been more, done so much more, saved so many people. But she was stripped of that. So what kind of meaning could she give to her life? What did she really have to live for? Before Joel, she never really had someone she knew would care if she died. Now she had you, and she didn't know how her recklessness would affect you. Now she did.
“Okay, you're right. I’m too reckless. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll start thinking before I react,” she said, voice softening.
You huffed, “I just worry about you, El. I don't know what I’d do without you.”
She hugged you tight, letting you nuzzle into her chest. She knew how you felt. Before you, she was hopeless. She didn't see a point in doing anything if her life couldn't be used by someone. What was it all for? Everything she'd struggled through? All she'd suffered?
Now she knew that she was forced to experience it all so that she could end up with you. And she’d do it a million times over.
She breathed your name. “I need to tell you something.”
You pulled away from her, “Well that's one way to start a conversation.”
She laughed nervously. “No, it's nothing bad. It's just…it might be hard to swallow.”
She gestured at an old, ratty chair. You sat and watched her intently.
She took a deep breath, drawing it into her lungs and releasing it. “Do you remember why I got my tattoo?”
“Yeah, to cover up that chemical burn.”
“I lied,” she said. “That's not why I got the tattoo.”
You furrowed your brows in confusion, silently begging her to go on.
“When I was fourteen, I was bitten. On my arm.”
You sat back in your chair.
“I waited and waited for my mind to go, for my body to go, for anything to happen, but it never did. So…I’m immune, or whatever,” she said, searching for a reaction.
Seconds of silence passed. It was shattered with a laugh.
“That's a good one, Ellie. Real funny.”
“It’s true! Ask Joel. Tommy. Maria. They're the only ones who know…”
“And you expect me to believe this?”
“Just trust me. Please. It's all I ask, is for you to trust my word. Why would I lie to you about this?” She pleaded.
“Why didn't you tell me before?”
“Because Joel thinks it's dangerous for people to know. That's how we met, you know. He was hired to get me to the fireflies…they were going to make a cure,” she said, voice trailing off towards the end.
“It didn't work, I take it?”
She shook her head. “Joel says they didn't need me.” Joel says.
“Okay,” you said, making her look up at you. “I believe you. But that doesn't mean I’m fine with you running head-first into infected like that again. Just because you're…immune, doesn't mean you can't be torn apart. Got it?”
“Got it,” she said, crouching in front of you and putting her hands on your thighs. “God, I love you.”
You cleared out the watchtower and made your way back to the path. This part was one of your favourites, winding through the mountains. Your horses trotted casually beside each other.
“Okay, okay, here's one: What do you say when a chef dies?”
“Oh god, I don't know?”
“He pasta-way!” She said, giggling before she could even say the answer.
Her laughter was contagious, sending it bubbling through your chest. “That's so bad that it's good.”
“Come on, just admit that I’m a top-notch comedian. If the world wouldn't have ended, I’d’ve been up there with Dave Chapelle.”
“Who’s Dave Chapelle?”
“I don't actually know. Some old ass comedian Joel told me about.”
You both laughed, smiles painted across your faces. However, the giggles subsided as you felt your horse start to shake slightly.
“Woah, Shimmer, you okay girl?” Ellie said, patting her side.
“Beau’s shaking too.”
“Maybe they’ve got…I don't know, a cold or something? Can horses even get colds?” You shrugged. “Maybe we should let them rest for a bit.”
You agreed, dismounting your horse and planting your feet on the ground. The shaking underneath you didn’t stop. You looked at Ellie, who looked at the mountain behind you. She yelled your name as you looked behind you.
A loud, grating noise sounded as you watched the earth of the mountain loosen from its side, rocks and boulders tumbling from it, falling in your direction.
You hurriedly mounted your horses again, kicking their ribs to get them to go. You rode as fast as you could, attempting to beat the oncoming landslide. You'd never seen one before, only heard stories and read of them in books. You were about three quarters of the way through the mountain range when the land detached from the mountain and began to slide.
“Go, go, go!” You yelled, Ellie a few feet ahead of you as her horse was younger than Beau. She glanced behind her every few seconds to make sure you were still there.
The rocks falling created a settlement of dust around you, making it increasingly harder to breathe. You finally saw the green clearing outside of the mountain range. Almost there.
The grating noise died, and you peered behind you to see the path completely covered in rubble. A few boulders still tumbled from the mountain, or whatever was left of it.
“Watch out!” Ellie yelled. You looked to your right, seeing a massive boulder rolling down the mountain, coming right for you.
You acted before you could think, much like Ellie, and propelled yourself forward off your horse as the boulder hit Beau and rolled atop of his body. You landed on the ground near Ellie, propping yourself up on your elbows to gawk at the sight.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, running to Beau. His body was mangled, bones sticking out of the skin and blood painting the grass. You felt like vomiting.
Ellie dismounted her horse, still shaking from the adrenaline, and put her hands on your shoulders, attempting to get you standing.
“Wait,” you said, leaning back down, planting a teary kiss on Beau's muzzle.
You stood, holding her tight. “Let's never come through here again.”
“Don't think we can, sweetheart,” she said, looking back at the obstruction. “Come on, we've gotta find a new way back home.”
She was about to help you mount Shimmer when you both froze in your tracks. A low, husky groan rung out through the air, scaring Shimmer. She ran into the clearing out of fright.
“Shit,” Ellie breathed.
“We’ll find her later. Come on, we have to go. It's either a bloater or a shambler, and I don't really want to stick around to find out.”
You turned to leave when the ground shook again. You turned around, looking back at the mountain. It wasn't the mountain shaking this time. Spewing through the hole the landslide left like spiders were hundreds—if not thousands—of infected. Clickers, runners, stalkers, bloaters, shamblers. Everything.
There was no way you were making it out of this unless you legged it now.
In unison, you and Ellie started sprinting to your last checkpoint— the old cabin. You ran faster than you ever had before, the sounds of hungry infected hot on your heels. You couldn't feel your legs, the burning in your flesh too intense. When the cabin finally came into view, you couldn't even allow yourself a breath of relief. You and Ellie had your guns out, shooting behind you as you ran, picking off as many infected as you could. When you were close enough to the cabin, the idea hit you. You knew that the creaky boards of the cabin wouldn't hold that many infected off. You knew what you had to do.
“Ellie, cover me!” You yelled as you slung your backpack off your shoulder and grabbed what you'd need. You grabbed an old bottle of whiskey you and Ellie had found at the watchtower and a rag. Stuffing the rag in the bottle, you lit it with your lighter.
In the ten seconds it took you to do this, the infected crept closer and closer to you. Ellie tried picking off as many as she could, keeping them away from you. Until her magazine ran out.
You threw the molotov in front of the hoard of infected. It exploded, creating a wall of fire between you and your death.
Until a single clicker went at you from the side. The light of the fire flickered in your irises and cast an orange glow across your face, and you didn't even hear it creeping up amidst the roar of the flames. You didn't even hear Ellie yell your name.
It tackled you to the ground before you could even turn your head all the way, talons scratching your arms and legs, sinking into your stomach. Its jaw was inches away from your neck, begging to gnaw on your jugular. In the struggle for your life, you couldn't even tell where you were and weren't hurt, what was bleeding and what wasn't.
Blood gushed into your hair and eyes as you watched Ellie slice its head clean off with her pocketknife. The same one you'd carved your initials into that old oak with.
Something inside of you rattled knowing that something could be used so innocently and yet so dangerously.
Ellie picked you up from the ground and helped you limp into the cabin, reeds of grass tickling your wounds. When you entered, you stood in the centre of the room as she barricaded the entrances.
“There,” she said, returning to you. You were both coming off adrenaline, suddenly feeling the ache in your bones to an indescribable extent.
You put your hands on your knees and leaned on them, heaving a little. “Ellie. We were so close.”
She just nodded in understanding. Her eyes survey you from top to bottom. You had a scratch across your cheek, a few minor lacerations across your arms and chest, and a few on your legs. She couldn't see any bites.
You brought your right arm up to run it shakily through your hair. That's when she saw it, brutal and bloody, painted into your skin like a brand. One that would decide your fate. Except that it had already been decided.
The sight of the bite on your forearm turned her stomach. She blinked over and over again, hoping that she was seeing wrong. Maybe she was still coming off of adrenaline. “Your arm…” she breathed.
“What?” You asked, confused. You looked over your left, then your right, and…oh. “Oh.”
The silence was deafening. It wasn't like you'd been badly injured, still with a sliver of possibility for recovery. No, this bite sealed your fate.
In the next day, you were going to become something Ellie had to detest. Something she had to kill.
You felt the bile rise in your throat just in time to grab a decayed flower pot. You choked out everything in your stomach and more.
Ellie grabbed her stomach as she felt her body start to shake, that feeling creeping up her spine again. Her breath felt like it was being siphoned out of her. She needed air, but her lungs would not take any in. She hyperventilated as she threw herself back against the wall, legs giving out.
A sweat broke out across her body, knowing that she's losing you tonight.
Her mind shoved memories into her vision that she swore to never bring up again.
“There're a million ways we should've died before today. And a million ways we can die before tomorrow. But we fight…for every second we get to spend with each other. Whether it's two minutes…or two days. We don't give that up.”
She remembers the small, impossible slice of hope in Riley’s eyes, one that she knew was futile. Riley was her first love. She thought they were both going to die. She felt…horrible. You would be her last love, though she knew only you were fated to die. She knew she would die too.
Your voice calling her name broke her out of her fit. One look at you wiping your face and shaking was enough to make her want to break something, anything.
“Ellie,” you called. She stood and began pacing, running her hands over her face. “Ellie, stop it.”
“There's gotta be…there has to…we need…” she babbled, still pacing. An idea clicked, “give me your arm.”
You held out your shaking arm to your lover, expecting her to inspect the area. Instead, she took out her pocket knife and pressed the blade into her hand without any hesitation.
“Ellie! What the fuck?!” You said, trying to stop her hand from bleeding.
“Give me your arm,” she said firmly, a major contrast from before. When you hesitated, her hard gaze met yours. Her eyes softened when she saw the fear in your eyes. “Please,” she whispered.
You gave her your arm and let her rub her blood into the bite.
She took your arm and rubbed the blood into the bite knowing it wouldn’t work.
It wouldn't work on you.
She knew that.
She tried anyway.
As she massaged the blood as deep into the wound as she could get, all she could think about was that she would've been able to save you if they made the cure. Her life would've had meaning, so much meaning. She would've been able to cure you from this. But she was helpless, cursed to watch you suffer.
“Ellie,” you said, putting your hand atop hers to get her to stop and look at you. She could see in your eyes that you just needed to be close to her in that moment. She needed it too, needed to be impossibly closer as to grip into you forever.
She buried her head into your neck and you did the same, holding your breath. For if you breathed, time would pass. If time passed, you'd be gone.
You don't know how long you held each other like that, but it was long enough that your legs nearly collapsed with exhaustion. You were the first to speak.
“I need you to promise me something,” you whispered.
Ellie knew what you were going to say before the words left your mouth.
“No-” she began pulling away from you, but you squeezed her tighter.
“When it starts to happen…when I can feel it, I’m going to take my gun-”
“Stop it-”
“-and I’m going to go outside. You’ll know it's over-”
“-Stop-”
“-when you hear it. Just promise me you won't look.”
“Stop, please,” she begs, tears brimming in her eyes again. She takes a step back from you and turns around.
“Promise me.”
The words get caught in her throat. Her lip trembles. “Okay.”
Outside, rain starts to fall softly, tapping against the rotting wood of the cabin.
She breaks the new silence. “I should've been there. I should've taken my rifle out, anything-”
“El, it's not your fault. Look at me,” you say. She looks at you over her shoulder. You nearly crumble at her red eyes and wet cheeks. “Never blame yourself. You hear me?”
She just squeezes her eyes shut, willing for this to all go away.
You walk to her, putting your hands on her shoulders and leaning your forehead against her back. You tried not to look at the bite.
“Ellie.”
“Yeah.”
“Will you give me one last good night?”
The soft pattering of the rain against the wood, trickling off the roof and into the ground.
“Please?”
She says nothing, instead turning around and gently capturing your lips in a kiss. Your bloodied hands find her wet cheeks, noting that the tears haven't stopped.
Ellie wanted to give you everything you wanted and more, and she had sworn she would from the moment she met you. If this was the last thing you ever asked from her, she would give it to you.
But it was so unbelievably hard knowing that this time would be your last.
She pushed you back against the wall, nearly devouring you. The salty mix of your tears and hers slipped into the kiss, but you didn't care. She moved her hand down to cup you where you wanted her.
You bucked your hips into the friction, already needing her. You began to undo your belt, but Ellie’s hand on your wrist stopped you.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” She said, voice gravelly.
“Yes, El,” you said. “I don't know where I’ll be tomorrow, or…what I’ll be,” she let out a shaky breath, “but I know I want to be with you right now.”
She sniffled and nodded, getting on her knees to take your belt off. She threw it to the side, unbuttoning your jeans, sliding them down along with your panties. You opened your legs wider for her.
She ran two fingers through your slit before sinking one into your hole, tongue giving kitten licks to your folds.
You could tell that she wasn't going to be as vocal as usual.
You couldn't really blame her.
You whimpered as she added another finger, pumping them in and out of you, filling the air with obscene sounds. She lapped at your cunt, trying her hardest to give you what you want.
“Ellie, don't stop,” you moaned, whimpering when she used her other arm to hold your hips down against the wall. “Almost there.”
You could feel the coil tightening inside if you quickly, your climax coming in record time. You thought for a moment that it was because of how sensitive you were in this moment.
You moaned wantonly and grabbed her hair as you came, her tongue working on your clit and her fingers scissoring you open.
You expected her to stop, but she kept going. In fact, she added a third finger.
You heard her moan into your pussy, looking down to find her grinding into the floor, a wet spot forming on her jeans. She was so messy, your juices coating her face, red-rimmed eyes and messy hair, rutting into nothing and moaning into your cunt.
When the fabric of her jeans caught her clit just right, she took her mouth of your pussy, replacing it with her thumb instead, and leaned her forehead against your stomach. You came with her from the sensitivity, both of your moans filling the air, pleading for more.
When she laid you down on a thin blanket from her backpack and undressed both of you, you noted the scared look in her eyes. The way she looked at you, drinking you in, knowing this would be your last time together. Some part of you wished that neither of you knew about the bite, that you didn't have to treat this so differently. That you could enjoy it. Enjoy your last moments together.
She threw her leg over yours, kissing you messily, yet softly, as she ground into you, folds slotting against each other. You both moaned each time your clits touched.
As she grew closer to her climax, she buried her face into your neck. You tried to ignore the feeling of her tears trickling down and pooling at your nape.
You came together. You moaned, but she cried out, more guttural than you'd ever heard from her.
“I love you, I love you, I love you—!” she cried into your neck as she came.
When you slowed down, she held you like that without words.
“I love you too, Ellie,” you whispered, just loud enough for her to hear over the rain.
You held each other as the sun set, through the night, and through the rain.
The golden rays of the sun shone through the cracks in the walls and shudders, dancing across her bare body pressed into your side. Hours ago, her body had stopped shaking and her tears stopped spilling onto your chest, your hands running patterns across her skin lulling her into an exhausted sleep.
Your eyes had never closed, however. You knew you wanted to be awake to feel it happening, to know when you were losing control over your body. For Ellie’s sake.
The rain had stopped and the clouds were cleared. Birds sang outside and all the animals went about their day. You thought it strange that the world would continue on without you, that people will age and new ones will be born, that people will die and people will forget about you in time. Your impermanence had never struck you as hard as it did now.
You felt the twitching in your feet first, unnoticeable at first, but is it crawled up your limbs, you knew it was happening. It happened over three or four hours, and once you felt your neck jerk the first time, you knew.
Your blood didn't feel like your own anymore, like someone exsanguinated it and replaced it with jelly, slowing you down. Your vision wasn't gone, but you couldn't focus it on anything. It constantly sounded like you were underwater, drowning, gasping for air to no avail.
Your eyes hardly left the woman in your arms, clinging to you even in sleep. You know she'd curse herself for falling asleep, but you were thankful for it. You were thankful that you could press a tearful kiss to her forehead before gently escaping her grasp, muffling your sobs behind your hand. You threw your shirt and jeans on quietly, dizzy, slipping your shoes on. Your world spun, your lungs burned, your head throbbed.
You picked up your pistol, watching Ellie stir slightly in her sleep, creamy skin illuminated in the sun, her freckled face creased slightly with worry, even in sleep. You put the gun in your pocket.
You tried, as silently as you could, to move the barricade from the door. You were thankful that she was a heavy sleeper.
You were thankful that you didn't have to see the despair in her eyes when you said a forceful goodbye, thankful that you didn't have to convince her to let you go, thankful that your last memory of her was this, thankful that her last memory of you was bliss.
Through your sobs, you squeezed through the door and shut it behind you, leaning your head against it, willing for this all to be a nightmare. It wasn't, because you started to feel something else take over your will.
Before you could lose it completely, you forced yourself into a dense brush of greenery, somewhere you hoped she wouldn't look.
You panted, sweating, trembling, as you took the pistol out of your pocket. It shook with your hand as you held it to your temple, bright eyes taking in all of the world that you could before it was gone.
You squeezed them tightly, willing yourself to stop shaking. You conjured the image of your lover in your mind, her auburn hair, milky skin, pretty green eyes, and those familiar freckles. How could you ever forget her?
You took a breath in, and breathed out: “I love you.”
Ellie sat up in terror when she heard the sound of a single gunshot ring through the air, seeping in through the cracks of the window and underneath the door. It took her a moment to process what it was, reaching for her pistol next to her discarded clothes. When her fingertips brushed the gun, it settled in. She craned her head to look beside her, half expecting you to still be asleep.
When she remembered what the sound of the gunshot meant, what you had made her promise, her lungs collapsed and she couldn't take any air in. Tears spilled from her eyes as she heaved, clawing at her chest for any relief. It didn't come.
She knew it never would.
When Joel got word that you and Ellie still hadn't returned from patrol, he worried that you'd gotten stuck in the landslide. He pleaded with Tommy and Jesse to go out with him to search, knowing he wouldn't be at peace without knowing what happened.
When the two agreed, they set off on horses to clear all of the checkpoints. It took an extra day to get around the mountain range that was blocked off by rubble.
When they only had one more checkpoint to clear, Joel got increasingly worried. If you weren't here, where were you?
When the three men got to the cabin, they held their breath as they dismounted their horses. Joel tried pushing the door open, but the barricade stopped him. It took the three of them to open the door, pushing the barricade out of the way.
The open door shed light on the figure against the back wall covered in a thin blanket, trembling. Joel let out the breath he was holding in when he saw Ellie. She was clutching your backpack to her chest, trying to keep any remaining part of you alive, hers.
She had hardly noticed Joel pick her up and carry her to his horse, wrapping the blanket tighter around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, not ready to see the world without you in it.
“Ellie,” Joel’s gruff voice intruded her thoughts, “where is she?”
Ellie’s words failed her. All she could do was point to her forearm, to the bite that only Joel and Tommy knew hid underneath the tattoo.
She doesn't remember what happened after that.
It was warmer now, the flowers blossoming and the green coming back to Jackson’s landscape. Ellie sat facing your headstone, wishing you could've seen it. Wishing she could've shown it to you.
“It’s summer now,” she began. “We started planting these new flowers in your garden…Joel thinks you would've liked them. I think so too. They're really colourful…you know.”
She hesitated.
“Sometimes I wonder if you can hear me. Or if I’m just talking to myself like a crazy person. Joel says it's good for me. I don't know if I believe him.”
She played with her hands, tracing her tattoo.
“I wish you were still here,” she whispered. Her eyes drifted over all the flowers left by your grave from all the people who loved you.
Her eyes filled with tears as she watched a pretty red hummingbird land on your grave, searching for pollen in the flowers.
ellie taglist:
@chrry1ovr @milly-louise @dankpunks @starhrtz @pedrobaby @urlocalgingersnap @wrendermedone @kissyslut @felsweb
permanent taglist:
@winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs
#ellie williams#ellie williams smut#ellie williams angst#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x reader smut#ellie williams x reader angst#tlou#the last of us#tlou 2#the last of us 2#lesbian
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(HUGE rdr2 spoilers)
do you ever think about the process of charles burying arthur? at first i didn't think about it much but then i saw people talking about it more and now im just in pain
charles says that he buried arthur after 'word got up to him up north.' how long would that take? weeks, probably. then he'd have to actually locate arthur's body—he obviously found grimshaw and buried her first, as she died at beaver hollow. assuming that the pinkerton's left arthur's body where he died, charles likely would've had to find arthur's body using weeks-old tracks. he'd find arthur's horse first. did he bury the horse too? i don't think he would purely for logistics reasons, but i do think he would've had a moment of silence or something. he knew how much arthur cared for his horse(s). he'd find arthur's body and put him on taima (which is a parallel to the beginning of the game—taima is the first and last horse that carries arthur). he'd try to find a fitting burial place. how long would he spend looking? how long was he traveling with arthur's rotting corpse? how could he stand to even be around it, the body of one of his closest friends?
but he found a place. a place with a good view of the natural world. he carved out a grave marker that's more complex than any other we've seen made for the fallen gang members. he carved a quote that he felt described arthur at his core, even if arthur never saw himself that way and wasn't even a religious man to begin with (seeing as it is a quote from the bible). he planted flowers because he knew arthur had a deep appreciation for nature. how long did he spend making that grave? how long did he sit there afterwards? was he the calm, collected man we know him to be or was he angry or upset or heartbroken?
i wish they'd gotten a happy ending together. i wish they'd had more time.
#im sorry for yet another depressing rdr2 post#im haunted by this game#rdr2#rdr#red dead redemption 2#red dead redemption#arthur morgan#charles smith#charthur
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THE WRATH OF FIRE
House of the Dragon Fanfiction
MASTERLIST
Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.
《 Previous - Next 》
CHAPTER 5
Ysilla missed her mother. She missed her every day since she had died.
The little princess had cried for days. She would run to her chamber, closing the door, not wanting to see anyone.
It didn't matter how many tears left her eyes. Ysilla would find no comfort. She wanted her mother. She wanted to break her fast with her, talk about her duty, and go riding together.
We had to go hawking, she thought, crying. Her head had been pounding for days. She could not understand how her mother, an expert rider, would fall from her horse.
Ysilla was now the heir to Runestone. But she was too young, so her uncle Gerold was holding everything together. He had the castle organize the late Lady Rhea's funeral.
"The Lady Jeyne is the next in line until Princess Ysilla is old enough," Ysilla heard her uncle Gerold Royce saying one morning in the tower of the Maester of Runestone as she was supposed to go to study with him. Ysilla had been early because she felt like not eating.
"We have to alert the King about the accident first, my lord," Ysilla stood quietly behind the door.
"You know, well, it was not an accident," her uncle's words made her frown, pushing herself closer against the wooden door to try not to let anything that they were saying go unheard.
"It is a dangerous accusation, the one you're making, my lord."
What accusation? Ysilla was so confused.
"Rhea would have never fallen from her horse. It was him, I'm sure of it," her uncle said, his voice full of rage. She felt that rage as if it was meant for her, but it wasn't.
What were they saying? That someone had killed her mother? Who were they talking about?
Ysilla felt her lip quiver, feeling the tears in her eyes. How could someone have wanted to kill her lady mother?
"Have the informers come back yet?" Her uncle asked again. The Maester took a heavy breath.
"Some, my lord." the old man spoke, "There had been no sign of Caraxes so far."
Ysilla gasped, covering her mouth. Her hand was trembling against her face. They were accusing her father.
"It was him," her uncle said, slamming his fist to the table. The sound made her shiver, "There's no mistake in that."
"My lord..."
"Princess Rhaenyra was in search of a husband. It is such a coincidence that Daemon is now widowed."
Rhaenyra? What was with Rhaenyra? Did her father want Rhaenyra?
He loves his ambition. Her mother's voice was so loud in her head. Louder than it had ever been.
But that had to be a mistake. Her father would have never killed her mother. He was a warrior, a prince. In the songs, princes always save the lady. They would have never hurt them. And her father was a Targaryen, the noblest of the Houses of Westeros. He could not be that vile.
Such a vile act, Otto Hightower had said.
Ysilla felt her breath become heavier. The walls around her seemed to become narrower. She felt like she was in a trap—in a nightmare. It must have been a nightmare. In a few moments, she would have woken up, and on the morrow, she would have spoken about this bad dream with her mother.
But why wasn't she waking up? It had been seven days, and she was still trapped inside that nightmare.
So it isn't... Ysilla knew that it wasn't, but at that moment, she never wished it was.
"I can't stay here..." she muttered before turning to run toward the only place she felt safe: to her dragon.
Her feet moved quick, and her cheeks were wet with tears. It was not possible that her mother had been killed. It was not possible that it had been her father. It was not possible he had done it to wed Rhaenyra.
"My lady," the Maester from King's Landing bowed his head as she arrived to where they kept her dragon. But Ysilla ignored him; she ran to her dragon, dropping to her knees. Her arms circled his slander, long neck.
He had been growing, and now he had become too heavy for her to pick him up. And she was glad. She felt so protected when she felt the warmth of his scales, and she wept when she felt his head lying on her shoulder.
"Iksan sīr mundagon," she wailed. Her dragon made a quiet sound. (I'm so sad) "Vestrasis sīr naenie ra. Se nyke ȳdra daor gīmigon skoros naejot pāsagon." (They say so many things. And I don't know what to believe.)
Her dragon moved his dark wings, growling. The movement made her move back a little, and in that position, their eyes met. They had both purple eyes, and he was staring. Sounds kept coming out of his mouth.
This is strange, she thought. He was a quiet, gentle dragon, yet he was acting restless and angry, like he had that day, the day her mother had died.
"You know something..." Ysilla muttered. Their eyes never leaving each other. She could feel it. It was like she could understand him.
"Dārilaros..." Ysilla had almost forgotten about him. The Maester was there. As he had been there that day. And he had been acting rather queer. (Princess)
"Iksin konīr iā zaldrīzes bona tubis?" She spoke to him, but she kept looking at her dragon, who suddenly stopped his movements. (Was there a dragon that day?)
"Skoros, dārilaros?" The Maester asked, his voice trembling. (What, princess?)
That question made her angry. Could he not remember the dark day in which Runestone lost its Lady?
Ysilla turned as her dragon roared. The man's face got pale.
"Dragons sense other dragons. You've told me so." Ysilla's tone was flat, but her dragon roared again: "So I'm asking you again: iksin konīr iā zaldrīzes bona tubis?" (Was there a dragon that day?)
But it was when the Maester lowered his gaze that Ysilla knew. And her dragon roared louder.
Ysilla wanted to cry, yet rage was all she could feel. She desperately wanted to believe that it was not true. But her mother had told her that her father loathed her.
To such a point? She asked herself, sadly knowing the answer.
He had taken her away from Runestone and Ysilla. Her mother was the only family she had ever had.
"I've chosen my dragon's name," she said, standing up. The Maester looked back at her. "His name shall be Dārysyr."
The man widened his eyes, "Wrath of fire."
Dārysyr breathed out fire, his flames of a dark red with shades of purple.
There was no way that they could proof of her father's deeds, but they all knew.
The following weeks had been strange. Ysilla's feelings were much different from before. She had never felt like that. But at the same time, everything seemed more clear now, as if she had finally woken from a dream much longer than the one she believed had trapped her.
"I do not wish to sing," she has said one morning to her septa.
"This is your duty, Ysilla. Your mother-"
"My mother is dead!" She exclaimed, standing up, "I wish to do more than singing."
The woman's expression was sad, but she spoke anyway: "What would you wish to do, princess?"
Ysilla observed the woman for a moment before answering, "I want to learn."
"Learn what?"
"Everything," she said in a hiss.
She wanted to learn and understand politics. She wanted to learn what her father had done and why? She wanted to learn about ambition. And she wanted to learn how to see through people.
She wanted to learn.
That very day, a raven arrived when Ysilla was training with Dārysyr. She observed him with pride as she noticed how he was learning how to move more swiftly. His wings were becoming much stronger, and his body was learning how to slide with ease on the ground. He was becoming more gracious yet powerful.
"Ysilla," her uncle's voice came from behind her as she observed her dragon, who was ready to feed on a goat.
"Darysyr," she said, raising her dragon's head higher. "Dracarys." His throat glowed a bright red before his flames hit the goat.
"Ysilla." Her uncle called again.
"I've heard you the first time, Uncle," she said before turning to look at the man. His eyes lingered on Darysyr feeding, but after a moment, they went back to his niece.
"A letter from the King," Ysilla nodded, wanting to know more. Princess Rhaenyra is about to wed."
Ysilla's eyes narrowed as her dragon growled from behind her.
"Who?" She asked, surprising her uncle.
"Leanor Velaryon, niece," She felt like breathing a little. So, Rhaenyra was not to be wed to her father. Then if they didn't, maybe her father wasn't the reason behind her mother's death.
But Darysyr had sensed another dragon. The Maester said so. What Targaryen could have gone to Runestone the same day her mother died.
It was useless to deny it. Ysilla knew she had to stop trying.
The Princess Rhaenyra was in search of a husband, her uncle had said. If her father had killed her mother to wed Rhaenyra, then Rhaenyra was about to become Leanor Velaryon's wife. If all that was true, then her mother had lost her life for nothing.
"So?" Ysilla asked, trying to control her eyes to fill themselves with tears.
"We are to attend the wedding." The girl observed her uncle for a moment in silence. She did not wish to go, and she did not want to face all those gazes alone.
Be proud, Ysilla. Her mother would have said. Lady Rhea had always wished for her to be resilient. To not be afraid. She was now the heir to Runestone; she could not be afraid even if she was.
"Will he be there?" She asked, clenching her hands so as not to show that they were trembling.
Her uncle's face got darker. Ysilla did not need to hear any words. She knew the answer.
"So be it, then."
The journey to King's Landing had been different from the last one she had made. It had been only seven months before, and yet everything was different. Her gown was black, and her hair was loose as she stood on the deck of the ship. The only thing that could make her smile was the sight of Dārysyr flying around the ship.
Ysilla had been there the first time her dragon had taken flight. It had been scary because he had let himself fall from the balcony of the chamber where he was held. Ysilla had thought he was leaving her, too, but he didn't.
"He does not have legs to push himself off the ground. But during a fall, it is easier for him to fly."
Dārysyr was reckless. But he was always by her side. Ysilla knew that.
"I miss your laughter, sweet niece." She heard her uncle say from next to her.
"I do not have the strength, uncle," his hand rested on her shoulder. His expression was also pained.
"I do not want to force you. The loss you've suffered is great." Ysilla's eyes remained on her dragon, and she found strength in that sight.
They arrived the morning of the wedding. This time, Ser Westerling was on the deck escorting them to the Red Keep. His expression was grave as he greeted Ysilla. She had hoped to get used to that feeling, but she didn't. Seeing how people looked at her constantly reminded her of what had happened—how it happened.
As she arrived, the castle was busy. The future Queen was about to be wed; it was an important day. As the King had been busy, in fact, as she entered the chambers that had been assigned her, the servant girl apologized on behalf of her uncle.
"He said he can't wait to see you at the feast, princess," Ysilla nodded her head, thanking the girl before asking to be left alone.
The walk she had made in the hallows of the Red Keep had been stressful. Not just because of the stares but because Ysilla was the one looking around. Hoping and fearing to catch Targaryens' silver hair of a man whose face had been nothing but a dream until it became a nightmare.
As the sun started his journey to disappear behind the horizon, the servant girls entered her chambers to help Ysilla dress. She decided to wear her mother's favorite dress on her. A pale blue silk gown with runes embroidered in silver. On her head, a silver hairband. Ysilla touched her streaked hair as she looked at herself in the mirror.
"You are so pretty, princess," Ysilla only forced a smile.
The goat daughter, she remembered. Nobody had ever called her beautiful.
She arrived in the hall. It had been richly adorned, and there were many tables for all the noble families of the realm who could attend.
"Princess Ysilla Targaryen, heir to Runestone," her name was yelled as she entered the hall, as was her costume. All the noble Houses had to be announced.
Ysilla walked through the hall, ignoring the gazes upon her. But her eyes were on the table in front of her, where the King and his heir were set. She noticed that the Queen was not there, and the same was true for her father. No other silver hair was set at that table.
She almost felt disappointed.
"My King," she said, bowing in front of her uncle.
"Welcome, dear niece." Ysilla's lips moved up in an unsure smile before she turned to Rhaenyra.
"I am so sorry for your loss, Ysilla," She said with sad eyes, and Ysilla felt guilty. Guilty because she had felt anger towards her cousin. Because deep down she had blamed her as well. But only now did she realize that Rhaenyra had no part in what had happened. It was not fair to blame her for something she had no power over.
"Lady Rhea will be missed by all of us," the King added.
"Thank you for your kind words," Ysilla answered politely, then she looked at Rhaenyra, "Congratulations, my princess, for this happy day and more to come," the septa had taught her what was proper to say.
"Thank you, dear cousin," Rhaenyra answered. I've heard that your dragon is flying now."
The King smiled, "What a lovely news."
Ysilla nodded her head, thinking about her dragon, which had been sent to the Dragonpit until they had to depart.
"He has a name now," Ysilla said. The two of them looked at her curiously, "Dārysyr." The King's smile dropped, but Ysilla bowed one more time before heading towards the table to sit next to her uncle Gerold.
One by one, all the Houses congratulated Rhaenyra, wishing her and her betrothed for better days to come. But her betrothed was not there yet. He arrived sometime after with his whole family.
"House Velaryon," was announced, and all of them stood up to greet the future Prince Consort. Ysilla had never met the Valeryon, but she knew that her aunt, Princess Rhaenys, was the wife of Lord Corlys Velaryion, and from their union, Laena and Laenor were born. She knew that her cousin Laenor was even a dragonrider. If she recalled correctly, his dragon was called Seasmoke.
The Velaryon walked proudly. Heads high up. They were already the richest House of the Seven Kingdoms, and now their position had been elevated.
Ysilla had never stopped studying, never once. Her Maester had been proud of her.
But it was when the Velaryon had finally sat on the main table that Ysilla's breath stuck in her throat. As everyone was sitting, he appeared at the entrance. He wore a black vest with red sleeves and walked confidently. His hair was short and shining silver, and he had a smirk on his face.
Ysilla had never seen him before, but she knew. That was her father, Daemon Targaryen.
He was exactly like she had imagined him—tall and handsome with the demeanor and grace of a warrior. Just some weeks before, she would have swelled with pride at seeing what her father looked like. But now she felt very different emotions. And she wasn't the only one. The King was looking at his brother strangely, with a hidden anger. But anyhow, he gestured for a servant to bring another chair to add to their table so that Daemon could sit.
As everyone sat down, Ysilla didn't. She was standing, her purple eyes never leaving her father. The King had noticed her standing, and soon after, even Ysilla's father looked in her direction. The child flushed with uneasiness as that man looked in her direction. His eyes were on her hair first, and that was enough to give away who she was. Yet he was not surprised; his eyes didn't widen. He only laughed.
Her father had just seen her, and he was laughing. Her cheeks flushed. She felt ashamed and mocked. Her eyes stung, but she would not have cried. He had never seen her. He would not remember a crying little girl.
It took her uncle Gerold to make her sit. But until that moment, she had held her father's gaze. Trembling, but she did.
"Be welcome," the King started to talk after a moment of awkward silence.
"Are you alright?" her uncle whispered, and Ysilla nodded her head. But her eyes kept glancing at her father.
She had imagined it to be much different, their first encounter. She thought he would have walked to her and kneeled in front of her.
"You've grown up so much," he should have said, kissing her hair gently as he promised to stay with her.
But he did none of that. He just laughed.
"Tonight it's only the beginning," the King kept saying, "We honor the crown's oldest and fiercest ally, House Velaryon." Ysilla kept observing her father, "Reaching back to the days of Old Valyria and the Age of Dragons." And she saw it. Her father was looking at Rhaenyra. He was ignoring his own daughter, but he was looking at his niece. And for a moment, for only a moment, her father and Rhaenyra shared a look. But Ysilla had seen it.
She felt like trembling, but not because of fear or shame. Anger found its way into Ysilla's heart once again.
"With House Targaryen and..." the King's words stopped abruptly as he observed the entrance, forcing everyone to do the same.
Ysilla found herself doing the same.
The whole Hall fell silent as the Queen made her way towards the table. Everyone's eyes were wide, even her uncle Gerold's.
Ysilla did not understand; what she saw was that the queen was beautiful. Confidently wearing a shining green gown.
"The King will not be happy," a tall man said to a skew one not far from where Ysilla was. "Right in the midst of his speech."
The skew man spoke next, "The beacon on the Hightower, do you know what color it glows when Oldtown calls the banners to war?"
"Green." the other answered back, and that made Ysilla turn.
War? War against who?
For a small moment, she found herself hoping that that person was Daemon Targaryen.
That anger only kept growing during the feast. Her belly was so torn that she had no wish to eat. Her eyes were on her Father, but he had no slight interest in her. He followed Rhaenyra's frame wherever she went. As she ate, as she danced...
"He is vile," she said as she observed him. Her uncle Gerold looked down at her. She could feel his eyes, but it was only when he took her hand that she finally looked away from her father.
"What is going on?" she asked as he brought her closer to the main table. Ysilla didn't know how to feel. A part of her wanted to face her father proudly like her mother had taught her. But the other part wanted to forget that she had ever seen him. She liked the father in her dreams better. She wanted to remember him like that. But she knew too much now, and so even her dreams had faded away.
"In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes. Even Targaryens." Her uncle's determination was admirable, but his words were dangerous. Too dangerous without prooves.
"Who are you?" It was the first time Ysilla had heard her father talk, and his tone was sly and mocking in some way. And that made her step forward.
"He is Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone," her father's eyes moved to her. With cold eyes and the same tone, he said, "And?"
Ysilla felt her heart beat fast, and her eyes filled with tears.
I will not cry. I will not cry, she repeated to herself. Feeling the Queen and the King's gaze on her.
"And I am Ysilla Targaryen," she said, trying to sound strong, "Daughter to the late Lady Rhea."
"Ah, yes," her father answered as if he had just remembered a distant memory—a not-so-important memory. "Terrible thing."
Lier, she thought observing the man.
"Such a tragic accident," he kept lying. She knew he was lying.
"You know better than anyone; it was no accident," her uncle Gerold said, putting a protective hand on Ysilla's shoulder.
"Are you confessing something, Ser Gerold?" How could he lie like that? Wasn't he feeling anything after what he had done? If not for himself, for her. His action had left his daughter motherless. He really cared so little to have killed Lady Rhea.
"I'm making an accusation," Ysilla looked up at her uncle, wishing for him to stop. She could not bear the thought of someone else in her family being killed.
"You know, in King's Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you."
"Ȳdra daor ȳdragon naejot zirȳla hae bona!" She exclaimed. Her father laughed again as his eyes met hers; his gaze lingered on her hair for a moment. (Do not speak to him like that)
"Truth is, I'm glad you've come," her father said again, looking up at Sergeant Gerold. I wished to speak about my inheritance."
Ysilla frowned, looking at the King and the Queen. They were listening to everything.
"What inheritance?" her uncle Gerold already knew the answer, though. As did Ysilla.
"I am the heir to Runestone," she exclaimed.
"Lady Rhea and I have only one daughter, and she is too young to rule. Has her husband. As we wait for her to become old enough, everything that Lady Rhea had now passes to me."
"You cannot do that!" Ysilla said, stepping forward.
"Ao vēdros runestone. Ao hated ñuha muña. Ao vēdros nyke. Ao daor emagon runestone. Issa daor aōhon!" She would have never let her father put his hands on a place he hated. He had killed her mother and her Lady, and it was Ysilla's duty to protect her mother's memory and possessions even from her own father. (You hate Runestone. You hated my mother. You hated me. You cannot have Runestone. It's not yours!)
Her father leaned over. It was as if he was trying to show her that he was stronger and scarier. And he was. She was terrified by him, but she would not have let it show. "Se qilōni gaomagon ao pendagon iksā?" He asked with a hint of irritation in his voice. (And who do you think you are?)
"Iksan Ysilla Targārien se iksan daor iā hubre" (I am Ysilla Targaryen and I am not a goat)
_________________________________________
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#house of the dragon#house of the dragon Fanfiction#house of the dragon imagine#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen#aegon targaryen imagine#aegon targaryen fanfiction#aegon targaryen x OC#aegon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen#rhaenyra targaryen#alicent hightower#viserys targaryen
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We Were Cowboys - Dean Winchester (smut)
I kept on listening to the song "We Were Cowboys" by Kameron Marlowe as I wrote this, so I also used some lyrics from the song. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: As Dean and Sam travel back to March 4th 1861 Dean stumbles upon the most beautiful woman he has ever laid his eyes on. Will one night with her be enough for him? Will he be able to leave her behind the next day?
Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), unprotected piv, set in s6e18 so a somewhat historic situation, some heartbreak I guess, reader works as a prostitute
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.5k words)
Daddy watched John Wayne on a corduroy couch, I didn't know Texas from a hole in the ground but it roped me in, that's where it all began
March 4th 1861
The sound of her heels meeting the wooden stairs echoed through the saloon, though not one pair of eyes found her frame, fully focused on Darla and the way she tried to talk up the two strangers. As much as (y/n) tried to keep her eyes from wandering to the slightly smaller stranger of the two, she couldn’t stop herself from doing so, instantly drawn in by the green eyes that reminded her of the green grass basking in the summer heat, something she’ll be able to take in in only a few months time.
Even though she’d never admit it out loud, not daring to risk her place within this community, (y/n) found pride in the way the stranger didn’t seem to enjoy Darla’s company. (Y/n) had never been one to make many friends, preferring to keep to herself, even as she had left her family behind. She had known from an early age that there was no longer a place for her among the many siblings her parents barely could look after, let alone feed. Darla had never been kind to (y/n), fuelled by her arrogant self, and the way she was praised as the best girl around.
Only as Darla followed the judge upstairs did (y/n) dare move closer, eyes drawn to the man’s green ones again. He shot her a warm smile, tipping his head in a somewhat awkward though warm gesture. She could instantly tell that they weren't from around here, something about them seemed out of place, something she couldn't put her finger on quite yet. For a second she took in the other man, the taller one who smiled at her just as kindly, though redirected his gaze within a few seconds.
“What’s your name, darling?” The green-eyed man smiled at her, leaning against the bar. (Y/n) tried not to overthink the smile he wore, tried not to overthink the interest he seemed to have for her, gaze flickering to Mister Elkins’ hard eyes – a silent warning she stupidly ignored, not wanting to back away from the chance to share some more words with the handsome stranger.
“It’s (y/n), what about you?” Just as the man parted the lips she tried not to stare at, they were interrupted by a scream, heads whipping towards the stairs. She watched the guys race upstairs, forced to stay behind by the warning words Elkins spoke to her. Her heart was racing, pounding in her chest as if she had been running for miles on end. Perhaps she had never been a friend of Darla, trying to avoid her at any cost, but she could only pray that nothing bad had happened to her, she wasn’t one to wish anything evil to come upon others, especially not women who were forced to make their living the same way (y/n) was.
And as the men made their way back downstairs moments later, seemingly deep in thought, (y/n) could only catch the small smile the handsome stranger shot her way before leaving the saloon.
We were cowboys, runnin' like wild horses that couldn't be tamed, we were cowboys, didn't know nothing but we knew everything
……
“Come in!” (Y/n)’s voice echoed through the room, turning away from her window to watch a tall figure step into her room. It was too dark for her to make out the man’s features, voice trembling as a somewhat determined “I don’t take any customers this evening” rolled off her tongue.
“Excuse me, I didn’t want to disturb your night.” A smile made its way to (y/n)’s lips at the sound of the stranger’s voice, walking closer with the lamp she had originally placed down on her bedside table now in hand. His eyes were no longer filled with that twinkling green colour she had been thinking of all day, they now had a slightly darker touch to them, filled with mystery, with secrets, with longing.
“You never told me your name.” She watched him ponder over her words for a few seconds, wondering why he struggled this much with telling her his name. The few seconds of silence were used by her wandering eyes to take in the spots covering his cheek and nose, the freckles her fingertips longed to trace, wanting to count every single one.
“My name’s Dean, but that has to stay between the both of us. I hope you can keep a secret, darling.” With a hum leaving her, (y/n) took another step closer, front about to touch Dean’s. Softly she murmured his name, tasting it on her tongue as Dean’s hand found her cheek. She feared he could pick up on the racing beat of her heart, coming across as nervous, as uncomfortable – and yet she felt anything but uncomfortable, hoping that she’d be fortunate enough to feel his warm hands on her chest, her behind, between her thighs. “I’ve seen many pretty women, but you’re something else, sweetheart.”
“Am I? How?” The teasing grin she shot him left Dean chuckling, dipping his head down, lips ghosting over hers. A moan threatened to claw through (y/n) even though Dean hadn’t touched her yet, still keeping his distance as if he was waiting for her to make the first move. She didn’t want to waste another second, shifting her weight to meet his lips in a searing kiss. His hands found their way to her waist, pressing her even closer to his front, moving them backwards to her bed.
“Let me show you how beautiful you are to me, I’ve never been good with words.” Her throat was too tight to reply, too nervous to speak up, only raising her arms for Dean to pull her nightgown over her head, groaning at her naked frame. The “Fuck” that left Dean made her chuckle with glee, hands toying with his belt, begging him to undress. “I’d kill to get enough time to treat you like you deserve, but I fear I don’t have more than an hour.”
“That’s alright, just touch me, Dean.” Not once had she felt this way towards a man before, needing, begging him to touch her, an unfamiliar longing she was addicted to now. (Y/n) tried not to spare the passing by seconds too much thought, wanting to appreciate the time she got with him, no matter how short it may be. “I’ll do anything for you, just tell me what you need.”
“No, this is all about you, darling.” Pain dripped from Dean’s words, forced to realise that she was too used to giving up her body for the joy of other men. He didn’t want to be like them; he couldn’t be like them. Dean pushed her backwards, watching her plop down on the mattress with a gasp, staring up at him with wide eyes. She wasn’t used to being looked after, wasn’t used to relaxing around another man, but with Dean, she felt safe, with Dean she felt complete.
“You need to tell me if you don’t like what I’m doing, you understand?” Dean’s voice dripped with something that left (y/n) shuddering, making her feel as if he was willing to fight her battles. He’d take care of her, even if it was only for the few minutes she got with him. With a nod thrown Dean’s way, her gaze followed his every move, watching him kiss his way up her thighs to the place where she needed him the most.
Dean’s eyes were focused on her cunt, groaning at the sight of her arousal coating her skin, dripping for his touch only. He’d feast from her, would show (y/n) what it meant to be properly touched, something both of them would forever remember. With her eyes following his every movement, she choked on his name as he drove for her cunt, sucking on her pulsing bundle.
“Oh, Jesus, fuck, that feels so good.” Never had she been touched like this before, not with as much passion guiding the men who came to visit her, not with as much determination guiding their every brush of their tongue. The smirk he shot her left (y/n) shuddering, watching the green-eyed stranger brush his tongue through her slit, groaning at the taste of her.
“Feels like heaven, you’ve already got me addicted.” She didn’t ponder over his words, didn’t ask any further questions – already too far gone. One of his slightly calloused fingertips found her clit, rubbing it as he dipped his tongue into her tightness, spreading her walls while he imagined what it must feel like to have her wrapped around his cock. Soon he’d give in, soon he’d fuck her as if she was the only one he’d ever get to touch. Dean would move heaven and hell for (y/n), for her to be looked after, even if it was just for their one single hour together.
She arched her back off the mattress as a deep moan clawed through her, begging Dean for his fingers, needing to feel them buried inside of her. Dean followed every command her body sent out, pushing two fingers into her heat as he kept sucking on her clit. The unfamiliar sensations were enough to push her higher and higher up the ladder, scared of the fall she’d soon have to endure – (y/n) could only pray that Dean would catch her, soften the blow her heart would have to endure the second he left.
“Cum on my tongue, sweetheart, show me how pretty you look when you cum for me.” His raspy voice rang in her ears, eyes squeezed shut and toes curled as she came for him. Dean grinned against her soft skin, enjoying the way she trembled, how she gasped for any air to fill her tight lungs. A spectacle so wonderful he cursed himself for not taking his phone with him, he’d for sure take a picture of her pleasure-drunken features if he could.
“That was intense,” (y/n) whispered her words, eyes glassy while her hands kept gripping the covers she was lying on, scared that she’d wake from this dream. Dean crawled up her body, pressing his bulge against her sensitive cunt, wordlessly showing her how much he wanted her, needed her. “Fuck me, Dean, make me yours, please. Even if it’s just for tonight.”
For a second his mind managed to rip him out of his thoughts, forcing himself to remember that he’d have to pull out, unable to use any protection. But just the sight of (y/n), bare for him, mind and eyes hazy, thoroughly fucked out, was enough to give him the needed push. Dean rose to his feet to shuffle out of his clothes, unable to bite down his grin at the way she gasped as her eyes found his hard cock.
“You’re so handsome.” (Y/n) looked at him as if he was a piece of art, a statue crafted by ancient artists, a god-like figure, she was sure of it. Dean found her lips, kissing her softly as he pumped himself for a few moments before he pushed into her. Both groaned in unison, needing to adjust to one another’s body, needing to get used to the way he stretched her oh so perfectly.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart.” Dean couldn’t rip his eyes away, hoping to burn every passing second into his buzzing mind. For tonight she was his, for tonight it was just her and him, for tonight it was just the crush on her he felt getting stronger with every calculated thrust. Dean fucked her like only a husband would fuck his wife, at least that’s what (y/n) found herself believing, doubting that any other man would ever touch her like this.
Her moans guided Dean on, ringing in his ears like a song he’d blast while taking a tour with Baby, finding himself relaxing further into the comfortable seat, not guided by any worries or fears, just him and the never-ending land stretching ahead of him. Fuck, he had it bad for her, for a woman who lived in the past, a woman he’d never see again.
(Y/n) clawed at his warm skin, leaving marks that wouldn’t fade for a few days, leaving Dean heartbroken whenever he looked at them in his mirror. Her eyes rolled back into her head, trapped in a thick blanket of darkness Dean had pushed her into, set on fucking her till she forgot her own name. Perhaps he could take her with him, perhaps he could free her from this life she was forced to live, perhaps he could keep her close – forever.
“Dean, I-” her moans kept interrupting her, unable to say anything else, needing to hold onto the handsome man who fucked her as if the devil was chasing him. His thrusts grew rougher, and yet they were somewhat loving, hoping that she felt the same sensation thumping through her veins.
He was hers, if she wanted him.
“Cum for me, show me again how pretty you look when you let go.” Another moan left (y/n) as she came around his cock, a sensation so strong she was close to passing out. It took Dean a few more moments to push himself over the edge, remembering to pull out just a second before he came, staining her soft skin with his cum.
“Thank you, Dean.” Tears welled up in her eyes, about to roll down her cheeks, guided by the strong orgasm that had clawed through her, by the crush she felt growing deep inside of her, by the realisation that he’d have to leave any moment now. Another deep kiss was pressed to her lips before Dean let go of her, rising to his feet to quickly redress. Silence engulfed them as he helped (y/n) clean up, putting her nightgown back on.
“Dean, can I ask you something?” A hum left him, green eyes connected with hers, a warm hand cupping her cheek. He tried to memorise every part of her face, scared to let her go just yet. “You’re not from here, are you? I mean, you’re not from my time, you can’t be.”
He froze, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Slowly he shook his head, carefully watching her, unsure how she’d react. But all (y/n) did was nod, kiss him again, and murmur a soft “Your secret is safe with me”.
Once again, they were wrapped in silence, knowing that it was time to let go, to part ways, to never meet again. But Dean couldn’t, he couldn’t leave her behind, not when knowing that she was the one he wanted to offer his heart to. With a deep exhale leaving him, Dean cleared his throat, choking on a whispered “Will you come with me? Back to my time?”.
Couldn’t tell us nothing, ‘cause man, we were something, damn, we were something, we were cowboys
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Butterfly I
a/n I'm clawing my way into this fandom since salt and pepper god took over my brain! Be gentle with me since it's my first time writing for this man! Happy reading! 🤍
summery: When Joel thinks that his life is over his little butterfly sends him a new reason to stay alive. The only problem is that he doesn't know how to love but when you are the meaning of love itself how can he not fall.
Part II can be found on my blog
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World had ended twenty years ago for Joel. Even more so, he was sure that he had died alongside Sarah. If he had a chance, he would have gladly been buried by his little girl. He didn't have a reason to be alive. Well, there was Tommy, but at that moment even that didn't seem like enough to keep him going. The moment Joel failed to do his first and most important job—protect the ones he loved—changed him without a chance of going back.
The morals had to die soon as well, and Joel had learned it the hard way. He tried to fight and protect the innocent at first. To stupidly ensure that everyone had been taken care of in the same amounts. Well, that resulted in him getting beaten multiple times. He didn't fight it at first. The physical pain numbed the emotional scars. But then something snapped in him, and he longed for the first blow. Then the second. Third. With a realization that this was how his sorry life was going be for the rest of his pointless existence. To fear less, Joel needed to become someone people feared, and he did just that.
Until, after one of his deals, he ended up running into you. Completely by accident as he tried to get away from the people he just had business with. Joel bumped into you, knocking you to the ground and causing you to hit your head on the pavement. "Shit, fuck", the male kneeled beside you cursing. You just laid there, and for a split second, Joel was convinced that you had died, until you let out a growl as you moved your hand to gently touch your pounding head. He debated whether he should just leave you there or take you back to his place. The first option was less complicated and demanded fewer efforts from him, but when he saw your eyes as you tried to look around, seeking to find who had caused such a collision, that's when he knew he couldn't just walk away like that.
Then a smile crept onto your face, followed by a light chuckle, and something inside Joel twisted again. He hadn't heard the sound of laughter in years. "Dang, for a moment I saw white horses running around", you laughed out loud, covering your eyes with your hands. Even more, concern washed over Joel. Had you hit your head that hard? He couldn't afford to get you medication or even a doctor for that. So he did the next best thing - assisted you in getting up and walking you to his place.
Everything after that was made up of Joel trying to hurt you so you would leave him and go your way. He desperately wanted to push you out of his life because he was afraid to admit that Sarah would have loved you. That she would have been nagging him constantly to bring you around. Imagining how life would have been with you before the outbreak. How would it have felt to come home to you making dinner? Hearing you and Sarah laughing together. Joel knew—he knew without even needing to think about it much—that his daughter would have loved you. He wished she had had the opportunity to experience your motherly love. The effortless, endless love that poured from within you. And finally, have a truly normal family built on love.
After all, Joel was convinced that Sarah had sent you to him herself. As if it was her way of making sure, even from heaven, which Joel barely believed in, that her father lived. Not just used up air and wasted his days away but found something to live for. You angrily bandaged Joel's arm one evening after yet another deal had ended poorly, leaving the man with a nasty cut on his forearm. Well, if he could even call that anger. Joel doubted you had that emotion implanted in your brain. You had pushed up your sleeves, not wanting the ends of them to get damp as you moved back and forth between a bowl of warm water and a cloth to clean the blood off his skin. That was the first time Joel saw the ink on your body. A butterfly, and then another one just above the first one.
Joel thought he imagined it at first. He knew he must have looked like a lunatic to you when he gripped your left hand firmly before pushing the material of your sleeve even further up. Three butterflies. All inching further up and up. Butterflies. Sarah loved them; she was Joel's little butterfly. The butterfly that got crushed by the brutality of this world.
"Joel," you carefully mumbled as his fingers traced the tattoos. A flicker of what was behind the mask flashed in his eyes. You knew that he was a broken man. People talked, and even if half of what they were saying was true, it was a lot to go through. Especially alone. Especially after losing the main purpose of your world. "This… when did you get this?", his words came out harsh, as if you should have felt guilty, "Not long before the outbreak. It just…", you giggled to yourself, "Feels silly now that they symbolize growth, a new beginning, and shit". However, it didn't seem stupid to Joel even if he had yanked the cloth out of your hand, pushing you out of the bathroom. Emotions took control of him. He couldn't love you. Couldn't stand you. But the way you kept knocking at the door, concern in your voice as you pleaded with him to let you in, only proved what he already knew. You two had found someone to hold onto. As scary as it may sound.
When Ellie first met you, she couldn't believe that you two were even here and had somehow mutually agreed on something. It seemed impossible to her. You were the polar opposite in her eyes. From the moment in the hallway when Joel had yanked her against the wall, you had warned the male as you leaned over to the girl. Ellie backed away at first, but it's like you had a magical touch, and not even a blink later, she was clinging to you as if you were the last straw for her survival. Joel had only grumbled more at the sight of that. "Get your hands off her," he said, motioning with the gun for the girl to move away, but all you did was tilt your head to the side, giving him one of those looks. "Joel…" you warned him, before turning your attention to the girl, "I'm Y/N, and that's Joel. He's always grumpy. It comes with age, so don't pay too much attention to him." For a moment, Ellie got scared that the gun might now end up being pointed at you, but the male only tightened his jaw before lowering the weapon. And that didn't change when you crossed the wall. You were there talking with her, making sure that she was okay, ensuring that Ellie's desire to communicate was satisfied, while Joel just frowned.
"Here you are", Joel's voice brought you out of your thoughts, and you smiled at him softly. You had just made your way to the safe house. Days of traveling rubbed off on all of you, so you were more than happy to indulge in some peace. "Was wondering where you crept away", even if Joel was 99 percent sure that he was going to find you here once he didn't find you in the dining room. It only took one look outside to know you'd be on the patio. Curled up on the bench watching the sunset. Any time you came by Bill's and Frank's, you always spent your evenings there.
"Missed the view," you mumble, resting your chin on your knees, "Or maybe the fact that there is nothing to fear here." Joel moved to sit next to you. His own eyes admired the view. He stopped doing stuff like this. Before the outbreak, it was work, work, work to keep a roof over everyone's heads, bring food, and give Sarah the best life that she deserved. After… well, moments like this felt almost forbidden. Not to mention that letting your guard down could get you killed.
"Come here," Joel said, nudging your shoulder and wrapping his arm around you. Interactions like that between the two of you were rear but not completely foreign. You two had shared the bed numerous times. Joel had offered you a warm embrace when he saw that the world was close to crushing you. But you had never talked about who you two were or if you were anything more than a bed warmer for one another. "You do know that I would do anything to protect you?", Joel spoke out under his breath, bringing you even closer to him. Your heart skipped a beat as you moved your palm to cup his jaw, leaving a couple of kisses there as you nodded.
"Do you think they were happy when they…", you couldn't bring yourself to finish your sentence as the lump in your throat grew bigger. Joel hummed, "They had each other. That's all Bill and Frank needed". You moved to rest your head on Joel's shoulder. Breathing in both the scent of him and the brisk evening breeze. "Do you ever dream about finding the love they had?", the question was silly, truly, and you knew it. You and your existential questions had pissed Joel off more than once, but for some reason, you never stopped asking them. And for some reason, even through gritted teeth, Joel always answered them. The silence fell between you two for a moment. Joel hesitated to give you an answer. The truth was that the ten years you'd spent by his side had been surreal for him. Even if he constantly pushed you away, no matter the arguments you two would have, he always came back to you. Always. And you never walked away. You were always there waiting for him, even when he quite literally told you to get lost. When you were apart, all Joel could think of, was you. Nothing else mattered. He didn't matter. It was you who swirled around his mind. "Well," the male trailed off, "I've already…" But the door on the patio shot open as Ellie walked out, still looking down at the drawing on the shirt you had found for her.
"Hey, did you know that wild berry soup smells like strawberries?", she beamed till her eyes fell on the two of you. Her face instantly shifted since she had never seen you two this close. Well, she assumed that you might be together, but since she didn't see any grown-up interactions being exchanged, she just pushed that thought to the side. "Shit man, you are together. I was talking shit about him to you," Ellie practically cried out as she raised her hands above her head, making you let out a laugh against Joel's shoulder. "We're not dating, bug", "She talked shite about me?" you and Joel said at the same time. The fact that he had gotten visibly offended by it made you let out another chuckle before you tapped his chest a couple of times.
"Girls have to stick together," you shrugged, and Ellie quickly gave Joel the middle finger. "Okay, enough, you two. Go insane, pick something for dinner, and I'll be right behind you," you said, throwing the blanket you had with at the girl, as ushered Ellie inside. You brushed your hand over Joel's chest as you walked towards the door. Joel's brain screamed at him to catch your hand. To make you stop so he could tell you the words he was meaning to say before Ellie walked in, but he didn't. Only tightening his jaw as his lips thinned into a tight line. He was a fool. A true fool who never truly learned to express himself. If only he could, maybe he would be able to call you his.
Joel's gaze immediately shifted to the window that peaked into the inside of the house once the sound of something falling echoed through the air. You and Ellie were on different sides of the island. The girl had one of those smirks that usually led nowhere good on her face. Then the sound of laughter shot through the space as you took off running to grab hold of whatever Ellie was holding in her hands. The girl squealed as you both ran in circles. "Give me the spaghetti hoops, you little thief!", you yelled, but that only made Ellie laugh more. "I'll tell Joel", you tried to threaten her, but she only let out a huff, "You wouldn't snitch", Ellie narrowed her eyes at you. You quickly hopped onto the island and slid to the other side, taking hold of both of Ellie's hands but losing your balance as you two tumbled to the ground. Joel practically ran inside at the sight of that, the worst scenarios already running wild. He couldn't let you get hurt. Neither of you could get hurt.
Joel rounded the corner, his heart already beating fast. And here you were. Ellie was nearly on top of you as you, as you two stared at each other, both still confused at what had just happened. And then there it was again. The laughter. The whole-hearted laughter drenched Joel's heart dry. Your arms wrapped around Ellie as she giggled away, pressing her cheek against your chest. Joel picked up the can of spaghetti hoops that had rolled off and were long forgotten.
"Oh no, daddy is here, and he is mad," Ellie shrieked playfully, not lifting her head away from you. "Don't call me that shit," Joel warned her before slamming the can against the counter. He quickly turned around, running a hand over his face. Your expression clouded as well. Carefully, you helped Ellie stand up. Her eyes were looking at you as if she were silently asking if she had overstepped a boundary, but you just gave her a quick wink before pointing to the pot. In a couple of steps, you reached Joel as your hands ran down his back. His muscles tensed under your touch, but the moment you pressed a kiss in between his shoulder blades, Joel let out a sigh. "How about you take a shower while we heat up the food? Clear your mind and all that?", you continued to draw patterns on his skin. Joel didn't say anything as he stepped away from you and over to the stairs.
"Is he mad with me?", Ellie's voice made you turn to her. Her big eyes watched you as you shook your head. "He… well, Joel struggles with his emotions. He cares a lot, but that ends up overwhelming him, and then this happens," you said softly, Ellie nodded her head as if agreeing with you. You nudged her shoulder gently and asked, "Want to make the whole feast tonight? Get the canned sausages out."
The shower was indeed all that Joel needed. The hot water took that extra weight of tension off his shoulders, and the fresh set of clothes made him feel like a new man. He was excellent at ignoring his basic needs, but with you, there was no need to worry about that because you always reminded him about all the little things. Things to made him feel better.
Ellie was delivering joke after joke while you all ate. Her energy was surprisingly high, considering that the last couple of days had been rough. "I'm telling you, he just knows all the jokes", she grumbled when Joel hit the right answer to her fifth joke, defeating the purpose of her performance. Joel's hand had slipped under the table, casually resting on your thigh, and you occasionally gave it a little squeeze as if to ensure him that you were here with him. "Okay, can I try?", you weren't much of a jokester, but everyone knew a joke or two. Ellie nodded her head eagerly. You cleared your throat, "What do you call a fish with a bow tie?" You questioned the two of them, trying not to break into a smile. Ellie shrugged her shoulders. "SoFISHticated," Ellie just gaped at you, but Joel snorted under his breath. Your eyes fall on him in an instant. He shook his head, trying to keep the smile off his face. "You laughed, you fucker," Ellie said, pointing her fork at Joel. "I didn't," Joel argued back, "Yes, you fucking did. Y/N tell him", "Yeah, Joel, I consider that a laugh", you moved your hand to gently rub the back of his neck, and his eyes met yours. He got lost in the depths of them just a bit before another laugh escaped his lips. You bit your lip as you watched him, realizing how much you had missed the sound of that. Since the only time you heard it was when the two of you got shitface drunk, and he fell while trying to take his pants off.
"You can fucking laugh. Dude, you're normal," Ellie beamed, watching Joel chuckle. "Eat your noodles before I take them away," Joel warned, reaching over and scooping some of the spaghetti hoops from Ellie's plate, making her protest straight away. She leaned across the table to do the same, but Joel brushes her spoon away easily. "No playing with the food, you two," you gently warn them, even though you enjoyed watching them interact, especially Joel letting her in. They instantly settle back down, even if they continue to watch one another from the corner of their eyes.
Yeah, this was the closest to home that Joel had gotten in over twenty years. Now all he needed to do was own up to his feelings. Admit to himself that the scary feelings won't disappear. But he was going to be equally scared with you or without your officially being a part of his life. And he had promised Sarah, his little butterfly, that he wasn't going to let this go to waste. And that the three butterflies on your hand were possibly you, Joel, and Ellie; that you were all fated to meet. Maybe you two were sent here to change his life. Teach Joel how to fly again.
#joel miller x reader#joel x reader#joel miller imagine#the last of us x reader#the last of us imagine#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal imagine
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things that I overlooked in PJO the first time / small, funny things I noticed during my reread
Part 3: The Titan's Curse
The truth was I was kind of disappointed to hear that she liked her new school so much. It was the first time she'd gone to school in New York. I'd been hoping to see her more often.
I tried to concentrate on little things, like the crepe-paper streamers and the punch bowl - anything but that fact that Annabeth was taller than me, and my hands were sweaty and probably gross, and I kept stepping on her toes.
"The General?" I asked. Then I realised I'd said it in a French accent. "I mean... who's the General?" I want this part to be in the show
"Sweet! Let's go! [to CHB]" said Nico. this breaks my heart. he was so excited in this book
Tyson thought Annabeth was just about the coolest thing since peanut butter (and he seriously loved peanut butter).
"How would you kidnap an immortal goddess? Is that even possible?" "Well, yeah. I mean, it happened to Persephone." "But she was like, the goddess of flowers." Grover looked offended. "Springtime." you tell him grover
"That's some serious danger you're facing." Connor Stoll said. (I liked how he said you and not we.) I'm just imagining the rest of the campers not bothering to go on quests cause it's always the same few demigods and they don't care, they're just chilling safe at CHB while Percy and Annabeth do their things
The creature looked at me sadly. "Moooo!" But I couldn't understand his thoughts. I only speak horse. Percy Jackson speaks two languages: English and Horse
With a shiver, I realised that five hundred or a thousand years from now, Bianca di Angelo would look exactly the same as she did today. She might be having a conversation like this with some other half blood long after I was dead but Bianca would still look twelve years old. ouch
"It wants to kill us!" Thalia said. "Of course." Grover said. "It's wild!" "So how is that a blessing?" Bianca asked.
"That's us," he said. "Those five nuts right there." "Which one is me?" I asked. "The little deformed one," Zoe suggested.
When she smiled at me, just for a moment she looked a little like Annabeth. I know everyone talks about this part but I can't help but bring it up again, they are so cute
"Woah, first of all, I never said anything about love. And second, what's up with tragic!" little does he know. also, Percy is so incredibly insightful in this book but he's also so jealous of Annabeth and Luke and so upset about the idea of her joining the hunters yet still can't figure out that he likes her
"Seven hundred feet tall," I said. "Built in the 1930s." "Five million cubic acres of water," Thalia said. Grover sighed. "Largest construction project in the United States." Zoe stared at us. "How do you know all that?" "Annabeth," I said. "She liked architecture." I cannot explain how much this little bit means to me.
The girl I'd just tried to slice in half yelped and dropped her Kleenex. "Oh my god." she shouted. "Do you always kill people when they blow their nose?" Rachel's here!!! I love her
Five minutes later, Zoe had me outfitted in a ragged flannel shirt and jeans three sizes too big, bright red sneakers, and a floppy rainbow hat. someone draw this and tag me. what an outfit
Suddenly it occurred to me: this had happened to her before. She had been cornered on Half-Blood Hill. She'd willingly given her life for her friends. But this time, she couldn't save us. How could I let that happen to her? he is the most empathetic, wholesome guy, I love Percy
"Can't this go any faster?" Thalia demanded. Zoe glared at her. "I cannot control traffic." You both sound like my mother." I said. "Shut up!" they said in unison. I kind of wish we got more Thalia and Zoe interactions... they would've made such a great enemies to lovers dynamic, if Zoe didn't die
"Get away from my daughter!" Dr Chase called down, and his machine gun burst to life, peppering the ground with bullet holes and startling the whole group of monsters into scattering. "Dad?" yelled Annabeth in disbelief.
Grover went off with his satyr friends to spread the word about our strange encounter with the magic of Pan. Within an hour, the satyrs were all running around agitated, asking where the nearest espresso bar was.
"No," I said. "I choose the prophecy. It will be about me." "Why are you saying that?" she cried. "You want to be responsible for the whole world?" It was the last thing I wanted, but I didn't say that. I knew I had to step up and claim it. "I can't let Nico be in any more danger." I said. might I remind you this boy is 13/14 and has the whole world on his shoulders (both literally at some point and figuratively)
I feel like these are just getting longer and longer but again, I will be back for part 4!
#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo#pjo series#pjo disney+#the titans curse#rick riordan#perseus jackson#annabeth chase#grover underwood#rachel dare#thalia grace#bianca di angelo#nico di angelo
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in the dirty south.
pairing: cowboy!coriolanus snow x black fem oc. warnings: old slang, sexual innuendo, flirting, sorta forbidden infatuation if you blink. shy!oc. content: while at a town fair with her family, delilah finds herself heavily infatuated with the new face in town. an: the people have spoken. cowboy!coriolanus is here. definitely called on my grandmother's southern roots for this so be prepared. I don't know who started cowboy!coriolanus, but all respect and credit to the individual who did. please let me know what y'all think of this!
tags: @snowlandsontopp @babyzzlove @hlstead @rosewine-5 @unicornqueen05 @thegabbyh @neeville @fastlikealambo @urfavesim to keep your spot on the tag list, you are expected to interact!
Outside visiters were not a common occurance the city. The town was small and everybody knew everybody. One would be a fool to think anything that occured in their lives wouldn't be common knowledge to the inhabitants of the town. She wished she had the same type of delusion.
Once every few months, the mayor of the town found it suitable to host a fair. Something to ease the growing tensions between the families and to usher in a type of fun no one had seen since the rebellions took place.
She wouldn't say she didn't enjoy the fairs, but she knew there were other ways to spend her time aside from handing out freshly baked slices of poundcake and a cup of milk, courtesy of her mother and grandmother.
"Delilah! It's time to go, baby." Her mother's voice was rough like gravel yet soothing like silk. Everyone called her comparison foolish, as they didn't understand. But, until they felt the way her words calmed their soul like a newborn being rocked by its mother, they never would.
Delilah hollered back, "Comin', mama!" She stood in front of the mirror--dingy and stained from being passed down from her great-great-grandmother, and so short that she had to stand on her toes to see her full outfit. Her hands swiped over the fabric of her dress. It was new; her grandmother spent 3 weeks making it. A corset dress as bright as the dust that left her shoulders exposed to the kisses of the sun. She smiled at her reflection and pushed her hair away from her face. She shoved her feet into her boots and ran down the stairs.
Delilah questioned if they arrived late or if everyone else arrived early in anticipation. She bobbed and weaved through the sea of black and brown with a smile on her face. Small "pardon mes" and "excuse mes" poured from her lips like water as she attempted not to knock anyone over with her basket.
She followed her mother like a lost puppy to their assigned tent. Right next to Uncle Turner's barbeque restauraunt and the bathroom. Perfect, she said to herself. Lucille dropped the basket against the wood table and began plucking out the tablecloth and napkins.
"Lilah, I'm gon' grab some pitchers of water inside Turner's. I'll be back shortly." Mama's lips turned upward with a soft smile. Delilah nodded and continued her setting up the table.
Beads of sweat gathered at her forehead and her brown skin stung under the gaze of a burning sun. God, she hoped they wouldn't be outside for 10 hours like they were the last time. She couldn't sworn she melted like an ice cream cone within an hour.
Delilah hummed a church hymn to herself and tossed the basket behind her. She plopped down on the ragged bench and crossed her legs just as her mother taught her years ago, folded her hands over her lap, and watched as people walked passed.
People watching was one of her favorite pasttimes. To her left was a young girl riding on her wooden rocking horse, squealing with glee. To her right was a group of young boys tackling each other to the ground as their mother hollered for them to quit roughhousing. Delilah giggled.
She raised her eyes and jerked backward when she saw a group of men walking past. Four of them to be exact. Three were familiar faces: Elijah, Malachi, and Ezra. The boys whom she grew up with. They used to sleep in the same bed together when their mothers worked at the restaurant late at night. But, there was another one she'd never seen before.
He was unfamiliar. There were a few white boys sprinkled here and there, but in her town, it wasn't a frequent occurance. He seemed comfortable, too, with a boyish smirk on his face as he made the boys' head fly back with glee.
She could tell his hands were strong by the way they latched around the harness that allowed him to control the beautiful horse he rode upon. She looked around and saw other women eyeing the stranger. Who was he?
The man slid off the horse and tied the harness against a stake, and followed the men as they approached her mother's tent. His eyes were curious as they examined his surroundings. Delilah brushed the loose curls away from her face and smiled. "Hi, boys."
A series of disgruntled greetings came from them as they padded around the bench to engulf Delilah in a hug. The stranger stayed in front of her, eyes narrow.
"Where's Mama?" Elijah asked. His green eyes searched for the middle-aged woman.
"She's in Turner's getting some water. Might as well help her while you're lookin' for her," Delilah suggested with a shrug. She could feel icy eyes on her. "She'll mess around and drop them tryin' to do the most. Go catch up to her."
"Delilah," said Malachi. "This is Coriolanus. We, uh, we go back. Old friends. We're gon' help, Mama, but Lilah, don't scare him off." Delilah met his eyes. "I won't."
The boys shuffled off to the restaurant to find her mother, which left Delilah in the presence of Coriolanus. It was unique. She'd never heard anything like it. It sounded prestigious, elite.
He was handsome. Messy curls underneath his hat. Strong stature covered by a thick long-sleeve shirt and vest. Her gaze dropped to his belt. Brown with a holster that held, what she assumed was, a fully loaded pistol. And his boots, worn, dirty, and scuffed, just like hers. A country boy.
"Delilah. Nice to meet you, Mr. Coriolanus." Delilah extended her hand slowly. Coriolanus turned his head to the side. Her hands were slender and her nailbeds were painted a blood red. His tongue danced over his tooth.
"No need for that, darling. Nice to meet you," he replied, gently shaking her hand. His hand was much bigger in hers. Calloused like he wrestled animals in the wilderness. Strong like they'd hold her body upright with ease. His eye contact was strong and he could feel it melting her chocolate orbs away.
When he spoke, she noticed that his accent was nowhere as thick as her own, but a southern twang was laced in his words. Almost like he'd been taught. "Where are you from?" To keep herself from getting weak in the knees, she decided to start setting out the serving ware for the cake. Coriolanus' eyes followed her every action.
"Up north," he replied shortly. "Got in a bit of a mess. Decided to come down south for a while."
Delilah hummed and pulled the lid off the poundcake. Its glaze glistened underneath the sun. Just like her. Coriolanus chuckled to himself. "Do you like it?" She looked up at him through her eyelids.
She was so beautiful. He'd seen his fair share of pretty women since being placed in a new District. But she, Lord, this Delilah was something different. She was short in stature with strong shoulders and hips that were not well hidden beneath her dress. She had a cute smile that was covered by full, cherry colored lips. And her hair, so coily and full in a bun upon her head.
Coriolanus ran his tongue over his bottom lip and nodded. "I like it a lot."
Delilah detected the tone of his voice and fought the urge to smile. "I'm glad that's the case."
It was difficult for Delilah to keep her eyes off Coriolanus. Where he moved, her eyes followed. When he spoke to another woman and charmed her with his smile and bright eyes, she felt a twing of jealousy hit. Then, she'd call herself foolish for even being the slightest bit possessive over a man she'd only known for five hours.
She did her best to keep herself preoccupied with the poundcake in front of her. It worked for the most part, until the bench wobbled by the weight of another. Delilah turned to her left and found Coriolanus leaned against the side. "Can I join you, pretty?"
Pretty. Delilah's body warmed as she nodded. Coriolanus swung his leg over the side of the bench and took a seat. His clothed thigh brushed against her exposed once, causing her leg to jump slightly. He noticed, but chose not to say anything.
"You enjoying the fair?" Coriolanus asked.
"Yeah. It's always a fun time. Plus the food is great, too." She raised her fork that held a piece of cake on it. "Have you tried the poundcake? My mama makes the best ever."
Coriolanus shook his head. Delilah gathered a piece on the fork and held it out with the intention for him to pluck it off, but she was shocked when his full lips wrapped around the edge of the fork. His eyes were trained on hers. A gasp fell from her lips.
He hummed softly. "Delicious." He prepared to spur her on further, finding amusement in her disheveled state, but was called back by Elijah. "I'm comin'!. Save some for me later, darlin'. I'll see you later, alright?"
Delilah nodded and bit her lip. "Alright."
He threw her a wink and walked away. He was far from done with her.
#saturnville#original writing#original characters#black!reader#black reader#fic inspo#the hunger games#thg#tbosbas#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#young coriolanus snow#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow x black reader#coriolanus snow x reader#young!coriolanus#young!coriolanus snow#alternate universe#cowboy!coriolanus#cowboy!coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow x delilah mae by saturnville#cowboy!coriolanus x delilah mae by saturnville
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oh, sister, I am sorry. your eyes are sunken and your skin is bruised. your lips are chapped, your nailbeds bitten raw. your husband's hand on your waist is a ghost's touch held by the band on your left ring finger and I-
I am dead.
I got on the train, Su. Nevermind your tears, nevermind the plea you could not shape with words, nevermind your fingers on the pulse point of my wrist. "stay", you'd said, as you have always done, dictionary in hand and baby teeth yet lodged in your jaw. "don't go where i cannot."
I step through a wardrobe and you follow, damned be reason. I slay a wolf and you follow, I cling to the little ones and you follow, I am crowned and you follow, I am-
I go past a lamp post, and you follow, damned be dread. I go to a train station and you follow, trembling hands and tender heart. I go, and I go, and I go, and you follow. Sun of my skies. Light of my life.
I go. you stop.
are we too old for stories, now? ten-and-four and ten-and-three, budding bodies and steel bones, we are cast from our home. i hold the little ones until i drown in them. you grip your skirts until no iron can press the shape of your palms from them. and you have ever been, cruelly reasonable and logically callous.
say you, glass shard eyes and rouge-red lips: we are english. we are children. she thinks she has found a magical land in the upstairs wardrobe.
say I, trembling hands and coiling guts: we are narnian. we are monarchs. if she's not mad and she's not lying, then logically she must be telling the truth.
my sister Susan, beautiful as folk tales are and twice as sharp, did you intend every invitation you took for me to twist the knife a godly animal once thrust into my guts? perhaps it was the way your eyes turned blue, or the sound of your laughter losing its bells. perhaps it was just my trembling fingers at the back of your legs, drawing stocking lines where no stockings had ever lain.
the line came out shaking, and you rubbed it off until your skin cried red. the hem of your dress still dripped wet when you left that day, turning on heels too narrow for you to walk in.
do you remember? it took you days to come home, and mother wailed for all of them. you crawled into my bed that night, as you did when we were parents to our little ones, those terrible months. your head on my shoulder, your breath in my ear, I held you until morning.
your mouth in my throat, eyes heavy with sleep, tongue heavy with champagne: we are here now. we must make the best of it. he cannot have all our lives, and all our joys. i wish you would laugh again.
doesn't little lucy, shrieking mouth and tumbling legs, laugh enough for us all?
lucy's manic. if she didn't laugh she'd cry.
i think sometimes, in the parts of my guts that are still a schoolboy, and are mean and cruel to match, that the alcohol makes you softer than the daylight ever could. i do not tell you.
i press my lips to your forehead. i wrap my arms around you. the year between us rings heavy, and when I get up in the morning, you do not follow.
I tried, Su. I did. I applied for university, I saw that girl with that smile. with those eyes. I let you take sections from the paper before I ever touched it, I held the little ones in my arms, and I made coffee in the morning. I sat all my exams.
I smiled when the little ones came back smelling of home.
Aslan's wounds, did I try. but-
I have ever been a thing made for stories. brave the way knights are, bloody knuckles and buckling pride. a horse between my calves, a sword in my hands.
I think, sometimes, that I was born for my sword, for the hollow ringing of my heart when I first held it. a part of me, even then, ten-and-three and soaked to the bone.
such bravery is not made for real world boys and real world taunts. there is a map, I think, from the summits of my knuckles to the jaws of every boy who ever looked at me and bared his teeth.
I am sovereign. I am the skies for your sun to burn in.
I am made wrong, for this england, and I cannot take this life you want. I belong, I think, into myths and legend, the star-studded shards of our home.
so I went on the train, Susan. so I died, and I named what you have chosen. so I banned you from their scorning mouths. so you grip your husband's hand, realest of us all, and you cry. you do not follow.
Forgive me.
#tcon#narnia#peter pevensie#susan pevensie#sibling relationships#in which peter is a story of a man more than he is a boy#in which susan is a girl more than she is a story of a queen#on diverging paths#on following#and staying#death tw#the last battle#alcohol abuse#brief implications of lucy having manic episodes#hello#i have brainworms#it is 3am#susan is real in a way peter isnt#he is a story and she is a person#the chronicles of narnia#narnia fanfic#narnia fanfiction
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THE CROWN'S WHORE | CHAPTER ONE
WARNINGS: Addiction themes, sexual content, manipulation, dark themes, incest (this is Westeros people), grooming, and possibly more in the future.
The Realm's Delight wasn't Rhaenyra Targaryen once Vyera Waters started walking and talking. She was unaffected by the sexual moments held within the brothel she called home and would often approach the clients without hesitation. The whores around her try to coral her away, but she had her father's stubbornness. She slipped out of their grasp and pestered the clients for their stories since most were knights, children of lords, or lords in general.
She grinned widely and listened with apt attention, easily washing away the agitation they may have had with a bastard brat bothering their fun times. She made cute and sometimes strange noises at certain parts of the story, dramatically reacting at the more messy bits. They laughed at her very open reactions.
The Gold Cloaks quickly turned into regulars, bearing toys, books, and whatever a little princess could wish for. One smile from Vyera and they melted. They proudly told her stories, not only of themselves but also of her father. They listened just as attentively when she shared stories from her dreams; of talking cats whose grins sent a chill down one's spine and who vanished and reappeared before your eyes, hot deserts with horses made from sand threatening to bury you deep within the dunes, or riding the back of a bird the size of a dragon with feathers made of steal.
Ariston Algood smiled as the girl flipped through her new book. Many prayed for the poor girl to be the occasional late bloomer. That was the only thing keeping her from being thrown into the beasts' den.
Just one more day, one more month, one more year without that light that shone from within her being snuffed out by scum who desired to torment and corrupt that light.
Yet, no Gods answered their prayers.
She had bled a day prior and was now dressed in provocative clothing. No longer the baggy rags she used to wore, but a dress made of thin, almost see through, fabric. It looked peculiar on a girl of nine name days. Only the worst of scum would find pleasure in the sight.
"Riz?"
He smiled and patted her head. "Thinking, squirrel."
Vyera rolled her and scowled at the words sprawled on the page. "Dragon, not squirrel." Her words didn't fit her cuteness as she pouted and patted the thick pages. "And you're supposed to be teaching me how to pronounce these words."
Ariston laughed and joined her on the bed. Books with varying thickness surrounded her and most he never cared to read until Vyera. They never seemed all that interesting. It was just words on the page. What good were words when actions could be seen centuries after the person had passed? Yet, she hugged them close as if they were a fine treasure worth more than the gold mines at Casterly Rock. She brightened up at the usual pleasures, like jewels and beautiful dresses and gifts, but books got a loud and vibrant reaction.
She bounced off the walls of the Whore's Blood Brothel with each book, eagerly snatching from any offering hand and pestering the person to read it with her.
Some of the married lords who visited bonded more with her than their own children. "I wish my children had such a hunger for knowledge as you," said the Heir of Blanetree, running his fingers through her locks. She had preened under his touch and giggled, like a dog eager for treats and praises.
Lord Broom sighed, "A whore's daughter knows duty and grace better than my own daughter."
"Such a pity."
None did anything to change her situation; not that the girl complained. She clung to her mother and the brothel as any child would cling to their home and their mother. A year or two more and that opinion would certainly change.
Ariston leaned closer to Vyera and looked over the page. "Where are you finding difficulty understanding?"
"What does this mean?" she taps at the word abomination.
Fuck.
He peaked at the book's name. Just as he thought, it spoke of the Faith. "Uh... Something going against the order of the Gods. Like, um... the... the Children of the Forest with their magic." Sweat gathered at the base of his neck. "Don't you want to read something else?"
Vyera frowned and stared at him. For a Dragonseed, she resembled her father incredibly close yet there were a few traits none knew where they came from. They knew without uncertainty that Narelle of the Whore's Blood was the girl's mother. Yet she carried traits neither side of her lineage granted. Her eyes were golden and flecked with silver. Her canine teeth were ever so slightly pointier and sharper than most. Even as a child, her features were already showing a sharpness no girl her age naturally possessed. Unlike either parent, she possessed an innate glow that simply compelled every man who entered her presence to shower her with gifts, praises, and affection. Some were less pure than others, but she paid little mind to those types.
Her expression softened once she saw whatever there was in his eyes. "No need. Tis' truly fascinating to read how certain sorts of individuals view the world." She paused, and added, "And don't worry about the stuff on bastards. It doesn't hurt me. I know who I am, and I am not everything that is written in this."
"You are none of what is written."
She smiled and pressed against his side. "Riz?"
"Hm?"
Vyera curled up and hugged herself. Instead of the girl he'd grown to care for, a child frightened off the future revealed herself to him. "The brothel master will want me to lose my maidenhead. Doesn't matter I am a child, he's gonna want evidence." She peaked at him through her dense locks. "I don't want it to be any of the others. I care for them, and I know they would never intend to hurt me. I... Please... Please be the first once my moonblood ends. I... I don't want it to be anyone else."
Oh, fuck… She… As much as he gagged at the thought of any of the Lords lusting over Vyera, it made painful sense.
Ariston was not that far in age from her. Only seven namedays apart. It was still strange yet…
He looked down at the girl who skipped up to him, even when he was running his hands along her mother’s sides. Now that had been mortifying. She smiled widely and rushed him with a hundred different questions. Their second meeting didn’t go any better either. Neither did their third. Yet, she cared for him, eagerly listened to his stories of his home, of his older siblings, of his parents, and now… looked to him for protection from any who wished to destroy whatever innocence she protected with a tiny dagger.
He had no doubt she’d ask any of her other friends the same favor. After all, he couldn’t spend the entire day with her. His pockets did not boast such a fortune. And yet…
“If that is your wish.”
He couldn’t free her from the brothel’s clutches; he couldn’t shower her with luxurious gifts; he couldn’t protect her as he wished. But he could do this.
Vyera Waters smiled. A waning moon in comparison to the usual exuberance.
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