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aemondsbabe · 4 months

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Two Souls, Entwined

summary: dreams & dirty talk || helaena has been plagued with visions; things between her and her lady in waiting finally reach a boiling point

pairing: helaena targaryen x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, wlw, mutual pining, angst but happy ending, dry humping, breast/nipple play, dirty talk but make it poetic and loving, slight aegon slander i broke my own heart, i love helaena sm, there needs to be more content for her i love her, let me know if i missed anything!!

word count: 4.1k

a/n: happy day ten of 12 days of smuff!! i'm actually very excited/proud of this one, it got a lot more personal than i was expecting! really feeding that scared bi girl i was in middle school idk. i hope y'all enjoy it!!!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @merrypembertons

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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Helaena sighs when she opens her eyes and blinks, disoriented by the early morning light, her head still clouded with sleep.

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe…” She whispers to the emptiness of her chambers, the cryptic phrase a familiar one now as it had been making its home in her head for the past few weeks.

Sitting up with a groan, she pauses at the edge of her bed, staring blankly ahead as the cloudy figures from her dream seem to swirl around her still. She was growing frustrated with the shadowy shapes, as much as she hated to admit it – she did not often enjoy her dreams, they often brought news of unpleasant tidings, secrets that she alone seemed expected to bear, but for the past few weeks her dreams had been… pleasant. Joyous, in fact. Yet they seemed much further away than the others, only revealing small slivers of information to her night after night.

She smiles softly as she gives one last glance out the window before padding over to the vanity in her chambers, determined to brush out her hair before the maids have the chance, they were always too rushed and hurried. Her mind drifts back to her dream as she runs a comb through her fair hair; lately, this mysterious dream seemed to be the only thing she could focus on for very long.

The figure in it seemed so familiar, moving around her as if it was an old friend, someone safe. She sighed again as she thought, blushing despite herself as she recalled her latest vision, remembering how the shadow had moved about her, as if in a courting dance, before it leaned in closely, though if it were for a kiss or to whisper a secret she didn’t know.

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe.” She repeats, as if the repeating will somehow reveal more.

It puzzles her greatly, the feelings of safety mixed with distinct romantic desire, a deep wanting from somewhere within her. There aren’t many people she even feels safe around, and even less so those she’d ever felt romantic longing for, and a much shorter list followed of people who had ever felt romantic longing for her. She feels secure around her mother, of course, and grandsire and her precious younger brothers, but she cannot help but wrinkle her nose with disgust at the thought of romantic intent with any of them.

She blinks, setting her hairbrush down and biting her lip as she thinks. I feel safe with Aegon, she ponders, brows knitting together, He’s never given me a reason to not feel safe but… She sighs, not bothering to finish the thought. She was well aware her marriage was one of politics, not of love. She remembers there had been whispers of many suitors when she’d finally come of age; everyone from Aegon and Aemond to her half-sister’s bastard sons had been considered, and though Helaena appreciated some more than others… she didn’t desire any of them.

Before she can help herself, her blue eyes flit over her own curves as she gazes at herself in the mirror, wishing, as she had so many times before, that she could reach out and feel her own reflection – feel a mirrored twin with similar soft skin and supple flesh. She wishes that soft, delicate fingers could touch her as well; she had grown tired of rough, battle worn touches long ago.

Someone I feel safe with and feel romantic longing for, she thinks again, blinking rapidly as a familiar face immediately springs to mind yet again, just as it had every time she’d pondered this mystery for the last few weeks, only growing more frustrated. It can’t be, she’d decided that long ago, long before this vision began.

But...

The Gods only ever seemed to show her visions that were assured, that would come to fruition, one way or another. Maybe… maybe that meant that y–

No, she thought, locking eyes with her reflection, Don’t be ridiculous.

She smiles as she hears her chamber doors opening, at the same time they do every morning, and turns around on the ornate, cushioned chair at her vanity, her eyes locking with your familiar ones as you waltz it.

“Good morning, Princess,” her heart beats a mite faster at the sound of your voice, at the bright smile that graces your lips as you stride to her, “I trust you slept well?”

“Good morning, sweet friend,” she greets you brightly, standing and pulling you into a hug as she did every day, “I did, quite peacefully, actually. And you?” She asked, trying to ignore the small voice that longed to hold you more closely, as she did everyday.

“I did as well,” your hand lingers in hers for a moment as she steps away, sitting back at her vanity as the maids arrive, instantly fluttering around the two of you like a kaleidoscope of butterflies, “After we break fast, would you like to come to the gardens with me?”

Helaena merely nods, though inside she buzzes, her heart fluttering like a bird’s wings.

I would follow you into the Seven Hells, she longs to say.

You wake with a small start, your hand instantly flying to your lips. You could swear they still tingle for a second from when she’d kissed you, just before you’d woken up. Blushing, you glance around your chambers, as if there would be anyone else there, and finding them empty leaves you both relieved and disappointed all at once.

Sighing, you slide off of your plush bed and walk over to your small vanity and use the small wash basin to splash water on your face. A small thrill shoots up your spine as you glance over your shoulder in the mirror, knowing from the position of the light filtering through your windows that it’s nearly time to go find your friend.

Friend.

It’s a funny word, you think, not one you would have imagined assigning to the princess all the many years ago when you’d arrived at King’s Landing, young and eager to be a lady in waiting for Helaena. You can’t help the smile that blooms on your lips each time you think of her, your quiet, captivating princess. You meet your own gaze in the mirror and frown, looking at yourself in the way a disappointed parent would look at a child.

Not yours, you chide, like repeating it over and over would make it hurt any less, Not yours, not yours, not yours.

Sighing yet again, you rise from your spot at the vanity and quickly grab your robes, eager to escape your own thoughts.

“This one is the iphiclides podalirius,” Helaena says, her voice soft as she marvels at the delicate butterfly perched on the back of her hand, “More commonly called the scarce swallowtail, I believe. It’s truly remarkable, normally they don’t travel this far north, though I’m told they’re a common sight in the gardens of Sunspear.”

“Then we are quite lucky to see it,” you smile, setting your embroidery hoop on the bench beside you as you study the yellow and black striped insect, though your eyes seem to drift to the princess on their own; you can’t help but smile as you see the way her beautiful sapphire eyes light up as she examines the small creature, “It’s very beautiful.”

Like you, you think, swallowing down the words.

“Would you like to hold her?” Helaena asks, looking at you hopefully.

As always, you nod, aware that you were the only one who seemed to entertain her fascination with insects and plants. Selfishly, you liked that.

Slowly and carefully, Helaena guides the butterfly onto the back of your hand; the two of you sitting close together, close enough for your shoulders to press together. A giggle leaves you at the feel of the insect's feet on your skin, so small and light, like tiny, faint kisses.

“Perhaps she was drawn to the hydrangeas,” the princess muses, “Those are new this year, though I suppose any of the other very colorful plants would spark her fancy as well, like the lilac or poppies or…”

It takes you a second to notice that she’s gone quiet next to you and you finally tear your gaze away from the butterfly, frowning slightly when you see the look on her face, her blue eyes hazy and unfocused as they flit back and forth like she’s watching figures you cannot see.

“Princess?” You ask softly, reaching out to take her hand, only halfway aware of the butterfly fluttering away, “Helaena?” You ask again, a bit louder, gripping her hand tighter.

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe…” She whispers, so faintly that the words scarcely leave her lips. Your frown only deepens, your eyebrows knitting together as you shake your head, trying to make sense of her words.

“What?” You ask softly, used to hearing her mutter odd phrases but seeing her in a trance was something altogether different, “Helaena? Should I go fetch the maester?” You don’t know why you ask her, not expecting a response.

The figure danced in front of her again, clouded in darkness, though instead of feeling cold and empty like the dark so often did to her, these shadows hugged Helaena like a blanket.

She blinked, and suddenly everything changed, becoming clear as if she’d blinked away tears. The clarity was startling for a second as the edges of the figure sharpened before her, still leaning toward her as if it meant to whisper an amorous secret.

Finally, her eyes focused and in that moment, she felt as if she could be knocked over by the air current made from the flittery wings of a butterfly.

You.

It was you, just as she’d always suspected, standing before her as if you’d always been there.

Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe. The phrase repeats in her mind like a mantra as she stares at you, marveling at the way you stare at her.

Like she’s precious, something to be fawned over. Something to be… loved?

Her heart hammers wildly in her chest as she reaches out, her fingers finally skimming over your cheek.

She could cry, perhaps she is crying, she doesn’t know. The only thing she’s sure of is that this feels so right, like a puzzle piece within her has finally shifted and slotted into place.

Just as it crosses her mind to lean in and kiss you, the vision falls away, words echoing in her mind as the gardens come back into focus.

Not a friend.

Yet...

Not a foe.

“Helaena, please!” You beg, urgency coating your voice as you lean in closer, closer than you’d ever dared before, praying to see some spark of recognition in the princess’s eyes.

Suddenly, she seems to come back to herself, gasping as you jump back away from her, startled.

“Oh!” She breathes, blinking a couple times before her blue eyes finally fix themselves on you, “I’m so sorry, I don’t… I don’t know what came over me.”

You shake your head quickly, moving back toward her and taking her hands in yours once more, your heart twisting as you notice them trembling slightly. “There’s no need to apologize, I’m just happy you’re alright.”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, Helaena staring at you in a way that makes your cheeks heat up, as if she’s seeing you for the first time, before she seems to catch herself and look away, much to your disappointment.

“Was that one of your dreams?” You ask softly, looking down to where her hand rests within yours.

“Yes.” She says simply, her eyes locked on the way your fingers overlap hers as she desperately tries to ignore the voice in her head telling her to enterwine them.

“What did you see?” You ask, catching her gaze again. There’s a fire in her eyes now that makes you shiver.

She’s quiet for a moment, neither of you so much as breathing as you stare at each other – the princess looking at you so intently you wonder if she’s trying to hear your thoughts. You pray she can’t.

“Nothing of importance,” she says finally, pulling her hands away and standing from the bench suddenly, “They’re just shapes, really. Fuzzy things.”

“Alright,” you smile as you stand with her, picking up your embroidery hoop from where it had been abandoned at your side, “If you ever wish to discuss them, I would be more than happy to listen.” You tell her, desperately wanting to hold on to whatever moment you had just shared with her.

She merely nods with a small, soft smile and holds her arm out for you to take, “Let’s go, we don’t want to be late for supper.”

The fire warming your skin from the hearth in Helaena’s chambers normally felt cozy and inviting, but tonight the heat of it was stifling as the two of you sit in silence. Each of you is presumably working on an embroidery piece, although the atmosphere feels more like that of a stalemate with each passing moment.

You can feel her looking at you, sneaking glances every minute or so. You imagine she can probably feel the same, perhaps that’s why she keeps looking your way, because you can’t seem to keep your eyes off her either.

Finally, the tension in the room seems to boil over and you can’t take it anymore; your fingers dig into the wood of your embroidery hoop as you gather the courage to speak.

“Have I… Are you cross with me?”

“Pardon?” The princess asks, jumping a bit before laying her hoop at her side, her eyes wide as she looks at you unabashedly now.

“You, well, you keep looking at me. I just, I’m hoping I haven’t offended you in some way.” You chance a glance at Helaena and quickly do a double take, heart clenching in your chest when you see that she looks as if she’s about to cry.

“You haven’t,” she breathes, shaking her head emphatically, locks of pale hair cascading down her shoulders as she does, “I simply… I was considering the dreams I’ve been having, the one I had earlier today.”

“But what does that have to do with me?”

“You’ve been in them!” She says suddenly, loudly, like she has to force out the words.

“What?” You blink.

She sighs heavily and swallows, wringing her hands on her lap. “You were in them. You have been for weeks.”

You wonder if the princess can hear your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you blink, silently praying to whichever of the Gods may be listening that Helaena’s dreams and your dreams were not somehow intertwined. In the back of your mind, you knew your pleas were useless.

Your mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish that’s been plucked from the water before you finally find your voice, “What… what am I doing in them?” Your whole body buzzes, fearing the answer and desperately needing it all at once.

The princess hesitates, you want to scream as you can all but see her weighing her options in her mind before she finally, finally speaks.

“Courting me, kissing me.”

A small withering, wounded noise passes your lips at her words. You feel dizzy, the room spinning as you feel as though the entire world is crashing down around you while at the same time, it’s as if a mountain’s worth of weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

“And your visions… they only show things already fated to occur?” You feel frozen as you ask, not a muscle in your body moving. You know the answer even as the question leaves your lips, but you need to hear her say it.

Helaena sighs and shakes her head, a frown cutting across her pretty face, “That’s why it’s frustrating,” she bites, spitting the words like the mere act of explaining is painful, “This one cannot come to pass, I do not understand why I see it…”

She keeps speaking, talking through her annoyance, but the sound of your own blood pumping wildly through your veins blocks out her words.

No, your head pounds as you silently scream, No, no, no! Please, just let me explain, give me a chance, I’ll do any—

A loud sob cuts through your thoughts; the world seems to wrench its way back to you as you look at the princess, eyes widening when you see the tears flowing down her flushed cheeks.

“You could never truly wish to…” She says slowly, brokenly, words fading like she can’t even bear to say them.

“I do.” The words feel punched from your chest like you’re holding your heart out to the open air.

Helaena’s ocean eyes cut to yours as her breath hitches, the both of you not daring to move a muscle as you sit together on the small sofa in her chambers; the fire crackling in the hearth is the only indication that time has not ceased to exist.

You aren’t sure who moves first, maybe the Gods have threaded the two of you together so tightly that you move as one, you can’t be sure.

But her lips are on yours.

And her hands cup your cheeks as yours scramble to fit around her waist, four hands poised on a knife’s edge.

You sigh against each other, pulled together like a knot in a thread, and you gasp as you find yourselves pressed together, chest to chest.

Finally, you part for air, panting together as you stare, foreheads pressed together.

“Princess—“

“You love me?” She asks, swiping a thumb over your cheek; it’s only then you realize you’re crying.

“Yes,” you breathe, your hands grip her tighter, pulling her impossibly closer to you, “And you?”

“Yes,” she echos, her thighs slotting over one of yours as she climbs atop your lap, “You are my heart beating out of my body.”

Her words zap through you and your heart twists in your chest as your hands clamber against her, your lips press against hers again urgently. Twin moans, muffled into each other's mouths, sound between you as your hands cup her rear, pressing her more urgently against you.

“You are beautiful,” you sigh, hands grabbing at her plush curves through the silk fabric of her skirts, “You’re so soft and —“

“Warm,” she breathes, moaning into the column of your neck as her lips move against your skin, “You’re so warm, my love, like the sun.”

My love. The pet name sends a shiver down your spine as the two of you move together, pressing kisses against whatever patches of skin you can find, rocking together instinctually. The firmness of her thigh presses deliciously against your center, your skirts rucked up enough to bare your smallclothes, which press welty against your core.

You gasp, pressing a kiss to the princess’s collarbone as her hips move tantalizingly on your thigh, the warmth between her legs nearly suffocating as you whimper and sign against each other’s soft skin.

“I have always loved you,” you confess, nearly coming undone as she begins tugging at the ties at the bosom of your gown, her hands shaking as she pulls them loose, “Always, from the first moment I saw you.”

She makes a noise between a moan and sob as she finally tugs your bodice loose, and you whimper as her lithe fingers ghost over your breasts, causing your back to arch into her touch. “I’ve always loved you too,” she sighs as her soft hands cup your chest, kneading the flesh in her palms, “I always wanted to court you, marry you, I,” her voice breaks off in a faint, high-pitched whine as you finally manage to unbutton the bodice of her gown, she savors the feel of your lips and hands against her breasts for a moment more before continuing, “Gods, I wished to bed you, I’ve always longed to know what you would feel like, how sweet you’d taste.”

Her confessions nearly make you weep as you kiss over the fat of her breasts, keening into her supple skin as she delicately pinches at your nipples, “I have only ever thought of you, my sweet princess,” your chest heaves as you speak, your words muffled as you lick over her nipple, “When I sleep, when I wake, when I–” The words stick in your throat as you freeze, peering up at her through your lashes, somehow still impossibly afraid of going too far, or too fast, or too anything.

“When you what?” She asks, her voice so soft and sweet as she stares down at you, her fingers digging into your breast and side as her sapphire eyes flit between yours, “Tell me, my love, when you what?” She urges, her hips moving somehow more desperately against yours, only serving to fuel the fire slowly building within you.

“Gods, when I touch myself,” you whisper, shuddering as she lets out a breathy moan above you, “When I peak, sweet princess, I think only of you.” Your confession ends in a sharp gasp as she angles you backwards, anchoring you to her with an arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Her lips trail down your neck and collarbone before finally, she presses firm, fiery kisses to your breast, panting as she wraps her petal pink lips around your nipple and sucks, pressing her thigh more firmly against your center as she does.

“I think only of you too,” she breathes, blue eyes fluttering up to yours as your hands tangle in her pale locks, “Every time I touch myself, I dream of you,” she mumbles around your breast, her touch all but burning into you as she kisses across your chest before mouthing at the other side, “When my brother beds me, it is you I see, my precious lady.”

You practically sob as her admission sends you reeling, each cell in your body bursting like lightning from a stormcloud as you peak. You’re useless to do much else other than tremble in her hold as shivers travel in currents down your spine, your smallclothes no doubt ruined as your center clenches frantically at nothing, your pearl so taut and achy as it twitches against the princess’s thigh.

You don’t waste a second when your high subsides, moving frantically as you push Helaena back, slotting yourself perfectly atop her, pressing your thigh between her legs like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Your skirts fan out around your bodies, blanketing your forms in a soft sea of silk, your bare chests pressed tightly together as you rut against her, needing to see her awash with pleasure more than you need breath in your lungs.

“My love, my sweet princess,” you sigh into her mouth, your tongues swirling together as she all but cries beneath you, her hands digging possessively into your waist, “I am yours, my love, until the end of my days.” You swear, pressing your thigh tightly against her center, and your heart soars as she finally shatters in your grasp.

You watch, enraptured, as she peaks; mesmerized at the blush that blooms on her skin, at the way her blue eyes roll back as her eyes flutter closed, at how her breasts heave as she sucks in desperate breaths. The sounds she makes seem to pierce into your soul, each whimper and moan and cry ripping away parts of you until your heart is stripped bare, beating only for her.

The two of you lay in a heady silence for many moments, the only sounds being your soft, panting breaths as you each come down and the ever-present crackle sounding from the hearth.

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe.” Helaena whispers, her voice raspy as she speaks.

“Pardon?” You ask, pulling back from her embrace just enough to meet her gaze.

“That phrase,” she explains, her eyes glimmering in the firelight as a smile steadily blossoms on her pink lips, “I kept hearing it, in my dreams about you.”

You stay silent, tracing soft circles on her soft skin, leaving room for her to continue.

“I wasn’t sure at first, but now I see.”

“Hm?”

You aren’t my friend, the Gods spoke truthfully,” she beams, radiating joy as she studies your face, “You’re my love.”

Her statement is simple, but it makes you smile all the same as you press a sweet kiss to her lips.

“Yes,” you nod, pulling back to meet her eyes as you lay a hand over her heart, “Always.”

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gretaswhore28 · 3 months

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Messed up

This is definitely an angsty one. Pretty well just talks about Noah post-breakup while they’re on tour.

Warnings: crying, forgotten shirt, confessions

Noah as he sings the song he wrote about your breakup and how he wishes he could take back the things he said to you. He knows he was harsh. That he shouldn’t have used your past against you. That he should’ve been more understanding. In the song he mentions how he’d go to the ends of the earth to make things right if you’d let him. He just wants you to take him back.

He’s pretty well like this by the end of the song, with tears in his eyes. Looking up to that one spot in the balcony where you’d always stand to watch the show, wishing you were there now.

Luckily after that song they take a few seconds for a small break. He stands to the side of the stage out of view, wiping away the tears that fell as he walked off. He composes himself after a short hug from Ruffilo saying “you’ll be okay, we can talk about it after if you want to. I love you.” When they come back his eyes are slightly red, he carries through the rest of the shower best he can. The minute they step off he immediately goes to Ruffilo and just holds onto him for dear life. “I fucked up so bad man. She was the best thing to happen to me since becoming friends with you, the band. She gave me the stability I needed. The stability I craved. I just want her back.”

When he goes to sleep that night, he holds onto the shirt you forgot to grab the night you left. There is pretty well a fairly decent large wet spot on it from where he had been crying. The guys knew to leave him be. To talk about it in his own time. He only checks his phone anymore to see if you’ve texted or called.

What Noah doesn’t know, is that you heard the song when it came out. Still wanting to support the others. You listen to the lyrics, given the song is slower than the others they’ve put out. How it’s different than V.A.N. You hear him saying how he regrets how he treated behind how he hid it lyrically. How he wishes he could change what had happened. Just wanting to make things right, to make it up to you.

The song kept replaying in your head after that. It wasn’t until you saw a video of the performance on your feed. Seeing Noah’s expressions. You noticed his cheeks started to get red like they did when he tried to keep himself from crying. The visual creating a heavy feeling in your chest. It takes you about a week, but you send him a simple text.

You: hey

His text back is almost immediate.

Noah: hey

You: I heard the new song

Noah: you did? I’m surprised you did after everything.

You: well, just because we broke up doesn’t mean I’m not going to support the others anymore. They’re just as much apart of the band as you are.

You send another text after that to follow up what you were going to say.

You: did you really mean all the things you said in it?

Noah: I did. Y/n, I’m so fucking sorry for what I did to you. I shouldn’t have throw your past in your face, I shouldn’t have been so ruthless. I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve been better to you. Better for you. I can’t look at myself knowing I hurt you. I just want to make things right. I know you probably don’t believe me, and you have every right to do so. Every show I look to the spot you always stood. I want you to be there but you aren’t. Ruffilo keeps telling me I need to find something to get my mind off you, but I can’t even get the motivation to get up unless it’s for a show. I miss you so much.

You didn’t know what to say about his confession. You probably reread it a good three times. You had silent tears coming down your cheeks by that point.

Noah: you don’t have to say anything. I just needed to tell you. I still love you y/n

After he texted you that, you got a message from Ruffilo

Nicholas: y/n he’s a mess right now. Even though he said you don’t have to say anything, he keeps checking his phone. It’s good we have a couple days off right now, but the guys and I can only do so much to help him. Let me bring you out here so you both get clarity. Please

You: it’s more I don’t know what to say. I know he means it, I can see it in his expressions during videos I’ve seen of the performance on my feed. I want to talk to him, I do, but I can’t find the words.

You: I’ll come out to a show. I’ll be there for the next one. Don’t tell him, he’ll get worked up before hand. I’ll come see him after. Just send me the details.

With that, Ruffilo set up your flight and asked Matt to get you from the airport when you landed. The flight there and to the venue felt heavy for you. You left your stuff in the car Matt picked you up in. You hung out at one of the local breweries close to the venue. When the time came for doors to open, you made you way inside through security. You went up to the spot you always went to during their shows, knowing he’d see you there.

The show started after Poppy’s set. The familiar riff of Artificial Suicide. Then Jolly’s silhouette appeared. After a few lines, Ruffilo and Folio come on. Then, there’s Noah. He comes out, full of his usual show energy. Soon enough, it comes to the point in the show where they play the song he wrote for you. He gets about halfway through before he finally looks up into the balcony towards you. His eyes go wide, seeing you standing there. He continues the song, remember to look out towards the crowd, but still looking towards you a lot. When it gets to the last line, he sings towards the crowd, finishing it by looking at you and speaking; “I’m sorry.”

The show eventually comes to and end. Davis being the one to come get you, taking you back to the green room. By the time you reach the door, Noah is pacing, the others standing or sitting, telling him it’ll be okay. They see you walk in, the guys excuse themselves, leaving you and Noah alone. After the door closes, Noah takes a couple steps towards you. “I- what are you doing here?” He asks, his voice slightly shaking.

You look at him, pushing your hair out of your face. “Ruffio suggested it” you confess. He curses quietly, and sits down. You follow his actions. Sitting on the other side of the couch. It’s quiet for a while. Both of you feeling uncomfortable in the silence.

“I meant what I said y/n. I’m sorry. I wish I could change things, make them right” he speaks softly. His gaze shifting towards you. Watching to see what you do next. You take a minute before responding. “I know you’re sorry. I could see it in your performance, I hear it in your voice. But it doesn’t change the fact that what you said really hurt me. I really trusted you when I told you those things, I trusted you to not use them against me. I trusted you when you said you wouldn’t hurt me in the beginning of our relationship. To have the person you love, the person you found solstice in say those things to you; it was like I was being stabbed. It felt like I didn’t matter to you as much as you said I did” you told him honestly.

He moves to sit closer to you, taking your hand in his. He waits to speak until you’re looking at him. “And I have lived everyday in regret of what I did. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was the minute i said them, but i let you leave instead. I’m sorry for the hurt i caused you. I’m sorry i said the things i did. I’m sorry I wasn’t better to you. I understand if you say no, but please give me the chance to make it up to you. I don’t care how long it takes, I don’t care if it takes me until the day I die to make it up to you. Just please, let me try and make things right. Please” his eyes are pleading, watery.

You consider his words for a while. Letting them process. You’re scared, he can see it. He knows he broke your trust. He speaks again, “even if it’s only as friends. I just want you back in my life. Please.”

You look at him, looking into his eyes. They’re searching your face for some kind of reaction, some kind of answer. “Okay” you say, his eyes light up in hope. “But I swear to god if you even fuck up in the slightest, I’m done. You get one chance and that’s it” you tell him honestly.

He holds your hand between his, leaning to press it against his face. You can feel tears on it. “Thank you y/n, thank you. I promise to be better. I promise to listen completely. I promise to be what you need this time.”

You use your other hand to make him look at you, holding his face with it. Wiping his tears away, you speak again. “I’ll hold you to it.” He asks if he can hug you, you respond with a simple nod. He pulls you into him, holding onto you tighter than he ever has before. Terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go. “Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian bad omens #noah x reader #noah sebastian davis #bad omens fanfic #bad omens

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heyidkyay · 5 months

Text

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Eight

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: Hey! Quick note, this part has a LOT going on, it jumps from pov 2 or 3 times, but there's details mentioned that will make more sense later on, I hope that leaves no one confused:) Also there are a few new characters coming in, some will stay, some won't, so keep that in mind! I was gonna end this part like halfway through and then post, but it felt a little unfinished, so here it is hope you enjoy:))) x

Warnings: A short scene revolving around body image, mentions of scars, drugs, sobriety and heavy drinking

Masterlist

Messages now Jamie O (glasses!) In the area, fancy meeting up for coffee?

It had been a good few days since I had last messaged either Jamie or Matty. Though the latter hadn't seemed to have caught onto the fact that I had suddenly distanced myself. Jamie, on the other hand, had and had surprisingly given me some space with it.

Well, up until now that was.

It was a weary sigh that escaped me when I gazed down at my phone, needless chatter of gossiping mums and squealing children having faded far into the background.

I had only just managed to drop Teddy off at nursery, dipping and diving through the crowd to deliver him right to the classroom door, and was already halfway out of the playground now. It was my first day off in weeks- like proper day off. And now, I had Jamie to deal with.

Alright, maybe that was a bit harsh, but saying that, I wasn’t so much of a twat to just ignore the first message he’d sent me in a while. Especially after I'd disregarded all of the man's previous efforts. Still I couldn't quite stop myself from huffing quietly as I shot him back a message, anxiety creeping in.

Messages now Closer to Tufnell Park than the studio at the minute

Jamie’s response came only seconds later.

Messages now Jamie O (glasses!) No worries! Meet you near The Dome?

Sidestepping a few latecomers as I exited the school gate, I chewed on my bottom lip but eventually sent a text to let Jamie know that I'd be there. I only hoped that the man didn't ask too many questions about my sudden disappearance, I wasn’t too sure I could take the heat.

Early morning rush hour was in full swing by the time I’d made my way out onto the highstreet, people bustled past me to get to work without a care, or even an apology, for anyone who got in their way, zooming on ahead like a soldier in a storm. That was one of the things that had taken me some time to get used to, in truth. How different the crowds of London were to the tiny population of my hometown.

I'd just surpassed the underground station when I caught sight of a vaguely familiar head of dishevelled hair. Jamie stood a way ahead, smiling at the passersby with his hands shoved deeply into the lining of his coat's pockets. He wore a pair of dark, fitted trousers and had a smart looking scarf thrown haphazardly over his right shoulder, something to shelter him from the exaggerated cold.

Somehow, his face seemed to brighten upon seeing me approach.

"Glad you could make it!" He said as I approached, and he clapped my upper arm in light greeting. "Thought you would have managed to beat me here though."

I made do with a small smile, before gesturing my head over towards where a quaint cafe sat up a few doors down so that we could begin walking.

"Nah, it's pretty hectic trying to escape the crowds at this time. Did you catch the tube up here then?" I conversed and saw Jamie’s brow dip for the briefest of moments before he hastily shook his head at my question.

"Oh, no. Was just leaving a meeting up in Shoreditch, you were on my route so I thought I'd ask."

I gave a low hum, unsure, but didn't comment on it when I thanked him for holding the door open for me to pass through.

"What are you in the mood for then? It's on me."

"Ah, no it's-"

I didn't even get the chance to decline the offer before Jamie was waving me off with a charming smile and a wave of his arm. "Honestly, mate. It's fine, a cup of coffee won't have me out on my arse. So what do you want?"

Blinking with a somewhat disbelieving shake of my head, I prattled off my usual order in a low murmur and told Jamie that I'd find us a table. Just wanting to be helpful, but also to get a second to think things through.

The cafe wasn't too busy. It held the expected usuals; a handful of early-rising old timers and a couple of suits headed in late. So there were a few free tables up for grabs. I picked the one by the window.

Jamie joined me a few minutes later, wearing his usual grin as he carried over a tray of goodies. I raised an eyebrow at the mountain of sweet pastries procured but the man simply shrugged.

"Looked like you'd had a long morning, figured you to be the chocolate type." He commented as he nudged a large croissant in my direction.

Just looking at the buttery roll made my stomach grumble. Teddy and I had been in a wee bit of a rush this morning to get out of the house after my alarm had failed to wake us, so I'd skipped breakfast and picked Teds up something to eat on the way into school.

Toying with the rim of the coffee's handle, I gave Jamie an appreciative smile. “Cheers.” I breathed out and carefully pulled the plate in a little closer.

After that we both simply sipped at our warm drinks for a short while, watching as the morning commuters passed by the large window. It was a calm affair and far from as awkward as I might've expected the meeting to be. In fact, it was actually the first time Jamie and I had met up since that day at the studio, and even then we hadn't had much of an opportunity to chat.

Still, Jamie’s company felt very similar to that of Adi's- perhaps even Finn's. It allowed me to relax a little.

It was only after I'd broken off the end of my croissant that I spoke up.

"So, is driving across London at nine in the morning just to buy me a drink your idea of a date, or do you do this with all your mates?"

Jamie blinked at me once, twice, before his eyes widened in alarm, which caused me to, quite literally, snort into my tea.

"I'm joking! Don't fret. Just wondering why the sudden change in pace."

Jamie gifted me a sheepish grin in response and took a quick swig of his coffee before he finally replied.

"You went quiet on us." He shrugged as he picked apart a blueberry muffin, separating the berries from the soft sponge, which amused me somewhat. "Gave you a couple days to breathe, but I reckon you've had long enough. You wanna tell me what's up?"

My eyes strayed back to the window as I withheld a sigh, knowing full well that this had been coming.

“You know how it is.” I shrugged, almost petulant, and gripped at my cup a little tighter. "Just got busy. I mean, you have to deal with Matty and the band constantly. Can’t be an easy feat."

I received a laugh in turn but my attempt at a little lighthearted humour didn't derail Jamie.

"I know we haven't known each other that long, and you really do have no reason to trust me, of all people, with your problems. But I am here if you ever need anything. Can't speak for Matty, try as I might, but I wouldn't put it past him to go completely out of his way to do whatever you asked either." He chuckled to himself then, like he knew something I didn’t. "He actually hasn't been able to stop talking about you, you know. Not since we met."

I tapped at the mug and felt my tongue prod the inside of my cheek to keep from snorting at Jamie’s words. I just shook my head.

"Doubt he's even noticed I've stopped replying." I quipped lightly, trying to shrug off the sudden emotion that admission had stirred up.

"Ah, so you have been ignoring us then."

I inhaled sharply and dropped my gaze. I couldn’t outright lie to him.

"Yeah, sorry. Just had a lot going on, you know? This is all new for me, you and Matty, you've just. I don't even know. You just turned up out of the blue and..."

"Sort of invited ourselves into your life?" Jamie filled in with a wry smile.

"No, no! That's- that's not what I meant. Honestly. It's just strange. Different from what I expected." I attempted to backtrack, but ultimately failed.

"No, I get it." Jamie assured, but didn't push the topic any further. "You're stupid, by the way, if you think Matty hasn't noticed. In all the time I've known him, the idiot’s only ever texted me when he's needed something- but the last couple days? I don't think my phone’s stopped going off."

I shovelled another piece of the chocolatey pastry into my mouth to keep myself from replying or reading too much into that.

Jamie released a breathy chuckle and shook his head, as though he could read my reaction, my thoughts. "You've been good for him so far, Mouse. No parties. No drugs. Can't say the same thing about the drink, but he's cut a lot of it out. And I'm chalking that all up to you, ‘cause I can't think of anything else that might've changed in his life to have forced his hand like this."

His words confused me, but then he paused for a moment and purposely caught my eye.

"Whatever's happened, don't let it keep you from opening up. Not just for his sake, but for yours too. Besides, you can never have too many friends, can you?"

I wiped at my mouth before dipping my head in quiet assent. "No. I ‘spose I can do friends."

Jamie all but beamed, looking pretty proud of himself as he reached across the table for a scone. "Now, tell me all the things that I've missed."

***

Matty practically jumped out of his seat when he heard the front door rattle shut.��

He'd been on edge since the moment he had woken up, but had decided to try for once. He made breakfast (well, rather a late lunch), tried all that meditating malarky (his therapist would be, oh so, proud), and even ended up doing a loop of the block in a desperate attempt to keep his chaotic mind at bay. But nothing. Nothing. Had been able to keep him from wearing the soles of his feet into the fucking floorboards.

"And where’ve you been?" Matty instigated as soon as Jamie strolled into his sitting room with his usual smile, shaking off the autumn chill he’d invited in with him.

"Around." Was all the twat replied as he draped his heavy overcoat on the back of one of the upholstered armchairs. He paused to eye Matty closely. "Why, what's got your knickers in a twist?"

Matty’s scowl was infamous by this point, but Jamie was one of the fair few to have gotten used to it. A right shame, that. "Nothing! Just- I texted you, wanted an update."

Jamie quirked an amused brow his way and it took all of Matty’s nervous pent up energy not to blow up at him. He could feel his own irritation building though, it tingled in the tips of his fingers and raised goosebumps across his skin.

"That all? You know the team won't give us an answer until they’re certain that it all won't fall through."

Matty gritted his teeth together and tugged a rough hand through his dishevelled hair. "It's bollocks! It's our fucking album, why do they get a say in what happens with it?"

Jamie sighed quietly to himself as he wandered over towards the heavyset globe sat in the far corner. Matty watched on as he slid its top off and procured a pair of tumblers, pouring two fingers of murky whiskey into each of the old fashioned glasses.

"You know why, mate."

They'd had this conversation too many times before. And yet,

Matty clenched his jaw to keep from snapping, lashing out, but his knuckles whitened around the glass when Jamie pressed it into his palm. He almost wanted to laugh.

"Thought you wanted me off the drink?" He remarked coldly but swallowed the spirit down before Jamie could give him an actual answer, or take it away. He only wished that the alcohol burned brighter, these days it barely left a bitter tang on his tongue.

Jamie didn't touch his own as he made his way on over towards the chaise lounge, but his fingertips tapped a smooth rhythm against the crystal. The house didn’t make a sound.

Matty followed, as expected, restlessly flinging his feet up onto the centre table before his agitation once again began to overwhelm him. He huffed when he dropped them back to the floor again, the heavy vibrations grounding him somewhat as he moved to rest his elbows on the knobs of his knees.

"That newest story's doing wonders for you right now though." Jamie told him gently when Matty’s quick eyes met his gaze, his hands still toying with the full glass. "They want to rebuild your image. Figure it'll help with album presales, and they're not really all that wrong, mate. Since you've been out of um-”

“You can say it.”

Jamie rolled his eyes but barrelled on, “Since you've been out of rehab. Well, the public's been enjoying seeing this new side of you. Besides, I thought you liked whatever her name was."

With a scoff, Matty forced his gaze away. "It's complete shit and you know it. PR just wants control. For me to fall in line. And the public couldn't give a single fuck about what I do! All they live for is the gossip, the drama. And that's what I do best, no? Don't worry though, J, I'm sure I'll fuck up sooner or later."

"Don't talk like that." Jamie scolded as he pushed his tumbler onto the table and moved a little closer. He looked to be fighting an internal battle, his fingers twitching on the inseam of his leg to keep himself from reaching out to comfort.

"Oh, fucking come off it, Jamie! You know it's true." Matty spat back, the rage once again building. These past few days had had him fraying. "I bet they’re already sitting there at that table just waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I already know they’ll want to be the first in the know, when I finally do fuck up again. Spout about what a waste of space I am! How they should've sacked me off sooner. That it should've been me and not-"

"Don't."

Jamie’s voice cut through the room like a blaring siren, but Matty had never heard him speak so lowly.

"Don't go there. He wouldn't want you thinking that way."

Matty locked his jaw and narrowed his scrutinising eyes at Jamie. "Don't act like you know what he'd want."

Jamie glanced away for the briefest of seconds and inhaled slowly before his gaze finally returned. Matty could see his own torment reflected in Jamie’s sad eyes. "It hurt me too. You know that."

Matty forced his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Unable to deal with the many emotions that threatened to overpower him. He swiped Jamie's drink off of the table and swallowed it down in one, then swiftly stood and strode across the room to make another.

The amber liquid warmed his chest as expected and he felt the moment it hit his empty stomach. He braced himself against the globe's golden stand, leaving his hair to fall helplessly into his face. Thankfully, it shielded his glossy eyes from Jamie’s view.

It was still so hard. Most nights it was all he could ever picture-

No. Not today, he rebuked. Not now. Not again.

It was a never ending nightmare that he just couldn't seem to wake himself up from. And how he fucking wished he could wake up.

Matty went to refill the glass again but faltered. His hand stilled, midair, fingers itching to grab at the ancient old bourbon that sat only inches away, but instead he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his phone.

Too many notifications cluttered the screen. But not a single one from the person he wanted to talk to most.

In a fit of dismay, he went to throw the stupid thing at the nearest wall but a hand caught his wrist before he could do any real damage.

Matty’s eyes flickered up to meet Jamie’s- he choked.

"I just-" He tried to force out but the words felt like thick bile in his throat. His lip trembled and Jamie tugged him close. Matty wondered when he'd ever allowed the man to get so close. To breach his high walls.

"I know." Jamie hushed him, allowing a steady hand to come to rest at the back of Matty’s neck. "I know, mate."

Matty wondered if he truly did.

***

Mesmerising.

I let the word play over and over on a loop in my head as my fingertips trailed along the jagged lines of my torso.

Seventeen I'd been- my first time with this boy from college and he had called the scars I was forced to bare mesmerising. As if they were something special, something to be proud of. I'd frozen back then, the word had, so suddenly, hindered my entire world, but he'd gone on exploring without even noticing the way my mind had started to spiral.

The scars had always been a difficult pill to swallow. They weren't mine. I hated how others could so easily claim their own. His scars. My scars. Hers. I didn't want them. They were just there. A myriad of haunted memories to which I'd been burdened with since the age of seven.

All these years later and still I couldn't recall the smooth expanse of skin that had once been there- untarnished, unharmed.

The bronze shadows, created by the setting sun which illuminated my bedroom walls in a burning shade of amber, crawled across the floorboards beneath my feet and caressed my skin. They dipped and curved, exaggerating sharp lines and hallowing shallow slopes.

I'd only meant to have a quick shower, in and out, before Finn inevitably ended up dropping Teddy back home. But I'd left the wardrobe door wide open in my haste to leave early this morning and had yet to shut it, exposing the slim mirror attached to the inside of the wooden door. A slip up.

So now my distorted body stared back at me mercilessly and I couldn't find it in myself to tear my eyes away. The meek girl stood within its four cutting lines just wasn't me. It was simply the reflection of a sheltered kid who'd been forced to grow up far too quickly.

Her skin, hardly what you'd pale but not far off, was flushed and pink all over from the steam of the shower. Her hair, still damp and wet, clung to the majority of her forehead and dripped water droplets down the line of her throat. Her eyes, usually a deep, warm colour, were somewhat sunken, hidden behind heavy lids and long lashes. The dark circles that sat beneath them only emphasised the muted scarlet that rimmed her waterline- a lack of sleep.

I wet my lips. They were dry, bitten from hours of relentless anxiety, but parted enough so that my front teeth could just about be seen. Her face was lined by worry. Fine wrinkles etched themselves around the corners of her eyes and mouth, then again between her furrowed brows.

The scars, faded but somehow still raw, swept up her neck and collarbone, and jumped over her right shoulder. One crept across the cut of her jaw, whilst another sliced through the bridge of her nose to meet another, smaller scar, on her cheek. Her chest, where it had been previously impaled, was now stretched and knitted. Some lines were a few shades darker than her natural complexion, maroon, and oftentimes cardinal. Others were lighter, pale and whitened. Faded.

A gruesome gash down the centre of her abdomen led to a spattering of fine hairs that lined her navel, trailing low beneath the hem of the towel she'd wrapped around her waist earlier. Her hands were now fisted at her sides though, so much so that prominent veins danced up the insides of her forearms, skirting around the few fawn freckles that painted her skin.

Mesmerising.

The sudden blare of a mobile ringing sent a sharp chill up my spine and knocked the air back into me. Shakily I inhaled, averting my eyes from the mirrored prison, then spun round on my heel to answer the call.

There was no greeting, no small talk. It was cutthroat and to the point.

"I need a drink. You coming?"

And I had never answered a question quicker.

It was a hard task, squinting down at my phone in an attempt to concentrate on the text I was trying to send to Finn, but the strobe lights and throng of people around me were making the task rather fucking difficult.

To be honest though, I couldn’t actually remember the last time I'd stepped foot inside a club. Or even spent an entire evening sat in the local pub. But I’d been all but desperate, and so, in the heat of the moment, I had practically jumped at the first offer I’d been given.

I was beginning to second guess that decision now though as I pushed my way through the rowdy crowds, the assorted smell of liquor and sweat already clinging to my clothes. I hadn't really put too much thought into those, too busy trying to escape my own head. Really, I’d just thrown on an old skirt from my uni days, a top that made my tits look great but hid the scar there, and the well-worn leather jacket Finn had gifted me at the end of my first year working on the show.

I had just sent the text off, double checking with the man himself that he was still alright to have Teddy til the following morning, when a raised voice caught my attention.

Frowning, my head snapped up but that soon faded once I caught sight of the tall ginger propped up against the bar not too far away. My lips curled up into a lopsided grin on their own command and I was quick to pocket my phone, already moving towards him.

"Mighty Mouse. You actually made it!" Ronan Kelly bellowed in that familiar Irish lilt of his, welcoming me in with a hearty squeeze to the waist as we embraced. "It's a feckin' miracle!"

I gave him an impish smile and dipped my head slightly to rub at my nose, then made the effort to catch Ronan's icy gaze. "I guess it has been a while."

"A while- Babe, I ain't seen you in months!" Ronan laughed, flashing a row of white teeth and wrinkling his bright blue eyes. I felt some of my worries ease at the sight of the man's familiar face, a warm reminder of older days. "Can't believe you actually agreed to come out with us!"

I shook my head and released an airy chuckle, "You know how it is, Ro- got Teddy to worry about now."

Ronan's face, if possible, lit up even further at the mention of the small toddler. "Ah, grand! How is the wean? At school now, right?"

It was sweet of him to ask and I smiled up at him as I went to answer, but was forced further into Ronan’s space when some prat barged past me to get to the bar. Ronan caught me by the waist with a natural ease he’d always been capable of and narrowed his eyes at the guilty party from over my shoulder.

Not wanting things to escalate, I did my best to quickly wave it off and distract. "Teddy's good!" I heard myself tell him, voice slightly raised to be heard over the pulsing music, tiptoeing almost now in his grasp. "He's with Finn at the moment."

Ronan's gaze reluctantly trailed back to me upon hearing me speak, he reluctantly smiled and nodded but had yet to drop his hands from where they were now stationed at my hips.

"I'm sure Finn is completely lovin' that."

With a light laugh, I rolled my eyes at his sarky reply and moved to press my forearm up against the edge of the bar’s countertop. "They're a proper little duo. Finn has been a saint, what with all his help and that. Don't think I'd be standing here today without him really."

"Well, let's cheers to that then, hey?" Ronan grinned, then raised a hand to gesture over towards the barman.

Within seconds two pints were being placed on the bartop, a dizzying yellow colour filled to the brim with minuscule bubbles that had my mouth watering. It had been a long while since a fresh pint of lager had wet my lips and it helped that Ronan’s presence was a comfort.

"Sláinte!" He announced brashly, already having hoisted his glass into the air between us.

"Cheers!" I laughed, clinking our glasses together before gulping down a too large swig.

"That's what I like to see!" Ronan whooped, almost proudly. He squeezed my right hip in celebration before choosing to steer us both away from the bar and over towards a wall lined with darkened booths. "Come on, Auley and everyone's waiting over here, been excited to see ya!”

I only nodded in reply, pint close to my chest as I followed after him, bobbing between an array of patrons effortlessly now. The earlier anxiety shovelled deep, deep down.

***

Withdrawal was something Matty had never thought too much about in the years before. He'd always had everything right there, on tap. A quick hit, a line just to pick him up. It always felt so easy.

But now, without the copious amount of pills, the parties, he finally realised why the fuck people were never able to stay away for too long. Because sooner or later, they always ended up crawling back.

It wasn't so much the flu-ish like sickness that had him reeling, although he really could've done without the high-fever sweats and the full body tremors. It was more that ever encompassing sorrow. The depression that never seemed to lift- but then again, depressed wasn't even the first word he would use to describe it. It was like a thick plume of murky black that fogged every exit, far beyond the gut wrenching nausea that clawed away at his insides at all hours of the day, or the constant drilling in his head that kept him from sleep.

Being without-

Being without was practically maddening. A spiral of hellish days with no escape, the only choice he had was to carry on or simply turn back. And he'd come too far now to run towards the latter, he’d already made that mistake. And if he had anything to thank his godforsaken mother for, it was the sheer stubbornness they both so clearly shared.

Matty couldn't complain though, he wouldn’t, as much as he wished he often could though, because he was still leaning heavily on the spirits. He knew. As well as the band and Jamie, who'd also been hellbent on 'helping'. In their own way.

Although the idiots hadn't made things much easier for him, the guys hadn't put up much of a fight against his drunk ramblings or the never ending mood swings. They just took it all in stride. Which Matty was mostly grateful for.

The alcohol though, he'd currently taken to using as a crutch. He'd drink a little more and more just to cope with the effects, the longing, to get him through to the next day. But he'd never felt too dependent on it before and didn't feel as though it was a massive problem now, he'd been drinking since before he'd worked out how to pick the lock on his dad’s old liquor cabinet. He’d keep drinking ‘til he was near the grave.

The drinking though, was just a baby habit in comparison to the drugs.

It was also how he'd managed to find himself out on a Thursday night.

He'd actually managed to forgo Hann's mothering this time, sending his mate off home early from the studio before he'd called up an old friend. Itching for that familiarity of older times, shaking with it really, but knowing better.

"Oi, Healy- you still with us?" Crowed a loud voice in his left ear.

Matty startled at it and turned back around to find the one and only Danny Willis hanging over his shoulder, usual open-mouthed grin on full display, a drink in hand.

He blinked up at him once before Matty’s lips turned upwards into a lazy smile, he spun around on his foot to get further in his friend's face. "Thought you'd gone off with that bird?"

"Who, blondie?" Danny questioned, smirking now. "Nah, wouldn't have left you hanging all alone, mate."

Matty snorted.

"Ah, so you do care!" He drained the dregs of his bourbon then grinned at the twat, "Always wondered whether you fancied me, Danny boy! Guess this just proves it, don’t it?"

Danny wound an arm around his shoulders and leant in to press a sloppy, wet kiss to his cheek. Matty pulled away, cackling as he tried to shrug the added weight off.

"Prick." Matty scoffed lightly, stumbling as he rubbed at his face. He grunted at the small group he'd accidentally bulldozed into in his haste and they all scowled in return, but it wasn't long before Danny jumped in to rescue and steer him away.

"Come on. Let's get out of here, hey? The next bar awaits and all that." Danny proclaimed, chucking back the remnants of his own drink. Matty chuckled when the man winced and then wiped the corners of his mouth. "Reckon we might be able to find someone decent for you to take home there!"

Matty merely hummed in reply as they pushed their way through a set of double doors and out into the night, not really listening as he propped himself up against Dan's side, ignoring the whispers that tended to follow wherever he went.

"Ah, look at that, would you!" Danny's voice came again, right by his ear, as he paused on the pavement to cock his chin outwards, forcing Matty to follow his gaze. "It's a full moon!"

Matty rolled his eyes.

***

"Come on, Mouse!" Auley tried for the umpteenth time that night. His larger than life smile, I noted, had always been much gentler than that of his brother's. "You can't stay cooped up in this booth all evenin'! You need to put yourself out there, darlin’- have some fun!"

I shook my head, chuckling up at the giant of a man standing before me. "I swear I'm fine here, Aul. You go and have enough fun for the both of us."

Auley's face scrunched up in distaste as he reluctantly pushed away from the table's edge, the dim lights of the bar illuminating his hair, almost seeming to set it alight as it added a halogen glow to the already coppery red.

Ronan chose that moment to reappear, brushing past his brother to settle back into the booth next to me. He set two more drinks down on the table. "Leave the poor lass alone, won’t you, Aul! You know how she gets."

I rolled my eyes, albeit fondly, and Auley did the same as he slowly backed away, mouth quirked upwards. "Yeah, yeah. Yer like a pair of old women, you two- peas in a pod or somethin'."

"Ah, shove off!" Ronan laughed, a deep rumbling sound that shook his whole body. "Think I can hear the dance floor callin' your name, mate."

"Too right." Auley quipped, flashing another bright grin at his brother before he turned back to face me. "Know that this isn't over just yet. You might've won this battle but you ain't won the war, darlin’. I'll soon get that dance."

I snorted, but was unable to help my grin. "One day, babe."

Auley winked at me and I watched on as he melted into the mob of people before us, leaving Ronan and I alone.

I observed the crowd for a long moment, taking note of all their dizzying smiles. For a Thursday night, the bar was oddly rampacked, but I couldn't find it in myself to complain too much, not when everyone seemed to be having a great time.

There was a large group of us out tonight. Alongside asking me to join, Ronan and Auley had brought along the entirety of their flat as well as a few others, some from uni, others from work, I reckoned. They'd all split up within the first half hour though, but they kept drifting back and forth, I could easily spot Penn and his brightly coloured shirt over by the snooker table in the very far corner, and most of the girls had crowded together out on the dance floor.

"Havin' a good night then?"

I repositioned myself upon hearing Ronan's question, he was closer now in an attempt to be heard over the music, and I sipped at the foamy top of my pint before answering. "Yeah, I am. It's, well it's been a while since I last did anything like this." I chuckled, eyes roaming the room again.

Ronan shifted closer once more, the booth’s leather seat squeaking quietly under his weight as the song on the overhead speakers faded into the next.

"I'm glad. We haven't seen you proper since yer last year at uni."

It was true but that wasn't just down to me, I felt the need to say. But instead gave him a small smile as I just shrugged, thumbing the edge of the table, "Life gets busy with a baby. Plus, it's not as though any of you lot had time to just drop by and see me, with all your classes and what not."

Ronan’s lips pursed at my words and a quiet stretched between us. I watched on as he fiddled with the bottom of his pint glass, before finally he replied. "Could've made time. Finn did. Cassie, too. Just- it felt strange, going back after that summer and you not bein' there."

To be honest, I didn't really know what to say to that.

As much as I had loved my time at university, I hadn't really had much space for it in my life after Teddy had come along. And although I’d never regretted my decision to leave, not after everything I'd gone through to get to where I am today. Because my God, had that been hard. I did sometimes miss the memories I’d made there, the people I’d met and, surprisingly, the workload too. It made me question whether I could have had it all, a degree and a baby. Although, I somehow doubted that that was what Ronan was grasping at here.

But it wouldn’t do well to continue to dwell on the past. I'd already spent a large portion of my life doing exactly that, and I’d known in the long run that I would have to have let go of some things in order to provide a better life for Teddy, better than the one that I’d had. I wanted my son to have every possible opportunity, every choice, in order to better himself. I wanted him to be a kid for as long as life would let him.

And as much as I really did love spending time with Ronan and the old gang, I also knew that come tomorrow morning I had actual commitments and responsibilities to attend to. I didn't have the opportunity anymore to skive and bunk off of lectures so that I could deal with a nasty hangover and sleep in. Teddy was always relying on me to come through. And come through I would. Every time.

But right now! I just needed to let my hair down. Enjoy an evening away, and maybe (hopefully) get rid of some of that tension that had been piling up over the previous weeks.

Thankfully though, I was saved from answering when a flushed Alice came hurrying over, clinking her cocktail on the table so hard it's fruity contents spilled out across the wooden surface. The overexcited girl, who was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, didn't pay much mind to the mess as she threw herself into our booth and peered over her shoulder to search for something or other.

I shot Ronan a bewildered look, but the ginger merely widened his eyes at me as if to say that he had no clue what was going on either.

"Er, you alright, Al?"

Alice's head snapped back so fast that I honestly fretted a little over the whiplash she must've felt.

"No?! Do I look alright?" Alice stressed, digging her perfectly painted nails into the red cushion that lined the booth's back. "You'll never believe who Penn and I just saw walk in!"

I only hid a smile to myself whilst Ronan decided to humour Alice. "Who d’ya see, Ali-cat?"

Alice's face was nothing like I had ever seen before, her usual pretty smile had been traded in for a kilowatt grin, bunching her rosy cheeks and narrowing her soft brown eyes.

"That singer! You know- the one with the hair and the face! Ah, what's his name? From that band!"

"Matty!" Answered Indra- seemingly a friend of a friend of a friend- who had bounded up to our table in the time Alice had been freaking out, practically hyperventilating. "The. Matty Healy!"

"That's who!" Alice exclaimed and was nodding away excitedly now, whilst I simply sat frozen, drink halfway to my lips.

"Didn't you interview him?" Indra queried suddenly, her eyes as wide as saucers whilst her gaze flitted back and forth between me and the bar at an impossible pace.

Shakily, I set my glass down.

"You did?" Ronan piped up beside me. I swallowed thickly before turning my head towards him, then back towards the two girls, who were anxiously waiting on my reply.

"Uh, yeah." It felt as though I’d forced the words out of my mouth. A ball of cotton having replaced my tongue.

"Oh, Mouse! Introduce us, would you? Please!" Alice all but squealed imploringly.

My alarmed eyes flickered back to Ronan again, then Indra, and then Alice.

My mouth had never felt so dry as I tried my best to ground myself, to get over the sudden, unexpected headfuck that had sent my mind reeling.

"Ah, I don't know, Al. It's, well. I-" I really did struggle to find the right words that could possibly get me out of this entire situation, but before I even knew what was happening, Indra was already reaching for me and pulling me up out of the booth.

Alice jumped up to join her and patted my sleeve eagerly before proceeding to try and drag me away. Ronan, thank the stars, reached out to stop them just in time, tugging on the hem of my jacket and shooting the two girls a sharp look.

"Oi, you two. Behave, will yer? You didn't even give her the chance to answer."

Alice looked up and flashed me a sheepish grin, "Sorry, hun."

Feeling sheepish and rather relieved, really, to be freed from all the clawing hands, I waved her apology off, knowing Ali was only just drunk and excited. "It's fine, just- I think I'm better off heading home now in truth. You know, I've got Teddy to think about."

Both of the girls' disappointment was overwhelmingly obvious, but they didn't push it any further, simply nodded and tried to smile as best as they could.

"No worries, Mouse. You get on home, babe. Sorry again."

"Wait, you're not actually leaving, are you?" Ronan questioned suddenly, causing me to cast a glance over at him. He was frowning now, that much was obvious from the deep set line rapidly forming between his bushy brows. "It's not 'cause of that tosser, is it?"

Immediately, I felt myself shake my head, already knowing that the lie would taste bitter in my mouth.

"Ah, come off it! Stay for another round at least." Ronan goaded me, moving to stand with the girls, his hand still on my elbow though.

"Nah, I'd best head home, Ro. I don't want to be dealing with a hangover as well as a screaming toddler tomorrow morning." I insisted with a lighthearted chuckle, I gifted him an apologetic smile whilst fishing out my phone to call a cab.

It wasn't even late yet, just gone eleven, and there was an unread text from Finn demanding that I have some fun. I gave a heavy sigh.

"Don't be like that, babe. Come on, one more drink and I'll even walk you home." Ronan raised a brow just as he jutted out his jaw and smiled.

It was tempting but...

I laughed lightly and shook my head. "Honestly, Ro-"

But the man wouldn't hear it. "Come on, ladies. Help me out here!" He implored to both of the girls standing either side of him now, the way he towered them was almost funny.

Indra giggled just as Ronan wrapped his strong arms around her and Alice, shaking them a little. Alice simply rolled her eyes at him in amusement, but pulled away slightly to squeeze my hand.

"It's up to you, M. You know we love seeing you, but I can call you a cab if you really want to head off now."

I could only smile at her and silently questioned why we didn't spend more time together outside of the group. I could easily recall Finn saying something or other about a pottery class the two of them had attended the previous weekend and wondered if that would be something I might enjoy.

"I'll be fine, babe. Thank you, though." I told her kindly, before turning to face Ronan. "You enjoy the rest of your night, alright? I'll text you when I've made it back."

"Mouse..." Ronan groaned unhappily, "Just one more drink. For me?"

I shook my head and tugged my jacket further around my body as I stepped away from the trio, patting down my pockets to make sure that I did have everything I needed.

"I'll come out again, soon." I promised them, but tried to aim my words at the frowning redhead as I continued to back away. "You can hold me to it."

Ronan worked his jaw before he nodded curtly, and I sighed to myself before spinning on my heel to hastily make my exit.

Only, it didn't quite happen like that of course, because, of all the people, in all the world, I just had to bump right into none other than Matty.

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theforgottenmcrmy · 5 months

Text

Oaths~ Part 1/3 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall Part 21 to the series Growing Strong. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found HERE ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, mentions of past character death, super mildly suggestive themes

Summary:

But the core issue at hand was not of your own fate, or even your husband’s. You did not think yourself as strong as Rhaenyra; having to bury any one of your children just might destroy you. And Rhaenyra had pleaded with you to consider all of your options. If betraying a friend of many years and sacrificing whatever semblance of honor House Tyrell still had could ensure the safety and survival of your children, why would you not consider it?

A/N: As stated in the preview, I have no excuses, only apologies. Thank you to everyone who has continued to read this story. 🖤 And to anyone who's new since the last update, welcome. I hope you all enjoy. Next part is planned to be posted 11/23.

The late night had given way to the earliest hours of the morning.

After finding a mutually agreeable means of which Harwin and you could expend some of your pent up energy, sleep had finally claimed you at long last. However, not unlike the vast majority of nights over the past few weeks, your sleep was light and mostly dreamless. Not even your arrival at the haven that was Dragonstone had been sufficient enough to subdue your inner turmoils and ever-growing fears.

It was not long at all before you rose. It was prompted by a gentle, but still very apparent, dipping of the mattress beside you.

You blinked several times, trying to will the haziness away. You felt your face scrunch, a frown coming to your lips as you looked over at the space beside you with mild confusion. “Harwin?”

Though your sight was still a bit foggy, you took the silence that followed as your answer. Most assuredly, had someone besides the two of you been so bold as to have entered your chambers unannounced, Harwin would have had some sharp words at the ready for them.

If not a well placed strike with his fist or sword.

Once the grog had lifted, you were able to make out your husband’s figure standing across the room. His back, still bare, was towards you. In the blink of an eye, he had swiped up whatever it was that he sought, and moved to return back to the bed without delay. You lifted up the sheets for him as he neared, and he softly smiled at you in silent gratitude.

He hastily settled into the bed once more, tucking the sheets back around himself before scooting over closer to you. He pressed a brief kiss to your temple, and his next words out of his mouth were little more than a quiet mumble. “Forgive me, My Love, I did not mean to wake you. You should get some more rest, whilst you still can.”

Between the mere fitful bouts of rest you had been able to snag thus far, and the simple fact that you knew your husband was now wide awake, it was abundantly clear that there was little chance of Harwin’s suggestion coming to fruition. Instead, with a raised eyebrow, you pivoted, “What do you have there?”

Sheepishly, as if knowing his own refusal to succumb to sleep was part of the reason you would not be resting either, Harwin presented you with the object he had deemed necessary to retrieve from the other side of the room at the odd hour.

The letter from Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower.

“I could not sleep,” Harwin explained as he cautiously began to unfold the letter. With the seal having already been broken by you earlier, the parchment gave him little resistance at all. “I know you wished to discuss this with me later, but my curiosity got the better of me.”

It was as best a time as any to have the conversation, you supposed. You had wished to discuss Alicent’s letter with Harwin immediately after returning from dinner with the royal family- before the two of you had gotten swept up in one another. But in hindsight, you had no qualms about how you and Harwin had chosen to spend the time that had passed since.

Besides, Queen Rhaenyra expected an answer from the two of you in the morning, by way of whether you and Harwin attended the council meeting she intended to call.

You had been wary of Harwin’s reaction to the letter ever since it had been presented to you. You carried that hesitancy with you still, and silently watched with an increasing sense of apprehension as Harwin read the dowager queen’s letter line by line, word for word.

The look on Harwin’s face as he finished reading over the terms was practically indiscernible. Perhaps that was what gave you pause the most.

“Say something, Dearest,” you bid him pleadingly after a moment, concern painting your every word.

Harwin’s eyes remained locked on the parchment in his hands.

Since the day you had met, he had been mindful of his infamous temper, and how he managed it, around you. But something of this nature was almost completely uncharted territory for either of you.

You reached out for his closest hand slowly. “Harwin?”

Hearing his name, along with your hand coming to rest upon his own, finally snapped your husband out of his stupor. Harwin blinked up at you blankly one, two, three times. “... I do not know what to say.”

Of all the ways you had imagined Harwin would react to Dowager Queen Alicent’s letter, a lack of a reaction altogether had not been a possibility that you had considered. Regardless, you felt the response was completely valid.

You pursed your lips, still waiting for Harwin to make the first move.

As you had initially expected, anger was the first emotion Harwin eventually settled on after the shock had passed. His brows furrowed sharply, his normally calming eyes turning dark in the already dimly lit room.

“The nerve of that woman. Is the dowager queen truly so daft as to believe her demands are anything less than an insult to any one of us? Not only would we be stripped of our own birthrights, but how could she truly expect us to disinherit Selwin in such a disparaging fashion? … The Crown may have many powers, but whilst members of our blood still live, the line of succession for House Strong and House Tyrell is business of none other than its current lord and lady.”

You remained silent, sensing that was not the end of Harwin’s musings. Your suspicions were proven true less than a moment later.

“And I’d rather eat my own boot before pawning off my son to carry a sword for that insufferable Cole, let alone that oaf of a cousin of hers all the way over in Oldtown.”

You fought your initial instinct to laugh at your husband’s chosen phrasing. “If we take the Usurper’s offer, it would mean sacrificing our plans for our houses’ inheritance, yes.”

You had intentionally refrained from acknowledging Harwin’s final phrase- any topic dealing with the disgrace that was Ser Criston Cole had the propensity to send your husband on a long-winded tangent. Perhaps rightfully so.

“If we take the Usurper’s offer?” Harwin countered. He looked over at you with wide eyes, and in a tone more imploring than harsh, he questioned, “You cannot seriously be considering such a thing?”

Despite knowing that Harwin meant no harm, you could not help but flinch. Fortunately, the movement was so miniscule, Harwin had not even perceived it. Withdrawing your hand from Harwin, you sat up straight, taking the sheets on your side of the bed along with you. As serious of a conversation as it was, conversing in anything less than a decent state would have felt a bit improper.

“I do not wish to concede to the Usurper’s terms,” you assured him truthfully. “But our queen has asked us to at least give some thought to it, and I agreed to heed her. We owe her just as much, do we not? The realm is on the brink of war, Harwin- we cannot pretend that whatever decision we make, whether it be to support Rhaenyra or join ranks with the Usurper, will be entirely free of consequence.”

Harwin sighed, making him sound even more tired than you already knew him to be. “I know, My Love. But conceding to these terms would be foolish at best, and could spell disaster for our family at worst… Did you read of their intentions for Luciya?

A grimace that sprang to your lips at the thought. Still you persisted. “She would have a title of her own…”

“And though I think she is equal to her brothers in deserving as much, and though I believe with my whole heart that she would grow to be just as capable as her mother in shouldering the responsibility that would come along with it, would any of it be truly worth the price we would pay? The price she would pay? We would be selling our daughter to your foul cousin’s son. Is that something you could make peace with? … Whether or not you’d be able to stomach it eventually, I do not think I ever could.”

You suspected Harwin would have a difficult time coming to terms with any betrothal arrangement for your daughter, but the point he was attempting was fair. If the proposed betrothal and subsequent marriage went through, Luciya would be nothing but a pawn in the long-standing and twisted game your cousin Lord Garrett Redwyne had been attempting to engage you in for the better part of twenty years. If wed to Luciya, the young Lord Justan would inevitably become Lord Tyrell in all but name. And far be it from your cousin to rise above attempting to exercise control over his son as a means to achieve his own ends.

“I detest the very thought of it, Dearest. But they are both young, and would not have to wed for some time. And in the meantime, I would still rule in Highgarden as regent. Ten years, if not more, is ample time for us to find a way to undermine the betrothal. We could agree to the terms now, and make our own arrangement, one more agreeable to us all, for Luciya after.”

“And how would such scheming transpire, when your every move will be scrutinized by an advisor of the Usurper’s choosing?”

It was your turn to sigh. Though sleep did not call to you, your mind felt suddenly heavy. Your eyes fell to your hands, where your fingers weaved in and out of one another with absentminded worry. “I understand that all I have said may seem futile. But I am only wanting to ensure we have discussed this matter thoroughly.”

“That you are attempting to see any good at all in this egregious proposal from the dowager queen speaks to more than just that.”

Your fidgeting hands stilled when Harwin’s gently captured them. You took a moment to watch your entwined hands, before looking up to meet his gaze.

Harwin’s eyes held nothing but love and concern. It was a damning combination that had proved you as more than a willing victim to his multitude of persuasions time and time again. It was so moving- practically overwhelming, really- that it was very tempting to look away. But you could not.

“What is on your mind?” he pleaded. “If you have any doubts, share them with me. There is no need for you to shoulder such burdens alone.”

Never, in all your years, had you doubted your decision to support Rhaenyra as the successor to her father’s throne. Nearly twenty years past, your own father, joining many other lords and ladies of Westeros, publicly swore such an oath. When he’d passed, your brother had done the same.

And when fate had placed the lordship of House Tyrell upon your own shoulders, you too had made such an oath. Now, you were bound to Rhaenyra’s cause by honor. Honor you had inherited, both by the name of House Tyrell and by the actions of your father and brother, and honor you had intended to carve for yourself. You had knelt before King Viserys and publicly swore that you, your house, and each and every one of your bannermen would uphold Princess Rhaenyra as King Viserys’s one, true heir.

Even as the years passed, and when not one, not two, but three sons had been born to King Viserys since your father’s oath had been made, doing anything but keeping the honorable word of House Tyrell was simply unfathomable. The thought of breaking the oath you and your predecessors had made had never, ever crossed your mind.

Until today.

It was no mere whim that tempted you to break your oath. Just the thought of betraying Rhaenyra was nearly painful. So harsh was the idea, that it almost outweighed the fear that her inevitable wrath would inspire.

You were a Tyrell long before you had become Harwin’s wife. As the lady of your house, you owed just as much to the Tyrell name as Harwin owed to that of House Strong. You and Harwin were blessed with a union that was mutually agreeable, and working together to further the interest of both your houses proved easy more times than it did not. But ultimately, the fate of House Tyrell, and the furthering of its line, rested upon your shoulders alone.

Becoming fully entrenched in a war was a gamble, and a risky one at that. Whatever glory House Tyrell could possibly earn from bloodshed in a quest to restore the rightful heir to the Iron Throne would be all for nought if you paid for it with the lives of any of your children. What was the point in furthering the grandeur of the Tyrell legacy if there was no one left to inherit it?

…

Neutrality was not an option, so it was a shame that Alicent’s terms were simply unacceptable. Not only were the terms demanding, but you had little to no faith in her ability to keep whatever petty promises she had made. Perhaps her intentions, however misguided as they were, were as pure as she suggested in her letter… But Otto Hightower’s certainly were not. And, as Aegon’s supposedly chosen Hand of the King, it would only be a matter of time before that forked tongue of his earned him the Usurper’s ear and trust. Whatever power the dowager queen believed she may still have of her drunkard of a son would undoubtedly dwindle with time.

Your family’s safety could not be guaranteed, regardless of what Targaryen heir House Tyrell chose to support. But you knew, beyond all other doubts you may have held, that you would not meekly step aside and let others dictate your fate. You would not sign away the future of your children to save your own neck. And you would not be bullied into silent obedience.

“I am bound to House Tyrell, as you are to House Strong- but I will not side against you in this. We must be united in our decision.” You lowered your eyes, your line of sight falling upon your intertwined hands once more. “We will support Rhaenyra, as we have both sworn to do.”

“But?” Harwin encouraged.

“We cannot lose. Rhaenyra must succeed.”

The unspoken sentiment behind your words clung heavily in the air between you.

Failing to win the war would mark you both, along with Rhaenyra, and any other of her supporters, for certain death. And you had an eerie suspicion that the Usurper’s method of choice to place you into the hands of the Stranger would likely be more fiery in nature than merciful. None of you, not even the children, would be likely to escape the resulting flames of his ire.

Harwin’s grip on your hand tightened. It should have been almost uncomfortable, but at that moment, it was particularly grounding.

“She will. If war is to come, so be it. But when the grounds have been scorched, the flames have dwindled, and when nothing but embers are all that remain, Rhaenyra will be the one atop the Iron Throne.”

You let out a joyless laugh. “You say it so simply. It almost makes me want to believe you.”

“Then believe.”

Something about Harwin’s insistent and clearly intentional flippancy of the matter did wonders to shatter the tension that had been built. You let out a half-heartedly frustrated huff and turned to look at him with narrow eyes.

“You are far braver than I to place so much faith in Rhaenyra’s imminent victory.”

“Nay, I doubt that very much… Although, perhaps I am better at feigning my courage.”

Despite everything, you found a small genuine smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Perhaps you have chosen the wrong path in life then. A fancy for acting would have suited a traveling performer far better than it would a lord.”

Harwin grimaced playfully, the thought crafting a rather amusing image in both of your minds. Harwin, in colorful garments, performing dramatically, and most definitely comedically, for an audience? It was impossible not to snicker at the thought.

“Though you propose quite the humorous painting of my life, taking such a path as that would not have led me to you.”

“Some would argue that there is more to life than finding love, Harwin.”

“Perhaps some would. But a life without love, and a life without you, is not one I’d care to live.”

You smiled through the overwhelming feeling his flattery so often bestowed upon you.

“Shall I?” Harwin questioned, raising Queen Alicent’s letter with his free hand.

The flames in the fireplace across the room were very demure by then, but certainly still hot enough to fulfill Harwin’s intent. Once you confirmed your consent with a quick nod, Harwin rose from the bed for the second time, letter in hand.

As he approached the fire, your mind felt suddenly more at ease. Harwin was willing to admit that supporting Rhaenyra was not without risk- but you both knew it was the honorable thing to do. Loyalty was earned, not bought. Rhaenyra had won the loyalty of House Strong and House Tyrell before either you or Harwin had ever had a true say in the matter. Your queen’s victory was not guaranteed, but Harwin was confident in her ultimate success. It was hard not to take heart from his steadfast belief.

But as soon as Harwin tossed the letter into the fire, and the parchment began to light aflame before being reduced to ash, words from your last conversation with the dowager queen echoed in recesses of your mind.

“…When loyalties become one’s only purpose for being, you will be lost to the bigger cause. Your loved ones will soon be as good as dust, if they weren't already.”

You shook the eerie thought from your mind as Harwin returned to bed with a smile on his face.

“Now,” he began, plopping rather unceremoniously back onto the mattress. His unruly curls fell haphazardly into his face as he propped up his arm to support his head. Finally, he turned to face you. “How are we to convey our unyielding support to the queen? A formal letter, signed and sealed? A dramatic declaration before the court?... Or, presenting her with Otto Hightower’s head on a spike, perhaps?”

You rolled your eyes with light hearted scoff as you turned over and mirrored his posture. “No such theatrics will be required, I’m afraid. She intends to call a council meeting tomorrow morning. Our attendance will be sufficient in reassuring her that she has our support.”

Harwin hummed thoughtfully, his eyes glistening and soft smile unwavering as he looked over at you. “Why, morning can’t be more than a few hours away by now…”

You reached over to absentmindedly brush some of his curls up and away from his face. “So it would seem.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

“Now would be the most opportune time to rest,” Harwin admitted. “‘Tis almost a shame I do not feel tired in the slightest.”

“Is it?”

Harwin eyed you unabashedly, and without a trace of shame. “No.”

A freeing laugh escaped your lips as he unceremoniously pulled you closer to him, his lips brushing against your neck.

Unlike what felt like a leisurely pace of a day before, something in the air of the new dawn suggested that something meaningful was about to transpire on Dragonstone.

The shared guest chambers of young Tyrell-Strong lords, while nearly cavernous in nature due to the dark and cold stone walls, were still comfortable enough. And despite the rather eventful last few weeks, Derrik found that he had slept more easily there than he could recall in all his recent memory. With the warmer weather and changing season rapidly approaching, the luxurious furs provided were more than sufficient to keep warm. And that was just as well- fire of any sorts still left Derrik, and his younger brother Selwin, feeling fidgety and anxious. And leaving any fire unattended, even a small one, whilst they slept was simply not an option.

The fire at Harrenhal had been many years ago. Some of the finer details of that night had been lost to memory, but some of the more harrowing moments Derrik had seen that night were stuck with him still. The horrid images had never strayed too far from his mind.

Perhaps they never would.

After a surprisingly fruitful night of rest, Derrik and Selwin had risen on their own before the sun. Without much direction otherwise, it was not long before the elder of the two suggested they meander back out into Dragonstone’s halls. Selwin had been a bit apprehensive about it, just as he had been the day before. But a few quick words of reassurance from Derrik was all the motivation his younger brother needed to ultimately agree. It wasn’t that Derrik desired to cause trouble- it was quite the opposite, in fact. Besides, Selwin was far more inherently likely to find himself in mischief than Derrik ever had been.

But something was brewing within the realm, and even on Dragonstone, isolated from the mainland, he could feel it just the same. And as Prince Daemon had so tactlessly pointed out the night before, Derrik was near the age his father Harwin had been when he had first come to King’s Landing. His father’s knightship had followed shortly thereafter.

It wasn’t a knighthood Derrik sought, but the Rogue Prince’s comment had reiterated what Derrik had known for some time: he was no longer a child. Most anyone in the realm, if asked, would readily agree that he was a man. Even if he was a considerably young one at that.

And with the realm on the fringes of war, he longed to be more. He wished to be more than some entitled young lord idly passing the time, waiting in the periphery of the political arena until the Stranger met with one of his parents and the torch was finally passed off to him. Be it House Strong or House Tyrell, the holdings of one was to be his inheritance. So too would be the name. And Derrik longed to be of use in whatever way he could to help his family and secure their safety- their survival.

Though some holed up just across Blackwater Bay, over in King’s Landing, there were no immediate enemies to stand up against. Even if there were, Dragonstone was as well-guarded and patrolled as the Red Keep at the moment.

All of this led Derrik to the inevitable conclusion that the most viable way in which he could be of use to the family was to conduct a bit of information reconnaissance.

The rising sun’s rays had yet to reach most parts of the castle as the Strong boys’ soft footsteps echoed off the stone corridors. Though many armed guards were undoubtedly awake and about, if the queen and the rest of the royal family had yet to rise, it was easy to infer that the protectors would be more centralized near their living quarters instead.

They had come across the kitchens during their perusal of Dragonstone the day before. What had seemed like an observation of little import at the time had proved to be quite the opposite come the new day.

Because of their intent, or perhaps by just pure sheer luck, Derrik and Selwin made it to the kitchens without having been detected. As the boys descended the stairs on light feet, all the usual sounds of a kitchen coming alive could be heard from within the archway at the bottom of the landing. There was an unspoken balance to be struck- the two knew they needed to close enough to the bottom of the stairs to hear anything of significance, but the closer they drew, the more they risked being seen from those within. Regardless, it was a hurdle that both of the Strong boys were mutually agreeable to tackle.

Once they could reasonably hear the voices from within the kitchens, Derrik silently gestured for Selwin to follow his lead. The two pressed their backs against the nearby wall in an effort to remain out of view. After a few more careful paces forward, the two paused and listened with bated breath.

“... -Maester Gerardys has requested hot water be brought where?”

“The Sea Dragon Tower.”

“But I have already taken out all the pots of hot water the royal family requires for the morning. Why must I drag another all the way over there? Aren’t our guests being accommodated in the Windwyrm?”

"The Sea Dragon Tower is where they have put him.”

“Him?”

“The Sea Snake!”

At this, Derrick exchanged an intrigued look with his younger brother briefly as the conversation from within the kitchens continued.

“The Sea Snake? When did he arrive?”

“His ship docked no more than a few hours ago. Her Grace the Queen thought it best to keep his lodgings closeby to her own.”

That was not surprising to Derrik at all. It was an ill-kept secret that Lord Corlys’s fleet and well-seasoned sailors would be a boon of great magnitude to whichever Targaryen he ultimately chose to support in their vye for the Iron Throne.

“Princess Rhaenys has been with him since they arrived; I heard she refuses to leave his side. Poor woman. She might just be one of the strongest women in all the Seven Kingdoms, but I have always said her only weaknesses were her husband and their children- gods rest their souls.”

“How does Lord Corlys fare? Does Maester Gerardys think he will live?”

“He suspects as much. Although, with all the great hopes placed in his healing capabilities, I do not know if he would dare say otherwise, even if it were true. Regardless, as it stands, Maester Gerardys says the wounds are certain to haunt Lord Corlys for the rest of his days.”

“Do you think he will be well enough to attend the council meeting Her Grace has called today?”

A meeting with the queen’s council was to be held? That was news to Derrik. Judging by the surprised look on his face, it was news to Selwin as well.

“Perhaps. Maester Gerardys said he was lucid at some point, although it comes and goes. If he is awake, I am certain Lord Corlys will at least make an attempt to be present. Although, I would not be surprised if Princess Rhaenys does not try to dissuade him, if only to ensure he continues to get some rest.”

“Well, the Sea Snake’s presence at her council meeting is not the only one Her Grace will be anticipating, I would venture.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I ought not tell-”

“Then you best not.”

“-However, yesterday morning, I had gone to the queen’s chambers to retrieve the pots of hot water that I had brought in earlier that morning. When I arrived, the doors were closed, and I realized that Her Grace was present.”

“And so, you left, so as not to disturb her?”

“That was my original intent. But then I overheard Her Grace from within, and she was speaking to another-”

A gasp. “Surely you did not-”

“-I did not mean to, but my curiosity got the best of me, I suppose. I overheard Her Grace speaking with Lady Tyrell.”

“That is what all this fuss is about? Why, that is hardly surprising at all. The two of them are known to be close.”

“The Usurper knows this as well. Apparently, Dowager Queen Alicent sent Lady Tyrell and Lord Strong peace terms on his behalf, all in the hopes of persuading them to join his side, and to turn cloak against Her Grace.”

Another, if not more appalling, surprise. After another quick glance at his younger brother, he determined that Selwin looked just as disturbed at the notion as Derrik felt. Neither of their parents had made any mention of such terms… not that he would have wanted them to, or believed they would, ever accept such an offer.

“That is a bold move, to be sure, particularly when their family is being hosted by Her Grace here. But how is any of it relevant to the council meeting today?”

“Her Grace strongly advised Lady Tyrell to discuss the matter thoroughly with Lord Strong. If they attend the council meeting today, she will interpret that as reassurance that she has both of their houses’ support.”

“... And if Lady Tyrell and Lord Strong do not attend the council meeting?”

“Her Grace shall have her answer either way.”

“Please?”

A moment of silence was followed by a soft, yet regretful, sigh.

“I am sorry, but I do not think it wise.”

The hopeful looks on Derrik and Selwin’s faces fell. In the chambers their parents were given for their own accommodations, it appeared that you and Harwin had had great success in making yourselves feel right at home. The two of you sat at the table near the fireplace, breaking your fast. On Harwin’s lap, Luciya sat with a smile, taking food off of his plate as she pleased.

The scene was not unlike one Derrik might have witnessed at home. But Highgarden was leagues away. And beneath the seemingly calm exterior, he could sense something was amiss between you. The sun had just risen, and yet, your shoulders were tense. Even Harwin, who was normally quite expressive and joyful around Luciya, was more quiet and reserved than normal.

Not even Derrik’s revelation that the Sea Snake had arrived in Dragonstone, and was believed to attend said council meeting, was enough to sway you to give in to your sons’ request. It did, however, cause a look of surprise to flash across your and Harwin’s faces- a fact that Derrik allowed himself to take some small joy from.

“How did you learn of the council meeting?” you inquired, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at your sons as you refilled your goblet.

“I- We- It is of little consequence,” Derrik sputtered, ultimately deciding against confessing the truth, lest he lose all of his leverage, existing and potential. “The queen has called for one, has she not?”

“She has,” you answered carefully.

“And you and Father have been invited to attend?”

“Aye,” Harwin supplied.

“Will you attend the meeting?” Selwin chimed in. “We know the Usurper and Dowager Queen Alicent have sent you terms to try and win your support. Do you mean to accept them?”

You cleared your throat, narrowly avoiding choking on what Derrik suspected was wine. Once you had regained your composure, your lips settled into a frown.

Across the table from you, Harwin did a double take, though he was still mindful to steady Luciya as he did so. “How did the two of you come to learn about the dowager queen’s letter?”

“What terms the Usurper offered in exchange for the support of House Tyrell and House Strong?”

“Does it matter?” Selwin countered, giving Derrik a look of bewilderment. “We cannot accept them!”

“We?” You echoed, chuckling dryly. “I do not recall the two of you being addressed in the dowager queen’s letter. It was only addressed to your father and I. Was it not, Dearest?”

Harwin merely hummed, seemingly finding Lucyia’s attempt to snag a loaf of bread off his plate suddenly far more interesting than the conversation at hand. After a moment of her struggling, he gave her a helping hand, ripping off a portion of the loaf and depositing it into her small hands swiftly. The frown upon your lips softened, eventually giving way to a fond smile as you watched the scene from across the table.

“It may not have been addressed to us, but if you intend to agree to them-” Derrik held out a hand to stop his brother from protesting beside him- “we deserve a say in that decision as well.”

The room fell into a brief, uneasy silence. It was not often that any of you had argued with one another. Every family had squabbles, or at the very least disagreements, and your family was no exception. Even so, disagreements were a rare occurrence. You and Harwin had instilled respect and understanding in both Derrik and Selwin from a young age. Discussion, not aversion, of problems had always been the example set for the Strong boys.

But the stressful events over the past few weeks, combined with tiring travel and an undeniable uncertainty about the future, weighed very heavily over you all. And Derrik knew that if he did not redirect the conversation, and soon, an argument would be the least of his concerns. Stirring up unnecessary strife would not be helpful in the slightest, particularly when to be of help was the only thing he had had on his mind that morning.

“Is that so?”

Though you appeared somewhat affronted, based on your raised eyebrows, crossed arms,and puffed up chest, the neutrality of your tone betrayed you. You might have been asking Derrik to explain his rationale- but you were not demanding it. Instead of forcing him into a corner he had so neatly placed himself in front of, it almost seemed as though you were giving him an opportunity to free himself. It was as though you were posing a challenge to him.

A test.

“Selwin and I’s cooperation with the terms are essential to the Usurper’s proposal, are they not?”

When the contemplative look on your face faltered slightly, Derrik’s assumption was proven correct. Though you recovered quickly enough, he took the opportunity your slip presented to press on.

“You and Father are too close to the queen. Perhaps Aegon is as daft as everyone jests him to be, but anyone with their wits about them would know that Otto Hightower is anything but. And if he is counseling the Usurper, he would be certain to impart to his liege that, should you and Father be welcomed back into his good graces, Aegon would be foolish to trust the two of you outright. However, if Selwin and I were to be installed in your places-”

“I will admit to this,” you interjected, holding up a hand. “Dowager Queen Alicent does mean to displace us both. After we will have sworn our allegiance to Aegon, she would have your father and I renounce our titles. But what would transpire with the succession beyond that is not what the two of you may think.”

Selwin asked quietly, “What would happen?”

You looked away from Derrik then, turning to Selwin with a softer look in your eyes. Though the root of which was still unknown to either of the Strong boys, you offered Selwin a sympathetic smile. “‘Tis nothing I would burden you with the details of, My Darling.”

“And far too insulting to repeat,” Harwin agreed under his breath, breaking off another piece of bread from the loaf and handing it over to Luciya.

Anxiously, Derrik prodded, “So, you will not accept the Usurper’s offer?”

“No.” Your attention shifted once more to Harwin, who gave you a reassuring nod that was so subtle, Derrik might have missed it, had he been looking anywhere else. “As we have sworn to do many years ago, your father and I will support Rhaenyra as the one true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms… But as for the two of you, neither of you have yet made any such oaths. And as long as that remains true, your presence at the council meeting this morning will not be required.”

Gods, you were stubborn. Fortunately for Derrik, it was a trait he had inherited from you. A trait he was rather proud of.

“It may not be required, but let us attend anyway. Let us observe, let us help. I wish to be more than a mere pawn in all of this. As much as you and father may try, neither of you can protect us forever. If the realm is to go to war, we will be vulnerable. It is time for you to teach us what you kno, and to help prepare us for the responsibilities that Selwin and I will one day inherit. Arm us with the tools and knowledge that we need to fight for this family… to survive.”

For a few long moments, all was quiet, save the soft crackling of the nearby fire. Harwin’s eyes flickered between Derrik and Selwin, and you. However, your focus was reserved for your sons alone. Your eyes narrowed, your lips in a tight line, the look on your face was ruminative.

Meanwhile, Derrik stood tall. He met your strong gaze with what he hoped was a look just as firm. Selwin shifted on his feet beside him, visibly uneasy with the tension.

Even Luciya went still in Harwin’s lap, her interest in the food having been temporarily abandoned in favor of taking in the suddenly silent shift in the room. Her wide eyes flitted to Harwin, to you, and to Derrik and Selwin with a speed Derrik had not thought was possible.

…

Finally, you rose from your seat. Wordlessly, you stepped around the table, plucked Luciya from Harwin’s hold and settled her into your own arms. Then, you turned, and walked across the room. You came to a stop before your two sons, and gave them each an appraising look.

“So often you are soft spoken. It has been far too easy for it to slip my mind just how clever you truly are,” you told Derrik, gentle pride lacing your tone. “But I needed this reminder. As I also needed to be reminded that you and Selwin are no longer boys, but young men… Will the two of you forgive me?”

Derrik did not hesitate. “There is nothing to forgive, Mother. I know you mean well.”

“And still, I will strive to do better,” you promised the both of them. Balancing Luciya in one arm, you reached out with the other, and grasped one of Derrik’s hands in your own to punctuate your point. After a brief squeeze of his hand, which Derrik could only interpret as a form of gratitude, you turned to Selwin.

Selwin watched silently as you smoothed out the collar of his doublet, which had likely gotten disheveled during the escapade to the kitchens earlier. Once you were satisfied with your efforts, you smiled at him, sparking a smile that mirrored your own to be returned.

“See to it that you tidy yourselves up a bit before the council meeting. It would not do for any member of House Tyrell or House Strong to appear anything less than impeccable.”

“Yes, Mother,” Selwin vowed, his smile deepening as he and Derrik’s victory had begun to be realized within his mind.

“And do not speak unless you are spoken to,” you added seriously. “We narrowly avoided a spat with the Rogue Prince last night, but I do not believe we are fortunate enough to get away with such a feat twice in two dawns.”

Derrik nodded obediently. “We shall keep quiet.”

“Good… Now, I ought to return Luciya to Bryna’s care.” You raised your daughter further up on your hip, and met her inquisitive gaze. “Unless you wish to attend the council meeting as well, Sweetling?”

Luciya said nothing, and once she realized that all eyes were upon her, she turned and shyly buried her head into your shoulder. Laughingly lightly, you smiled at your sons once more before heading towards the door.

Once you had disappeared from view, Derrik waited an additional few moments to allow for you to make your way down the corridor. Once he was certain he would not be overheard, Derrik turned to Harwin and raised an eyebrow.

“We could have used your support, Father.” For a moment, Derrik had lost all hope that you would make any concessions at all.

Harwin merely smirked. “You should know well by now that your Mother and I are of the same mind on most matters. And even when we were not, I have better sense than to question her judgment in front of the two of you…. There are not many things in this life that instill any sort of fear within me, my sons, but the wrath of your mother is certainly one of them. I can only hope you heed this lesson for when you have wives of your own one day.”

Selwin rolled his eyes playfully as he crossed the room to take the seat that you had abandoned. Derrik followed after him at a leisurely pace.

“Besides,” Harwin continued, pausing briefly to finish off his goblet of wine, “I was led to believe, as young men, that the two of you were more than capable of having a simple conversation with your mother, no?”

Derrik groaned tiredly at his father’s light hearted teasing.

A/N: Thank you for reading!🖤 Next part is planned to be posted 11/23.

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fixfoxnox · 1 month

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Luke's Spicy Snippets 13

Pairings: Soap/Roach/Ghost & Jackson/Roach & Soap/Roach/Ghost/Jackson

Warnings: Bondage, teasing, voyeurism, oral sex, dirty talk, cucking <3

Note: Some of you may remember this post from a while back. This here is a little sequel that I whipped up for @probablylikesixducks who has been desperate for a sequel for a bit. Its their birthday today, so it seemed like the perfect time to finally whip this up. Hope you like it Ducks! Happy Birthday <3

"This isn't fair!" Soap whined, tugging against the binds that kept him tied to the headboard of the bed. He'd been fighting against his bonds practically the entire time, moving so much that his wrists were turning an angry red color.

Next to him, Ghost was hardly any better. While he wasn't tugging at his binds as desperately as Soap, his entire body was tense. His cock was straining against his pants, he and Soap hadn't been given the privilege of release from their clothes. His fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles were white.

He had several layers of rope wrapped around his wrists. The red rope was twisted around his arms down to the elbows, all in an attempt to keep him from escaping. It worked well enough, though a close eye was being kept on his hands. There was no doubt that with one right twist of his wrists he'd be free.

"Come on!" Soap whined again, thrusting his hips into the air in an attempt to get some sort of friction to his aching cock. His eyes were focused hungrily on the sight before him. Those bright doe eyes that their boyfriend was giving them...they were downright deadly.

"Don't pay attention to them." Jackson carded a hand through Roach's hair and used a quick tug to bring his attention forward. Back to the thick cock resting right in front of his face, still dripping with bits of his spit and slobber. His mouth watered a bit at the sight. "Come on," Jackson tugged him forward, encouraging him to continue, "make me feel good baby."

Roach could only give a small nod before slowly leaning forward to take the head of Jackson's cock into his mouth once again. The move earned an immediate sigh of relief from Jackson and a grunt of annoyance from the direction of Ghost and Soap.

Jackson guided Roach's mouth further, pushing him to take more of his cock into his mouth. Roach followed the silent order with enthusiasm, tracing his tongue over the length of Jackson's cock. He gave a sloppy suck as he pulled back, creating a bit of space before beginning to fuck his mouth on Jackson's cock.

Jackson gave an enthusiastic moan at the movement and, after a moment, began to rut his hips forward. He controlled the pace that Roach moved at, taking his mouth with desperate grunts and a wicked grin on his face.

There was more frustrated movement from the bed and a quick glance over told Jackson that Ghost and Soap were not having the best of times. Soap was practically writhing on the bed. He was trying to figure out how to get friction to his cock at the same time that he was trying to free his hands, desperate to shove Jackson away from his boyfriend and take his place.

Ghost looked like he was two seconds away from trying to tear the headboard off rather than the rope. His eyes were locked onto Roach, desire clear in them as his cock tented his pants.

"Wishing this was you?" Jackson taunted the two, remembering the way that they'd taunted Roach and himself only a few weeks prior. A bit of revenge was warranted. He tilted his head back with an exaggerated moan, "The two of you should feel this. He's so fucking good with his mouth." He rolled his hips forward, causing Roach to gag just a bit, "So fucking warm."

He paused for a moment, moaning at the feeling of Roach sucking his cock. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he turned to look at the two men. "Fuck, I bet he'll feel so much better when I fuck him."

He pulled back at that and reached out to yank Roach to his feet. He was quick to reposition the shorter man, yanking him around until his chest was flush against Roach's back. He made a show of the position, trailing a hand up from Roach's hips and over his chest. He let his finger trail across the younger man's chest and over his neck.

Jackson pressed his fingers to Roach's lips, parting them slowly before slipping his fingers into the others mouth. With the feeling of Roach's tongue dancing around his fingers on one hand, he brought his other hand up to tease at Roach's chest. He flicked a playful hand over one of Roach's nipples, making sure to keep his eyes locked onto Soap and Ghost as he pulled moans from his friend's throat.

"Please!" Soap was the one who spoke, still desperately writhing on the bed, his wrists now so red that Jackson couldn't believe they weren't bleeding yet. "Paul, please! We get it, just let us go! Want to fuck Roach so bad." He tilted his head back with a groan and Jackson couldn't help but to snicker at the sight.

He glanced to Ghost, a delighted grin pulling at his face as he recognized the same desperation in the usually stoic man's eyes. This was delightful, just what he and Roach were going for. They had the men right where they wanted them.

"I tell you what," Jackson took his fingers from Roach's mouth and was quick to wrap his hand around the man's cock, using the spit that had gathered to make a smooth slide for his friend. "I'll let Roach decide. He can decide to let you go and fuck him or not."

Immediately the two men's eyes turned to Roach, pleading with him with desperate looks. Roach didn't say anything for a moment, he just panted and rutted his hips into Jackson's slick hand.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

Immediately the two men were nodding. It was a bit pathetic, the desperation that both of them had. Soap was nodding his head like a man crazed, pleas for Roach to let them free slipping from his lips with ease. Ghost wasn't as vocal, but his pleas were just as clear to see.

"You want to fuck me?" The two men nodded. A moment of desperate silence hung in the air. Roach leaned closer to the two men, a look of pleasure on his face. "Too bad." He parroted Ghost's words from weeks prior, "You'll wait your turn. Right now? You just watch."

Jackson was quick to laugh, enjoying the pitiful whines that escaped from the two men as he bent their boyfriend over in front of them, all too prepared to help Roach get his revenge by making his boyfriends watch.

#gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #ghostroach #soaproach #ghostroachsoap #paul jackson cod #roachjackson

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themidnightcrimson · 2 years

Text

the human psyche—one. | w. maximoff

summary: in which a visit to your psychologist precedes the murder of your girlfriend and leaves you questioning yourself.

warnings: manipulation, murder, gore, sexual tension, mental distress (don’t we all)

this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.

series masterlist.

"Do you ever think about hurting her?"

The question had struck you entirely off guard. The small dark green leather sofa on which you sat squeaked in response, the decorative buttons deepening until it felt like you were sinking into the furniture. You were cold—it was always cold in this office, which you felt was a paradox. The office of a psychologist should be warm and comforting, inviting and relaxing. All the other therapists you visited had colorful offices with bright yet natural lights and peaceful, abstract artwork hanging on the walls with lively plants in every corner.

This office was dim and cold. This didn't mean it was not stylish—the coffee-colored desk paired with the dark green furniture and classic paintings hanging on the walls uttered every sense of meticulous style. You had imagined that every piece of decor in the office was carefully picked out to go along with the adult, academic theme. Even the Victorian windows made you feel like you were sitting in an Architectural Digest magazine. Your psychologist was a good one, and a fashionable one.

Even her clothes were always tasteful. Today she wore a navy blue suit with a loose off-white blouse and a shiny golden square of a petite watch on her wrist. Around her fingers were matching rings, and in her hand was the pen with which she was writing notes in her journal. You'd always wondered what therapists were writing in your file when you visited them. Wanda never wrote as much they did, it seemed, and while with the others you could reasonably calculate what they were writing based on what you were saying in the given moment, Wanda scribbled at odd times. Maybe she just had a different technique, and maybe that was why you found her to be the best therapist you ever had.

You'd been with her for about two months which, compared to the others, was a very long time. You went from one-and-done visits to seeing this woman every week, and you'd even progressed from calling her Dr. Maximoff to simply Wanda, though intermittently. Strangely, the better you felt, the more you felt you needed to see her. It was supposed to be the opposite, but here you were, in for the second time this week. But you didn't feel better.

Your girlfriend was someone Wanda knew very well. Not that she had ever met her, but because she was the topic of most of your discussions as of the last few weeks. You had been with your girlfriend for a while now, and it had also been a while since her words of love had turned into words of venom. She was only a shell of the girl you had fell in love with now, but her possessive ways left you feeling incapable of leaving her. Also, you had no one else. She was really the only person in your life, and even though she was a terrible one, you couldn't leave her for the fear of being alone.

You had been telling Wanda about your last argument when your girlfriend had brought that exact point up. "What are you gonna do, leave me?" she had spat at you, rearing close to you and snatching your wrist bruisingly. "Who will you have then, y/n? Who? No one." Her words were still richocheting around your head like a bullet, fragmenting parts of your brain with each incessant hit.

Wanda had listened silently, letting you ramble on until your frustrations had turned into rage. You never thought of yourself as an angry person, but here lately...

"I'm so sick of her," you had said through gritted teeth. "I wish she would just... go away. I'd rather have fucking no one than to have her. She's such a bitch. She thinks she controls me, that I'm just a fucking charity case for her. God, I wish she would just..." You stopped, realizing that your fists were balled so tight that your knuckles were as white as the paper Wanda had stopped scribbling on. You could feel your blood pooling in your cheeks, your heartbeat thumping right in your ears. You were even hunched over rather unflatteringly, and realizing just how angry you had become, you finally took a deep breathe and straightened, relaxing against the uncomfortable sofa. The nearly unbearable pressure in your head faded, leaving you slightly lightheaded. "I'm sorry," you told Wanda, your blush of rage turning to one of embarrassment as you met her unreadable gaze. "I'm sorry, I—”

"Do you ever think about hurting her?" came the question from Wanda. Her head was cocked to the right, her eyes slightly squinted but still wide and absorptive. You always felt like she was a sponge, soaking up every drop of your presence. It felt invasive at times, as if she was standing right inside your head and watching your thoughts pass by, but you chocked it up to her just being a really good therapist.

"What?" you scoffed, and for some reason a nervous chuckle escaped your chest as if your lungs were trying to cough something up. You swallowed whatever it was down. "No," you sharply spoke. "No, of course not—why would you ask me that?" The cold room started to rise in temperature.

"It's only in the human nature to feel a need to protect ourselves and the ones we love, even if it’s from the ones we love," Wanda offered smoothly, her voice soft and drawing. "She is hurting you. Your natural defense may be to strike back."

"I-I don't want to hurt her," you laughed again, quickly removing the smile from your face. There was nothing funny about it, but you had a tendency to laugh in these nervous situations. But why were you so nervous that you had to fiddle with the collar of your shirt to breathe better?

"Y/n, it's perfectly normal to have intrusive thoughts. In fact, having a safe, open space to verbalize them can help them to go away." She tilted her head further, ticking the end of her pen against the notebook. She stood up suddenly, and your throat seemed to tighten.

She was so tall, you noted, as she walked around her desk with her hand trailing the wooden edge, her heels echoing in the spacious, silent office. She came around to the front of the desk, standing only a foot from you, and leaned against the edge of it.

"I may be a woman of the mind, but I am also a woman of science," Wanda began, her cool green eyes watching you closely as you looked up at her. She had never moved from behind that desk before, and now she was so close, and the light from the window made her face look so pretty. "A scientist must first gather his data, his evidence, before he can make any kind of hypothesis."

You squirmed in the sofa. "What kind of hypothesis are you trying to make of me?" you halfway accused. You never remembered saying anything to her about your intrusive thoughts, and therefore whatever suggestion she was making about was entirely rootless. It felt like an ambush, an accusation.

Wanda clearly saw that she had approached the situation entirely wrong by the nervousness on your face. Her face softened as she thought for a moment before rewording, "I can't help you unless you're honest with me, unless you help me know you better. I am a psychologist, not a mind reader."

A smirk carved the edges of her lips, and you noticed a strange glint in her eye. What did she mean by that? As much as it seemed Wanda could read your mind, you could never understand hers.

She added in a soft whisper, "Tell me the thoughts you have, y/n." Wanda then leaned forward, reaching out her hand and resting it on your knee—that's just how close she was to you. Her hand was warm and firm, almost able to wrap entirely around your knee. You glanced down to it, feeling heat spark all throughout your leg and through your body, bringing a slight sweat to your hairline. You couldn't help but imagine her hand sliding up your thigh—Wanda was a beautiful woman after all. She was keen, intimidating, mysterious. Her eyes always seemed to pierce right through you, and even though she had just said she couldn't read your mind, it always felt like she knew what you were trying to say without you saying it.

Something twitched across Wanda's lips as she watched you, unblinking. Then you started to think about what she had asked you. Had you had thoughts of hurting your girlfriend? You were not that kind of person, even though your partner was. She had never hit you, persay, but she was overall a self-righteous and unkind person who never minded grabbing you in ways that hurt whenever you didn't tell her what she wanted to hear. You thought back to the argument, when she had grabbed you and said such cruel words. You both were standing right in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in your apartment on the tenth floor of the complex. In that moment, you had been filled with so much grief, so much frustration, so much loneliness and suffocation, that you had, in fact, briefly imagined just pushing her right through the window. You remembered it now, as if you had only then realized your thoughts, and a wave of terror flooded you at the thought. You could never do something like that. It was only an intrusive thought, like Wanda had told you. It was normal. It didn't mean you were capable of such a thing, right?

Either way, there was no way on hell or earth you would ever admit to thinking such a thing. You would be locked away, probably, intrusive thought or not.

"I don't have those thoughts," you firmly told Wanda, noticing that her grip on your leg had tightened. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it was strong. Your heart was beating so fast in your chest now.

Wanda seems to finally comply, realizing that she couldn't get something out of you that you didn't want to tell. She took her hand away from your knee, and it felt like a noose around your neck had loosened. She only nodded slowly, finally blinking, to signal to you that she understood. But the nod felt like a different kind of understanding—not of your reluctance to talk, but of what you were reluctant to say. It was like a nod of approval, that her so-called hypothesis of your intentions had been confirmed, like she had stepped through the door of your mind, saw what she needed to see, and closed it with a sense of calm victory in being right.

For the first time, you left Dr. Maximoff's office feeling worse than when you had came.

After your shift at work, which was gruesome as always, your girlfriend wasn't home yet. You were guiltily relieved at the fact, so you took a nap of emotional exhaustion. It had been daylight when you went to sleep, and you were awoken by a flash of red light through your closed eyelids. You jumped awake with an adrenaline-fueled start, looking around to find the cause of such a strange flash of red light. You had expected to see a fire, but when another bright flash of red light filled your vision followed by a burst of bright blue, and then the sound of wailing sirens, you realized it was an ambulance or the police. You turned to see the lights coming through your bedroom window—they must have been right outside in the parking lot. You called your girlfriend's name, and when you got no response, you looked to your alarm clock to see that it was now the middle of the night—how had you slept for so long? Where was your girlfriend?

Disgruntled by all the noise and lights, you pulled your unusually heavy body out of bed and went into the living room to look out of the larger windows to get a better view of what was going on, but you were startled to see the sight of your windows. Through the red lights flashing right into your dark apartment, your window was smashed open. The shattered glass formed an opening the size of a body. Still confused from sleep, you walked towards the window, avoiding the shards of glass on the floor. You were standing right in the opening now, looking down at the flood of police cars and ambulances in the parking lot right in front of your window. Policemen and paramedics were all rushing towards the building, right below you, and your gaze followed them until your eyes landed upon what felt like a nightmare. There, on the ground, covered in blood and twisted and mangled, was your girlfriend.

It had been a week. The funeral was yesterday, and you still had not processed what had happened. Grief didn't come easy to you. You had just lost your girlfriend, the only person in your life, so suddenly. How was a human supposed to register that fully? It was already the most horrible thing to happen to you, but the worst part about it was that you were being questioned by the FBI. You weren't a suspect—yet—but you had been called in twice now to go over what had happened. You told them the same thing, that you were asleep and that you woke up, and she was on the ground ten stories below. They kept asking you if you heard a break-in, or how you didn't hear the smashing of the window. You had nothing to say to them, which made you look even more guilty. You were just as dumbfounded and confused as them as to why you heard nothing until the lights and sirens woke you up. They seemed to sort of believe you, but all the evidence was against you. The only thing they had against their suspicions was that they weren't able to find any fingerprints on her body to signal that she had been pushed off. It was good that they didn't find your fingerprints, but it was worse that they didn't find any at all. It made you look like an OJ case, but you didn't even own a pair of gloves.

You felt like it was only a waiting game before they came and got you. You couldn't even afford lawyers, for God's sake. You were just a cook at a restaurant, whose money all went to the expensive therapy you had been seeking your entire life. In fact, instead of lawyering up, that's where you were now—with Wanda.

Wanda had kept her professional reservations as you sobbed on her sofa. She sat behind her desk, as emotionless and observant as ever, choosing to keep quiet for most of the session and just let you talk. You told her about the entire situation, the accident and the questioning. You were tangled between grief and guilt with no clear reason for it all. Finally, you had no words left to say, and Wanda gave a few moments of silence to clear the air as you wiped your tears, finally calming down.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, y/n," she said empathetically. "You must be feeling so many things right now. Grief, guilt… relief."

Your ears perked at her choice of wording, raising your teary eyes from your clasped hands to look at her with confusion. "Guilt—relief?" you croaked.

"I know you loved your girlfriend, y/n," Wanda began with a sort of sigh, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her desk. "But you were a victim to her abuse. That abuse is gone now, and naturally your mind feels relief to never be under her cruel hold again. That, naturally, is the most confusing feeling to a simultaneously grieving mind."

You were wordless as your eyes fell to the floor. She wasn't entirely wrong—but it felt so wrong.

"As for guilt... it's the most common thread I see in my patients who deal with a loss." You couldn't help but notice a sort of patronizing tone in her voice, and you wondered if it had always been there. "What if they had been there? What if they had stopped it from happening? Sometimes they feel guilt to such an extreme that they manage to convince themselves that they are the reason for their loved one's death." She paused as your eyes caught hers sharply. "They feel almost as if their loved one's blood is... on their hands."

A strange feeling filled you all at once. Do you feel guilty? Do you feel like the cause of her death? Like you're the one who did it? You imagined yourself pushing your girlfriend through that window, the shattering glass flooding her screams before a sickening squelch on the concrete down below... You shut your eyes. You were beginning to become wildly upset, like you were going to puke.

Wanda could see this, and she quickly stood up from her desk chair and walked towards you, taking a seat beside you on the sofa. You felt tense at her closeness, and even more tense when she carefully took your hand and held it in hers. Her hands were warm again as they cradled yours, soft yet firm. Her shoulder brushed against yours, and you could smell her sweet cologne, and you felt dizzy.

"It's okay to feel what you are feeling, y/n," Wanda whispered close to you, almost as if she was right beside your ear. "These deep, ugly parts of the human psyche often go untapped for the entirety of a person’s life, but they are in everyone. Dark thoughts, desires, impulses—they reside in each and every one of us."

One hand left yours, and you felt it tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You turned your teary eyes up to her, eyebrows sewn together as you tried to put together what she was trying to tell you. Her face was inches from yours, those haunting green eyes burning into you. You noticed her eyes flicker to the lower half of your face, her tongue stroking her lower lip discreetly before she turned her eyes up to yours again and resumed the mask you had only then started to notice.

"It takes a high level of cognitive function and human empathy to be capable of feeling what you are feeling right now, y/n," she said to you almost desperately. She didn't feel like your psychologist right now, as her hand pressed your lower back and seemed to lean you closer to her. She continued carefully, "Only few on this earth can. You should feel proud."

You felt like you were in a daze in that moment, wrapped up in the heat radiating from her body, now leaning closer to her without her having to guide you with her hand. Then her words finally registered in your clouded head—proud.

You sharply stood up from the sofa, nearly slapping her hand away. Wanda looked up at you in feigned confusion and concern.

"Proud?!" you repeated. "You think I should feel proud that my girlfriend is dead and I feel like I did it!" You nearly choked on your words as your tears blurred Wanda's face and morphed it into something monstrous. "I didn't! I didn't do it! I didn't fucking kill her!"

You turned away, feeling as if you were going to fall over, as you opened her office door and stormed through it, slamming it so hard that the painting on her wall nearly fell off.

#wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximoff series #wanda maximoff x f!reader #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #lesbian #lgbt #marvel #smut #nsft #crimsonween #dark!fic #dark!wanda maximoff

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windwheeler-aster · 1 year

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i’m not a monster

summary: although your university has given students two weeks off for the holidays, you’re still stuck in the library studying for the upcoming exam season. although, you seem to have lost focus and fell asleep on top of your textbooks... luckily for you, your long-term rival dottore is here to help

masterlist | advent calendar

pairing: dottore x reader

reader info: uses gender neutral pronouns (they/them), reader is a student and rival of dottore’s, and reader is not traveler

word count: 491 words (2 mins~)

genre: romance, enemies to more, modern AU

format: one shot

warnings: not proofread thoroughly

a/n: ghghghg, i’m going to need to revisit this idea/concept with dottore (and other characters?!?!) in the future... but i hope y’all enjoy this💖

The holiday break was for students and staff to take a break from studies and spend time with their loved ones. Although, many students didn’t spend the break exactly like that. Some hosted huge parties in their parents’ house while they were on holiday. Others— like yourself— spent the whole two weeks panicking and studying for the upcoming exam season. And, for those like yourself who bit more than they could chew, they had rarely any time to relax.

Which is exactly why you had holed yourself up in your university’s library for a few days. You were strict with yourself while studying, too. Coffee and your textbooks were the only thing you could rely on, it seemed. Though, it was only inevitable that you would come down from your coffee-fueled ambitious high. You just wish you hadn’t crashed so hard while you were reviewing your textbooks for the nth teen time that day.

But, luckily, Dottore had just turned the corner in search of a book to satiate his own curiosity when he saw you, slumped over your textbooks.

Admittedly, he did chuckle at your pathetic state. Half of your face was squished down, adorably so, while you slept on the pages. He did cringe as he saw a small amount of drool leave your parted mouth. And the academic in him stiffened when Dottore noticed how you were wrinkling the paper in this position. So, really, he had no choice but to put you in a more comfortable position. For both you and the book.

Just like he had no choice but to make you lay down, head in his lap. And he certainly had no choice but to put his coat over you once he saw you shiver. Though, Dottore can’t really explain the soft smile that spread across his features when he caught a glimpse at the peaceful look on your face. They’re too cute to resist smiling, he reassured himself, anyone who doesn’t smile at that is ridiculous. Obviously.

Dottore looked over at your notes and sighed wistfully. He examined your handwriting, and smiled at the small details in it that made it uniquely yours. Some of the notes you wrote on the margins of your work earned a chuckle out of Dottore, too.

“Oh, if only you didn’t have such a bad impression of me,” Dottore murmured, slightly wincing as he recalled your first meeting.

Rumors of his questionable ethics and dubious morals had spread around the university, and you joined everyone else in their superstitions. However, the only thing that separated you from the rest of the sheep was your brilliant mind.

“We could have been friends,” he mumbled. Dottore sucked in a harsh brush as he took in your face fully. “Or maybe something more…?”

Dottore looked at the time on his watch and concluded that maybe— just maybe— he’d need a nap too.

Even if it is next to his so-called “enemy”.

taglist:

@x-zho @cxlrosii @i23kazu @tiredsleep @ireallylikehamsters

(send an ask to be added or removed)

thank you for reading 💖 all forms of interaction to my posts are appreciated 💖

#wheeler's works #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #dottore x reader #genshin one shots #dottore one shots #romance #enemies to more #modern AU #genshin advent calendar 2022

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whatacaitastrophe · 2 months

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Kirnha x Gortash 2 - for edislendering

A one-shot I did for EdiSlendering (it won’t let me tag you!) <3 Thanks for requesting this! I had a great time writing it, and thank you for your donation to my Ko-fi!

Would you like me to write a BG3 one shot for you? Check out this post and send me a message <3

Song Inspiration: Red Light - The Strokes

Content Warning: Blood, Death

“Gortash,

I trust this letter finds you well, Chosen of Bane. It is not often that I pay any mind to the whispered gossip I hear in the halls of Bhaal’s temple, especially not gossip spread by acolytes whom I cannot even be bothered to remember their names. However, given the nature of the whispers that have reached my ears, it is my responsibility as the Chosen of Bhaal to inquire of their validity.

While I generally prefer to work alone, if the rumors I’m hearing are indeed true, then you are already involved, which is why I am writing to you now. I believe it is possible we can help each other to achieve our greater ambitions for Faerun in service of our gods.

Come to The Temple of Bhaal in one week’s time to discuss. The password for entry is “Sceleritas.”

In Bhaal’s Name,

Infamy, Chosen of Bhaal”

“Infamy,

I’d heard rumblings of the Bhaalist movement resurging once again, but like you, deemed all to be rumors spread by wishful fanatics and bored citizens desperate for something interesting to occur in their daily lives. Pleased to officially make your acquaintance.

While I am interested in hearing more about the rumors you seek to validate and your proposal regarding them (presuming I am able to confirm such rumors as fact), I have little interest in traveling through the city sewers to get there. You are the one who requested this meeting, not I, so if it is an audience with me you seek, you will need to come to Wyrm’s Rock Fortress.

I’ll let the guards know we are expecting you, and look forward to putting a face to the infamous name.

Enver Gortash, Chosen of Bane.”

On principle, Infamy almost tossed Gortash’s response into the fire and abandoned his plans to form an alliance with Enver Gortash. The absolute audacity of the Chosen of Bane to not only deny Kirnha’s request for a meeting, but to make it clear that if Kirnha wanted to meet with him, he would have to go to Wyrm’s Rock? It was infuriating. Nobody told Kirnha “no,” and lived to tell about it. That Gortash was still breathing now was as much a testament to his position as Bane’s chosen as his position within the city council. Killing Enver Gortash, while an amusing thought, would be more trouble than it was worth. It would ultimately bring the Bhaalist movement back to the forefront of the citizen’s of Faerun, and the time had not yet come to reveal themselves to the world once again. No, as much as Kirnha hated to admit it, he needed Enver Gortash.

Which was how Kirnha ended up sitting in the plush chair in Gortash’s office, impatiently waiting for the man to make an appearance. Kirnha knew he had no right to be annoyed that Gortash was not sitting in his office, waiting for Kirnha to call on him. Did that change the fact that Kirnha was annoyed all the same?

No. No, it did not.

When the door finally opened and Gortash entered the room, Kirnha did not stand. Gortash had not respected his time by keeping Kirnha waiting, so why should he show Bane’s chosen the respect of standing? It could certainly be called into question whether Kirnha had the right to also be annoyed Gortash kept him waiting, but he honestly did not care. The Chosen of Bane was already skating on precariously thin ice, and the two of them had yet to speak a word to each other.

The dark haired man was…surprisingly attractive. Kirnha had seen illustrations of him on various pieces of propaganda, and in the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette, but he always assumed they were a caricature of the man who’d just entered the room. It appeared as though Gortash felt the same way about Kirnha, as the man did not bother to be subtle about the way his eyes scanned Kirnha from horns to boots, a smirk settling on his face as he strode towards the tiefling.

“Ah, you must be Infamy. Apologies for keeping you waiting, I trust you were not here long?” Gortash extended his hand in greeting, and it was only then that Infamy bothered to stand. He was taller than Gortash; not by much, but enough that Kirnha was looking down at the dark haired man as he returned the handshake stiffly.

“If you were truly sorry, you would have just been on time.” Kirnha mused with a smirk of his own, his tone laced with annoyance as he took his seat again.

“Not one to mince words, I see. I like it,” Gortash walked around his desk to sit in the chair behind it, propping his feet up as he looked at Kirnha. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Kirnha studied Gortash for a quiet moment before speaking. “My time is limited, so I will speak plainly. Is it true that Belynne Stelmane’s former associate known as The Emperor is Balduran himself?”

If Gortash is surprised by the information Kirnha presented him with, the man does not show it. He simply raises an eyebrow. “My, my, your little followers do know how to pick up a scent, don’t they?”

That was all the confirmation Kirnha needed to know he was correct. “Is it also true that The Emperor is currently missing, because you trapped him in an icosahedron and then proceeded to lose said artifact?”

Silence. Even in silence, Gortash said everything. In a position such as Gortash’s it would be in the adviser’s best interest to deny Kirnha’s claims outright if they were untrue. As frustrating as Gortash was, Kirnha could respect that the man was choosing to remain silent so he could have plausible deniability, if he did not like Kirnha’s proposal. Instead of acknowledging the question, Gortash replied, “I thought you were going to speak plainly, Bhaalspawn?”

“Fair enough. What would you say if I knew of a way to elevate us both to positions of power within the city by way of controlling the Elder Brain?”

Gortash studied Kanha’s face, as though he were looking for any trace of deception and Kirnha held his stare, daring the man to contradict him. They sat there in silence, staring at each other– it was a game, who was going to speak first. Kanha knew it was not going to be him, and if it came down to it, he would leave before doing so.

Minutes went by, and finally, Gortash spoke. “I would say you have my attention.”

Kirnha smirked and leaned forward in his seat. “How familiar are you with The Crown of Karsus?”

“Familiar enough to know that it’s missing, so if this plan of yours involves it, then you are officially wasting my time.” Gortash leveled a glare at Kirnha.

“It is not missing. I know where it is.” Kirnha confirmed.

“Where is it?” Gortash asked, sitting up in his chair, perhaps a little too eagerly for the persona he’d been playing with Kirnha so far.

“That is for me alone to know, unless you agree to help me retrieve it, and use its power together.”

“How do I know you’re not lying to me, making a grab for the power and influence in this city I already hold?” Gortash bristled, disappointed that Kirnha hadn’t given up the crown’s location immediately.

“If I were lying to you then coming here would have been a complete waste of my time, and I do not engage in activities that waste my time,” Kirnha leaned back. “Are you willing to work with me or not?”

Gortash’s face contorted into something that could only be described as a pout, even if that wasn’t really the right word for it. “Fine. What’s your plan, Infamy?”

Kirnha’s lips formed a thin line, and people who knew him would see the look and claim it was the closest the tiefling ever came to smiling. “Have you ever been to Hell?”

~*~

“If anyone ever asks, you were never here.” The diabolist, Helsik, said to Gortash and Kirnha for what feels like the hundredth time in the last fortnight as they ascended the stairs to her office, and Kirnha didn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“I’m not sure why you feel the need to repeat yourself– you made it perfectly clear upon agreeing to help us in the first place. Your terms are understood.” Kirnha glowered at Helsik, and the woman visibly flinched.

“Just being cautious, as are you, I’m sure.” She raised her hands in defeat, sensing the tiefling’s annoyance.

“Now, now, Infamy, play nicely. Helsik is taking a great risk by giving us access to the Hells. The least you can do is be polite.”

Kirnha’s gaze shot to Gortash, and the glare on his face remained. “Oh yes, a terribly great risk, for an obscene amount of coin.” Though he and Gortash could easily afford Helsik’s outrageous fee, that didn’t mean Kirnha had to be happy about paying it; or that he had to be nice to the woman just because she willingly took their gold. If Kirnha had his way, the woman would be dead the moment the portal was opened, but Gortash managed to convince her that keeping her alive could end up being useful, if they needed to return to the hells for any reason.

In the short time the two of them had been working together, Enver Gortash’s mind was something that Kirnha had come to both hate and love about the man standing next to him. Gortash was smart, possibly too smart and certainly smarter than Kirnha, and every time Gortash made a suggestion or pointed something out that Kirnha had overlooked, the tiefling found himself equally as ready to murder Enver Gortash as he was ready to push all of the stupid trinkets and baubles off of the man’s desk and fuck him right there. It was maddening and, at this point, Kirnha was not sure which of those two things he would do first.

Kirnha and Gortash stood back as they watched Helsik paint the pentagram on the floor in blood, unbothered by where the blood came from. Kirnha paid especially close attention to the ritual as Helsik performed it, just in case there ever came a time he needed to return to hell– after all, it was better to be safe, than sorry. Soon, the blood on the floor was ablaze with fire that gave off an enormous amount of heat, but did not burn as Kirnha and Gortash stepped into the circle. Gortash looked back at Helsik and nodded his head in thanks. “We were never here.” he teased before looking over to Kirnha and shooting him a wink. A wink. The absolute audacity of Bane’s chosen to flirt with him! Kirnha hated how much he loved it, and the way his heart softly stuttered in his chest at the sight.

Kirnha had no other choice: He was going to have to kill Enver Gortash.

Maybe Mephistopheles would make it easy, and Gortash’s death could seem like it was an accident. Or maybe Mephistopheles would kill Gortash outright. After all, Kirnha was a Mephistopheles tiefling– the likelihood of being harmed in Cania was incredibly low. Kirnha stepped through the portal in the floor first with his eyes closed to combat the dizziness that often came with traveling via a portal such as this one.

The smell of sulfur hit him first, and it was like being welcomed home. Kirnha was living among the tieflings of Elturel when they were dragged to the hells, and he’d also been one of the few who chose to stay once everything was set right again. He liked it here– Cania was a place where nobody cared whether you were a good person or not, and Kirnha had used that knowledge to appease Bhaal every chance he could. As it turned out, devils bled just like everyone else.

“Well, at least Mephistopheles has taste.” Gortash mused after joining Kirnha on the other side of the portal. Helsik’s portal had dropped the two of them just outside Mephistopheles’ castle in Cania, and Kirnha nodded in agreement. He’d been here before– being Bhaal’s chosen on top of being a descendent of the archdevil himself afforded Kirnha many liberties during his time residing in Cania, such as being invited to parties and dinners, giving him ample opportunity to explore the castle and its grounds. Admittedly, Kirnha hated the dinners and parties, but he went because Sceleritas told him that Bhaal demanded it– that having a devil such as Mephistopheles in their corner would benefit Bhaal’s cause in the long run.

Kirnha was not entirely sure that this was what Bhaal or Sceleritas had in mind when they shared that piece of information with Kirnha. If anything, what he and Gortash were here to do would do nothing other than turn Mephistopheles against them. This was why it was entirely necessary that they do not get caught.

“You’re certain you know where he’s keeping The Crown of Karsus?” Gortash asked.

Kirnha smirked at Bane’s chosen as they began walking towards the castle. Much like Helsik’s repetitive statement of anonymity, Gortash had taken to repeating himself, and it was becoming tiresome. “Not nervous, are you, Gortash? I thought you had more mettle than this.” Kirnha mused.

“I wouldn’t call it a lack of mettle so much as I would call it a healthy amount of skepticism.” Gortash bristled.

“If you’re still skeptical, there’s time to turn around. Now that we’re here, I’m sure I can find a way to do this on my own.” Kirnha dared, glaring at Gortash as they entered the castle’s courtyard.

Kirnha was bluffing, because the fact of the matter was that whether Kirnha liked it or not, he needed Gortash for this to succeed. The crown was an incredibly powerful magical artifact, and it would take the both of them to control it and make it out of Cania alive.

If Gortash caught his bluff, the man said nothing. He only rolled his eyes as they passed through the courtyard and entered the main hall of the castle. Most people would not have simply walked in the front door, but the lords and ladies of the hells, and the souls who served Mephistopheles knew him; they knew he had enough pull with their master not to question his sudden appearance, and they said nothing.

“I have need to visit the archives.” Kirnha said to one of the souls standing guard by the far entrance. The guard visibly trembled.

“Sir, Mephistopheles is not currently home, and we are forbidden to escort anyone to the archives without him present.”

That was what Kirnha needed to hear: The Crown was in Mephistopheles’ archives– a place where all of the information and artifacts the archdevil had collected over the centuries was stored. It was not normally off limits to visitors who held favor. That they were being barred from entering now told Kirnha everything about The Crown’s location.

He shot the guard a menacing look. “Do you know you I am, you pathetic worm? I am Infamy, chosen of Bhaal and descended from Mephistopheles himself. I am permitted to access the archives without his majesty, and you will grant me access. So long as you do, Mephistopheles shall not hear of your disrespect.”

There was a beat of silence as the guard considered his options: continue to deny Kirnha entry and die, or grant Kirnha entry and risk death in the event that Kirnha was lying.

As it turned out, the guard valued his wretched life, and he decided to take the risk of granting Kirnha the access he desired. The guard nodded. “Of course, sir. Right this way.”

Gortash shot Kirnha a silent look of approval as they followed the guard through the hallways, until they were right outside of the archive doors. “This is as far as I can taken you– I am not allowed in.” The guard trembled again and Kirna waved his hand at the man.

“That is fine. We can take it from here. Just unlock the door.”

The guard did as instructed and as soon as the doors were open, the guard fled. “Impressive,” Gortash stated as they entered the archives, and Kirnha simply shrugged. “I was prepared to have to fight our way in here, but they quite literally handed you the key.”

“There’s still time for fighting. Just because they gave me the keys doesn’t mean we’ll get out of here without a fight. It’s not like we’re here for any old magical bauble.”

Yes, there was a very good chance that once Kirnha and Gortash found The Crown of Karsus within the deep archives of Mephistopheles’ castle that taking it from its confinements would trigger an alarm. The fact that it was being kept here, and not in a deeper vault, made Kirnha sure of that. It was almost as though Mephistopheles thought nobody was stupid enough to try and steal The Crown of Karsus from him, or that the archdevil had no idea anyone knew it was here.

For that, Kirnha could thank Cazador Szarr. The vampire lord of Baldur’s Gate had his own dealings with Mephistopheles that gave him an intimate knowledge of this place, and as it turned out, staying on Bhaal’s good side was of great interest to Cazador. Prying the information from him about Mephestopheles’ ownership of the crown had been all too easy.

Kirnha closed the door behind them and took a few more steps into the deep room of the archives. He reached into his bag and pulled out a scroll of Detect Magic. The scroll would only help so much, as there were many magical items in the archives, Kirnha was sure, but at least it would point them in the right direction.

What he had not planned on was the pull from the crown being so strong that it overpowered literally everything else. The pulsing magic from the detection spell was so bright and so strong from one specific direction that there was no way it wasn’t coming from The Crown. Kirnha looked at Gortash with a smug grin. “I told you I knew where it was.”

As they rounded the next corner, the sound of the door to the archives opening once again filled the halls, followed by a pair of hurried footsteps. Kirnha quickly waved the spell away, swearing and swearing under his breath. He’d only brought one scroll of Detect Magic– it should have been all he needed.

“Quickly, follow my lead.” Gortash whispered hurriedly, and before Kirnha could protest, the chosen of Bane was gripping the collar of his shirt and pushing Kirnha against the nearest wall. Every instinct of Kirnha’s was screaming at him to fight back, that Gortash was about to betray him.

“What the fuck are you–” Kirnha started to argue as he reached for the dagger at his belt, but he was cut off by the feeling of Enver Gortash’s mouth pressing against his own in a searing kiss. Kirnha instantly stopped struggling against Gortash and melted into the kiss as his brain registered what Gortash was doing, even if it wasn't what Kirnha would have done. Kirnha reached up to grip Gortash’s collar and forcefully moved their bodies so Gortash was the one pinned to the wall, his tongue invading Gortash’s mouth easily. The moan that left Enver Gortash’s mouth sent all of the blood in Kirnha’s body rushing south, and part of him hated it. This was not part of the plan.

Just as Gortash’s hands released Kirnha’s shirt and found purchase on the tiefling’s backside, there was a squawk of surprise as the footsteps stopped. Kirnha broke away from the kiss and glared at their visitor. It was the same guard as before, and he looked terrified. “S-so-so sorry, gentlemen, but I-I was instructed to-to–”

Kirnha pushed himself away from Gortash and stormed over to the guard, drawing his daggers. “Your intentions no longer matter, as they are your end regardless.”

Without another word, Kirnha’s hands moved quickly and quietly. There was only one sharp cry of pain before the guard was on the floor, throat slit, his blood spilling across the dark tile floors like beautiful rubies. Kirnha smiled evilly, and a feeling of pleasure rushed through his body. Bhaal was pleased. Kirnha was pleased. He wiped the daggers on the dead guard’s body and stowed them away again before turning to Gortash.

“We likely have about ten minutes before anybody realizes that he hasn’t come back. It’s time to move. Quickly.” Gortash nodded and fell into step beside Kirnha as they power-walked down the hallway towards the source of the magic that the detection scroll found before it was wiped out.

“You’re a marvelous kisser, by the way.” Gortash flirted, and Kirnha rolled his eyes. Now wasn’t the time for flirting and compliments, even if his body wanted to forget about The Crown of Karsus altogether and just fuck Enver Gortash up against the wall.

“Not now,” Kirnha snapped, both at Gortash and himself for thinking such thoughts. “We can discuss that once we get out of here.”

Gortash didn’t flinch at Kirnha’s tone. In fact, he smirked. “Glad you agree there’s something to discuss– I’ve been thinking about that since you walked into my office a fortnight ago.”

Kirnha made a noise of annoyance. “What part of ‘we can discuss this once we get out of here’ did you not understand?” Annoyed as he was, knowing Gortash had been attracted to him from the beginning certainly inflated Kirnha’s ego a bit as they walked.

The Crown was at the very end of a long hallway in a glass case. From afar, Kirnha could not see any signs of anything special guarding the case. Kirnha anticipated there being some sort of exploding trap spell on the case itself, but that there was nothing else guarding it felt suspicious.

Maybe Mephistopheles truly did believe The Crown was safe simply by being in his possession.

That would be the archdevil’s downfall.

“That case is trapped.” Gortash confirmed as they approached, and Kirnha nodded. He could feel the magic crackling off of it, and he gestured to Gortash.

“You can do the honors.” Kirnha ordered as though disarming the case was a privilege, and not something he needed Gortash to do because Kirnha was less likely to be able to disarm it in one try.

“Gladly. Watch and learn, Bhaalspawn.” Gortash’s devilish grin made Kirnha’s heart stutter again, and he huffed impatiently. Fate was a cruel mistress for deciding to make Kirnha attracted to this man– everything was easier without emotions. Ruling, fighting, killing, fucking…all of it, and the more time he spent in Enver Gortash’s presence, the less Kirnha found himself wanting to fight or kill the man. Ruling alongside and fucking him though…yes, that was starting to interest Kirnha.

Gortash’s hands were quick, something Kirnha took note of for later, and soon the trap was disarmed and the case was unlocked. “As soon as we pick it up, the alarms will probably sound.” Kirnha said sternly. “Are you ready?”

Gortash laughed. “But of course– I even brought a little piece of insurance, should anything go wrong. Then, from inside of his robes, Gortash pulled out another scroll– a Dimension Door. That would get them as far as they could see, so as long as their portal back to The Devil’s Fee was in sight, they could get out. In a moment of passion, Kirnha leaned in and kissed Gortash fiercely. It was brilliant. He was brilliant, and Kirnha both loved and hated it.

“Let’s do this. For the Absolute?” Gortash asked slyly.

Kirnha nodded. “For the Absolute.”

The moment the crown was in Kirnha’s hands, he could feel the power radiating off of it. This was the power that almost killed Mystra. This was the power they needed to control the Elder Brain. Now it was theirs, and as soon as they made it out of Cania, it would be theirs to wield. Theirs– his and Gortash’s. Together. An idea that was growing on Kirnha by the minute.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #the dark urge #durgetash #bg3 durge #gortash #enver gortash #durge #writing commissions #writing comms open

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reveluving · 2 years

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Tu serie de Batmom la adoro completamente, me da un respiro de la universidad y la amo. Leí que tú bandeja de entrada estaba abierta para angst de Batmom y feo mandar mis más profundos pensamientos: Batmom ha estado casada con Bruce por años antes de que Dick llegase y adoraba por completo a todos sus hijos, los amaba como nada en el universo y descubre que Bruce la engaña, Batmom solo aguanta y reúne todas las evidencias pero un día se rompe antes sus dos mejores amigos y batboy escuchan

I felt like a sinner for putting this through G. Translate 🚶🏻‍♀️ But thank you, truly! I do hope college's treating you better as of this post! But this is the last angst for a while (I did warn y'all lol).

This is a pretty different from what you've told me so I'd like to apologize! But thanks, dear Ela! ❤

Some context:

Batmom has been married to Bruce years before Dick's arrival. The ask says 'adores all of her children' but I didn't have the heart to, so it's pre-Jason. Ask also says 'it breaks before her two best friends(?)' but I only made Bruce confess to Alfred. Again, not related to 'A Mother's Touch' series!

You really shouldn't have given him the benefit of the doubt, considering his title amongst the rich, and no, it's not 'billionaire'.

You felt stupid for thinking he'd change just because you caught his eye. He did change, but probably not for long. He probably still loves you, but old habits die hard, it seemed.

Bruce was nowhere near better. Whatever possessed to make him think being with other women would be enough to make him forget his worries of you in his life as Batman was unexplainable. It was morbid of him to occasionally think that doing so would keep you out of harm's way.

But believe me when I say he never did it because he didn't love you anymore.

Of course, you had every right to believe otherwise.

Since your discovery, you've changed little by little. Quiet. Distant. Almost out of place. Just, anything uncharacteristic of you was basically the new you. At least, you were to him. It wasn't the case for Alfred and Dick, though, even they knew you haven't been yourself for a while.

And as much as Bruce hated to admit, he knew exactly why.

Dick knew things were off when you started coming to his room to tuck him in without the presence of Bruce. Or if Bruce did come by, you wouldn't be by side. The only times he's ever seen that happen was the first week of his adoption. And the worst part; there was no tension when you and Bruce started coming in individually.

Dick naively hoped you'd tell him what was on your mind. But why would you ever, to a boy who's not even ten? His parents literally died before his very eyes and you've vowed to protect him somehow. That includes keeping him out of your business. At least talking to Alfred made more sense, and even that was off the table.

Speaking of the beloved butler, he knew what was going on. He knew that if you figured out, you'd be mad at him to for not telling you, but truthfully, he wanted to see Bruce to get the short end of the stick. Entirely. Or, if Bruce really did wanted to make things right, however that is, Alfred wouldn't help him out, and he sure as hell wouldn't want Dick on this issue either. Bruce would have to figure it all out on his own.

Thankfully, his wish came true when Bruce came up to him, truly guilt-ridden when he asked if he could talk to him in the house office.

It was late night, you still haven't come home. It worried Bruce to the max until Alfred bluntly told him that you weren't coming home for a while.

"Please, for your sake, don't try contacting her. Let her heal,"

One would think Bruce was being sad drunk but no alcohol was in sight. In fact, it only seemed like a sad, sad man, full of sins, which he acknowledged was much worse than keeping his crimefighting identity from the entire Gotham, confessing to a wise Father. A Father that only listened with pure judgement on his face. He didn't even bother hiding it, and if Bruce noticed, he didn't say a word. He accepted it as his first (and really, the safest) punishment.

Dick didn't sleep. He hasn't seen you all day and when Bruce was the one tucking him in, it didn't sit right with him. On the other side of the door, he eavesdropped the conversation from A to Z. Things were starting to make sense to the letter he got from you.

'Things aren't going well with Bruce and I. Staying elsewhere around Gotham for a while. You're more than welcome to call anytime!'

xxx - (Y/N) ♡

You left him your new number, the same one you gave Alfred. Trusting them that they wouldn't share it with Bruce. You left out the details in Dick's letter. If anyone should be the one to explain, it would be Bruce.

He knew it wouldn't take you days or weeks to recover but just thinking about it wasn't not easy. He knew he deserved it though. If he's put you through such torture and took it like a champ (though that only sent him to further guilt), then it was only fair that he was treated the same. At least Alfred would know of your whereabouts. Dick too, on days where you've come to pick him up at the manor to spend some quality time together. Elsewhere, of course.

One thing's for certain, he was walking a tightrope; your ring was nowhere in the manor, meaning you took it with you. His fate was either a chance from some deity he didn't even believe, and he'll make sure to he'll make things right somehow, or face the ultimate consequence if the ring was ever to return to him.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

Note: I'm not accepting angst as of now. I started writing Batmom for the sake of fluff & smut, after all. I like reading angst but writing it's not really my forte. I guess it's based on my mood. You can find plenty other writers for that (please, it's Tumblr). Please understand cuz again, no heart for it HAHA

No hard feelings! This ask is still a nice lil' change, an 'exercise', if you will. Plus, I got a couple more asks from y'all to have fun with! Thanks for reading! ❤ (divider by @firefly-graphics)

#— reve's asks 🌹#— reve's reverie 🌹#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #batmom #bruce wayne x batmom #batman x batmom #batman x reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #alfred pennyworth x reader #batmom angst

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 7 months

Text

2022 MOVIE OF THE WEEK #33

disenchanted. i......have been avoiding this review since literally months ago because just thinking about reviewing this movie makes me sad and tired. if you loved this movie, which i think some people must have because i’ve seen the occasional gifs from it on my dash, feel free to skip this. it’ll go behind a cut, because i suspect it’s gonna get long.

(spoiler alert: it got ridiculously long. how did i have five thousand words to say about this? and if anyone besides leander reads this i’ll be shocked but that’s fine cuz they were the one encouraging me to make it through this rant and if they hadn’t i definitely would have given up even trying a long time ago.)

and it is pretty much universally negative, because i could not have been more looking forward to this sequel featuring literally my favorite disney (noncanon but still mine) princess and it not only let me down (as sequels tbh do a lot so that’s not even surprising) but it sincerely broke my heart.

in a ‘wow i’m being really overdramatic about a disney movie’ sort of way, but it’ll make more sense after i explain it, i promise. you had to be there, i think, to care as much as i do, and only @actuallylukedanes was, so it was also pretty convenient that i ended up watching this with them when they were gonna watch it with their partner and invited me to join. cuz they felt the same way i did about the sequel, which is how i knew i was not overreacting.

it was also leander who advised me to start posting completed reviews of other 2022 movies since i was stuck on this one, even though i never posted them out of order before. (i ended up realizing in january that i totally forgot a movie from 2022, so it’s good i wasn’t as obsessed with perfect chronology anyway.)

the first warning sign i had with this movie was honestly its release. they had been talking about an enchanted sequel for so long that i had stopped hoping for one, and then when it was really happening they wouldn’t even put it in theaters!! i was so pissed off about that, because enchanted felt like a magical (pun intended) experience for me in 2007.

it came out exactly on my birthday, when i turned 23, and @actuallylukedanes and i saw it in the theater to celebrate. we lived in utah then, and were happy rather than homeless, and we paid for the movie using a card that had a ‘reward’ system like a lottery where they told you they would at some random time choose a single purchase you made, and reimburse you for it. out of everything we paid for with that card, it was the tickets to enchanted that they made free.

and i couldn’t have been more excited to see enchanted back then, because it was a real live musical, and those have always been rarer than i wish they were, and the cast was ridiculously great. long before amy adams was making bigger movies, she had played tara’s cousin on buffy and a memorable one-episode character on charmed, and i had just always loved her an unreasonable amount like i had been waiting for her to be a movie star. plus i had discovered wicked in college and dove deep into other idina menzel musicals as well as every one of her solo albums (and singles that weren’t sold anywhere, which i downloaded illegally because that is called devotion) and was just generally obsessed with her for years.

and then there was patrick dempsey, reliable dreamy star of grey’s anatomy (which i gave up on quickly but he was good in) and james marsden of the x-men trilogy i had watched a zillion times. (his character was not one i liked in that, but he was great as a comedic part of this.) i had grown up with susan sarandon and wasn’t used to her as a villain but she brought just the right level of Too Much, and her henchman was perfectly cast. they somehow managed to even make the child in the story not annoying, which can be really rare, especially when she has an actual role--but she’s great.

the mix of animation and live-action was really fun, and when giselle’s dress goes from cartoon to sparkly 3d it was so swoony. truly like a disney fantasy sort of moment, they brought so much to life. and they did so even where it shouldn’t have worked! the basic plot of ‘two couples aren’t meant to be so they switch partners amongst themselves and then it’s perfect’ is not one i like in other movies, but here i’m just like, yeah absolutely, dance with patrick dempsey in your pretty dress, and let idina menzel go live in a fairy tale.

but in addition to all of that, and the catchy, catchy music, what i really, truly loved about enchanted, and why it was one of my all time favorite movies to put on that i never got sick of (along with mamma mia and a few others, i really like musicals okay), is how much it turned out that i identified with giselle. how much she not only made sense to me, even as she was supposed to be this wide-eyed disney princess, but how she gave me language for things i was still figuring out, and i got so attached to that.

i was 23 years old. i had left home less than two years earlier, and i didn’t know i was autistic yet, let alone bipolar/anxious/adhd/disordered eating all knotted together. i hadn’t begun thinking about what it meant to be ‘developmentally disabled,’ and how unprepared that made me for adulthood, independence or being in a relationship. I had just leaped into all those things, and i wasn’t necessarily all that good at any of them.

but there was giselle, singing her way through a world she didn’t understand how to navigate either, and it was okay because there was somebody who loved her for her exact weird self and a child who needed her. (substitute cats for child and you see where i’m coming from.) she was relentlessly optimistic but also cursed by forces outside her control, and she was full of creativity.

my absolute favorite moment that giselle has in the whole movie, when it comes to why it was important to me, is when she experiences anger. at first she can’t even name it, and then there’s a kind of joy she finds in it, in having a new feeling...in having the FREEDOM to feel that difficult feeling, and not need things to be perfect all the time. until i saw that scene, i had never realized that my childhood had trained me to not be angry--before i was even conscious that had happened. and once i saw that scene, i started to wonder if maybe anger was something i was allowed to feel, after all.

i think if you’re not me, or you didn’t know me at 21 (a fragile adorable unstable bby desperate to be rescued from my life), it might be hard to understand that, how i didn’t just love giselle for being giselle, but loved her for being the most me a character played by amy adams could be.

up until i fell in love, and was loved in return (my only real wish thanks to moulin rouge), i collected tv and movie characters, made little lists of them, and they were always the ones i wanted to be like, ones i wanted to grow into. usually the snarky best friends, the deadpan wits, the ones who pined but never got the guy. (bby me didn’t think anything but ‘guy’ was an option.) i didn’t spend time claiming characters that were like me, that made me feel seen, until i was older. (i couldn’t, when i didn’t know who ‘me’ was.) so giselle felt like one of the first ones, with her autistic literalism and trust in humanity and her joy in everything.

then flash forward fifteen years and they’re continuing the story. even more amazingly, they’ve brought back the whole central cast (minus the child actor, who i assumed they replaced because New Morgan sings and dances, but i didn’t look it up or anything). idina is much more famous now thanks to her frozen work and of course amy adams is amy freaking adams now, nominated but never oscared, but they both came back. the direct-to-streaming release worried me, but i saw a trailer and the movie looked way better than i kind of expected, so i was excited after all. and as mentioned above, i settled in to watch it with my family.

^^^^and that is where this review left off, almost a year ago--because it was still so hard for me to wrap my brain and my heart around writing it. but at this point i’ve reviewed all the other movies i watched in 2022, AND i’ve watched almost 20 movies this year and reviewed most of them, and those reviews are just sitting in my drafts waiting for me to post them once i finish this. so here goes:

this movie was bad. obviously that’s a personal opinion or value judgement or whatever, but like...it was really, really bad. it bore no resemblance to the original and painfully reminded me how disney’s moviemaking these days is so soulless when it comes to trying to squeeze more money out of its existing IP. and i can handle fairy tale/princess modernizations that aren’t all that impressive (idina was in one of those as well, cinderella), but even those had parts that i liked or that were fun once i was grading on a curve for the whole movie. i can’t say the same for this one.

first of all, we’ve skipped time since the original, which makes sense, since everybody’s older. but nothing about the time progression makes sense, because offscreen fifteen years have passed, making amy adams 48 when this movie came out. giselle and robert have just had a newborn whose royal inheritance is what leads to the movie’s plot--at best, i guess we can assume amy was supposed to be playing giselle a lot younger than she, the actress, was. or maybe her andalasian genes make her immune to fertility averages?

either way, though, that still doesn’t explain morgan. who in addition to becoming literally a different person (and i hope they only replaced her because the original actress opted out, because she was so great in the first movie i’d resent disney for dumping her just to make the new one sing and dance, or whatever other justifications they might have) is a teenager now. Original Morgan was nine years old in enchanted, or the actress was, anyway. if we assume they meant for Original Morgan to be only seven or eight as a character, that still doesn’t explain a now-high-schooler morgan in this movie. it has been literally twice as many years in real time as it would have to have been in this movie world for morgan to be this age! and unfortunately for the movie, it’s mainly about adults, who have aged the fifteen years you would expect. so that’s ridiculous.

but anyway. somehow, all the adults from enchanted look fifteen years older but morgan’s a teen, and her parents have had a shiny new baby. idina’s character moved with prince james marsden to his world, and literally everyone is depressed now except prince james marsden (and presumably the baby). giselle sees a billboard and decides that’s a plausible reason to uproot her whole family from the city she fell in love with and that the others were from even before meeting her...to move to the suburbs.

at first, because of the impression i got from the trailer, i thought she would be moving to a perfect-seeming little enclave that was secretly evil, like a magical stepford or something, and that it would turn her evil and throw her family into peril. but the real plot is not that creative. it’s literally just the three of them moving to an ordinary suburb that (gasp!) doesn’t automatically fix their lives. instead, robert has a slog of a commute now, and in their own ways, giselle and morgan both struggle to fit in with their new local peers.

everything establishing this movie’s setup baffled me because it felt so random and flimsy, when the original was a beautiful sendup of classic disney tropes that managed to be subversive but still magical. i referred earlier to giselle deciding on a plausible reason, and i felt the same way about disney and this sequel: it felt like they decided this concept was a plausible reason to bring the cast back together, mix in a few new actors, and try to make money off the result (in this case by locking it inside their streaming service as though that would force new subscribers to disney+ instead of what i’m guessing actually happened, having less viewers for the movie than they would’ve gotten in theaters--cuz even i, the biggest fan of the original, wouldn’t have subscribed just to watch it).

but their ‘plausible’ setup is therefore that everybody’s feeling a bit meh in new york city. robert’s not excited about his job, morgan’s a sullen teenager, and giselle misses the days when everything felt magical and new and perfect. instead of recognizing that they have a freaking newborn, which i may not have experienced personally but have certainly heard is a difficult phase of life (especially the first time, for giselle), and that they simultaneously have a teenager, which anybody who’s ever been or met a teenager can tell you is a difficult phase of life for both the teen and their parents--heck, instead of just going to THERAPY when new york city is one of the few places it may still be easier to find access than everywhere else these days--they move to a random place where they know no one for truly no reason.

the movie wants us to believe that the reason is giselle seeing a billboard and believing its promise (or still being unusually literal?) but neither of those makes any sense because even if we had reason to believe that giselle hadn’t learned anything or grown in the last mysterious number of years and would truly treat a billboard like a promise rather than an advertisement (and i don’t think what we see of her in the sequel supports that idea) it’s still robert she’s married to now, and we know he’s always been someone who lovingly but firmly points that stuff out.

morgan’s unhappy because she’s a teenager, she doesn’t actually want to move, and as much as robert loves giselle, i don’t believe at all that he would just let her have her fantasy of a fresh start without injecting reality into the situation--so i think the real explanation is that both robert and giselle, for their own reasons, are desperate enough to try it despite knowing it won’t be a magic fix. but then idina menzel and prince james marsden (i should remember their character names but i really don’t at the moment) pop into their new, still-unhappy-just-in-a-different-time-zone, lives and make everything even worse. way to go guys!

continuing the flimsy plot setups, they’re visiting to give a gift to the new baby, to basically proclaim how special she is and make morgan feel like she’s neither special nor giselle’s ‘real’ daughter. giselle is thrilled by the gift from her childhood home and her former prince remains as hilarious as ever (the acting in this movie is good, they’re just not given as much to work with; ‘campy humor’ was the only element they could successfully recreate for some reason). but nancy is clearly already Over It, the former new yorker not exactly as enchanted with prince james marsden as she used to be now that she has to live with his personality 24/7.

you might expect this to be woven in with the central family’s ennui in some way, but you would be disappointed--that general intermittent eyerolly energy is never directly addressed and as far as we know by the end of the movie, she’s still with him. and i guess will remain so forever? because that’s the rule when you choose a fairy tale life?? even though giselle’s story was entirely about leaving fairy tales behind when they weren’t what she wanted???

maybe we’re supposed to read nancy’s reactions as like, lovable occasional annoyance at How Very Much her guy can be sometimes. but it didn’t come across that way to me; it seemed intentionally to mirror the dissatisfaction giselle and robert were struggling with. i could have been giving them too much credit there, i guess, in assuming deliberate parallels.

but the real point is that the adults were unhappy in the city, and now, in the suburbs, they’re still not very happy. after the gift-givers go back to andalasia, giselle makes a wish using her baby’s magic present, wanting to make their family into a fairy tale...and she gets her wish. morgan goes from a strugglng teen to a cheerful girl again, running around singing and eventually having to be the savior of her family. robert goes from a commuting lawyer to a wannabe monster slayer, and giselle slowly transforms into an evil stepmother--while the women in town who’ve been snubbing her turn into an actual villain with henchwomen in tow.

from then on, it only gets more ridiculous. amy adams is an immensely talented actor, and like i said, i’ve loved her since she was on tv. but she is not doing her best work here, switching between normal giselle and evil stepmother giselle in response to a chiming clock in a way that reminded me of one of those over-the-top acts where a guy hypnotizes people and then can trigger them to be a chicken or something. it was just so over the top, and lacked any of the emotional depth the original movie brought to her character that made me care.

and poor robert, it was clear, they did not know what to do with. a convoluted exchange with prince james marsden before the wish created circumstances where he was carrying a sword around on his commute. that, i’m sure, was supposed to help make it seem like it made sense for him to become a giant fighter or whatever. but really, they had a sequel to make in which he had to be there because he was her happily ever after in the first one, except now robert isn’t a love interest anymore, there’s no drama between them--and the actor was never meant to be a major contributor to the musical part of these movies, so what’s the point of his story? to run around looking for monsters, totally separate, and mostly unnecessary, it turns out.

the fairy tale transformations mean that we go from watching giselle being sad and hurt in response to morgan’s attitude to morgan’s being mistreated by her now-evil stepmother--neither of which is fun. in giselle’s intermittent ‘good’ moments, she tries to encourage morgan to be free of her and get help, and eventually morgan does end up in andalasia with nancy (she’s also a cartoon at that point, i think). nancy helps her understand what might fix things, and the fact that it’s up to their teenage daughter (whose complaints the whole time have honestly seemed the most reasonable to me compared to her parents’ vague ennui) to save not just her own family but both worlds from doom...it doesn’t seem at all fair. but okay.

the solution for making giselle good again involves morgan’s memories and singing and the idea that with the power of love it’ll all be fine, but what i remember most about it is that the scene is really just a vehicle for idina menzel to get her own song. which, duh--i was very disappointed that she didn’t sing in the original, and given the success of frozen, it would’ve been crazy for them not to showcase her more this time.

but the song she’s given? it’s so bad. so very bad. the others i was watching this movie with spent a significant portion of the song time mocking it, and i couldn’t blame them. at a certain point, it just devolves into idina belting the words ‘love power’ over and over and over. you know how some words or phrases become completely meaningless if you say them too much? this definitely felt like that, like the big drama’s ‘solution’ was flimsy to begin with, and then they forced a song into it that wasn’t even a good song, and got idina to sing it. she’s so much better than that! it genuinely made me wonder if she has some kind of disney contract that left her stuck dealing with this.

somehow thanks to morgan, though, giselle does stop being evil by the end--i don’t remember exactly how that scene plays out so i doubt it matters too much--and ending the sort of wish curse she inflicted on everybody means they go back to living in a normal suburb. the woman who briefly became her villain nemesis apologizes in a ‘sometimes i’m a lot oops’ way, and giselle is just like ‘hey, me too, no big deal.’

and this brings me to my two biggest problems with the movie, outside of how much it felt like it was trying to destroy any love i still held for the original.

this movie has no real villain. unlike the first one, where susan sarandon was camping it up in a delightfully appropriate way, and was defeated in the end...this movie falls into the same hole that so many New Disney Movies are determined to, for unknown reasons. we can’t have classic straight-up evil anymore; our heroes have to instead be facing antagonists that are less specific or even less corporeal. it’s family! who of course will no longer be in conflict by the end, and don’t actually need to be ‘defeated.’ or it’s emotions! and once they can be accepted rather than avoided then things will be okay again.

i’m not saying that’s a bad thing, in general. i love encanto, and i thought turning red and inside out were great. but when you’re dealing with a now-franchise whose original style was to reference and gently mock and lovingly rework classic disney tropes...why would you toss that out completely and make a sequel that feels like the other movies disney makes now? why can’t people appreciate that beloved movies are beloved for a reason and you can’t just slap the ‘brand name’ on whatever you want and act like it’s just as good?

but yeah. this movie decided to have no villain by way of having two villains, both of whom were only temporarily villainous due to indirect magic and who became normal again once it stopped. they bear no real responsibility for being villains, because after all, they aren’t really. post-movie, it seems like they may even become friends! all’s well that ends well.

which really annoyed me, lol, because it felt so incredibly pointless once i knew that was how it ended. our main character accidentally makes herself evil, makes somebody else evil, has to be saved from being evil while fighting the other evil, and the grand conclusion is that they just finish back where they started? how is that a story that moves forward, let alone a good story with some kind of point or even just a good-versus-evil win, fairy tale style?

it’s like the main conflict of the movie is created by them having problems, but then the problems they were having...are solved because they’re no longer in conflict. which brings me to my second issue with the movie’s ending: apparently the ultimate lesson of this follow up to enchanted is that growing up means learning to settle, rather than believing in happily ever afters.

despite the cheerful singing at the end of the movie that tries to make us believe it’s just as great an ending as enchanted got, i was so underwhelmed and disappointed and tbh freaked out, that they reached that conclusion. the story we were given was giselle and robert and morgan are a family now just like they wanted but they’re all unhappy, so they move out of the city to seek happiness elsewhere. and it fixes nothing which instead spirals giselle into cursing the town but in the end everybody’s okay and there are no consequences and nobody’s mad at giselle cuz she didn’t mean to do it...so she and robert and morgan commit to trying even harder to be happy in their new suburban life.

and all i can wonder is, why is that the lesson? why is that the right place to end up? why couldn’t they go back to the city and figure out their problems there, since clearly suburbia wasn’t a fix on its own? there didn’t seem to be a real reason for requiring giselle, who loved the sparkly harsh city she landed in years ago, to become a suburban mom--or for uprooting morgan, or making robert become a ‘small town practice’ kind of guy.

i guess what grates on me about it is that it has such a hallmark christmas movie vibe of just assuming their real happy ending would naturally be escaping the city, no matter how central it was to their original story and lives. whatever their deeper issues were that made them unhappy in the city, they haven’t addressed those by the end of the movie; they’ve just somewhat improved the issues that moving TO this new place piled on.

therefore my logical brain goes, you were unhappy and tried to fix it by moving but that only made things worse. why wouldn’t you reverse the making-it-worse part by going back, and then continue trying to figure out how to fix it? i just don’t get it. and i may be kind of offended by it, because the giselle who i have always adored is a completely different person in this movie, and not because of some wish curse.

she’s older, and sad, and it’s like nothing about her life is fun anymore...and maybe there could’ve been a way to craft an interesting story out of that, though i don’t know what it would be off the top of my head. but we don’t get whatever that could’ve been. and we don’t get a sequel about our faves from enchanted having more hijinks and having a to fight a new tropey villain, in the style of the first one. what we get is a story about everybody from the first one not liking their lives and having to fight the fallout from that and then concluding that hey, at least the world didn’t end so they must be better off than they thought, time to make the best of it. it deeply depressed me.

and look--i’m not saying i demand happy endings always. i don’t even require happy endings mostly! but unless there is some requirement i’m not aware of that post-pandemic we are no longer allowed happy endings at all, this was not the movie world to bring back just to say ‘the best you can hope for is meh. good luck.’ giselle and everybody else deserved better.

i will say that there was one thing about this movie that i liked. exactly one thing, sadly, or at least only one i clearly remember. i was really excited about the casting before this came out, because i love jayma mays, and maya rudolph is reliably good always. once i actually saw the movie, i was bummed that jayma mays and the other henchwoman didn’t have roles worth including, but maya rudolph was as good as i expected.

and since this movie was such a mess, she also just really stood out. she’s a ‘can do it all’ kind of performer, in a way that makes it look easy, and i feel like that’s the difference between amy adam’s background in a lot of dramatic roles and maya rudolph’s background in snl. they’re both super talented and both have range, but are a good fit for different things because of that.

so there is one song in this movie and one performance (cuz it’s the performance of it that makes it good) that i genuinely enjoyed. it’s basically a face off between the two not-actually-villains, kind of like ‘anything you can do i can do better’ but sillier and maximum camp. it’s the only part where it felt like that was what the movie was deliberately aiming for, and both actresses are fully going for it while sometimes we’re watching them parallel on splitscreen...it was ridiculous but in an entertaining rather than cringe-inducing way.

so that part is great, but also highlights even more what this movie could have been. if only they had let maya rudolph be a proper villain, the leader of a trio of new antagonists for our faves to face, that would’ve been potentially a great movie. she could have gone evil after getting her hands on the baby’s wand, then gone down fighting after the family consulted with their andalasian friends on how to deal with magically corrupted humans. the ending could have been more interesting with bigger stakes than ‘everyone survives and decides to play nice.’

heck, i could write that version of that movie! lol. but i won’t. because it would probably necessitate rewatching disenchanted and that is something i never ever want to do. that was a piece of my heart you fucked with, you jerks. and i’m gonna stay mad.

#disenchanted #rant #amy adams #idina menzel #patrick dempsey #james marsden #susan sarandon #actuallylukedanes #actually autistic #autistic #jayma mays #maya rudolph #negativity #enchanted #2022 motw #my formative years

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krikeymate · 1 year

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This is the tangent I mentioned here. Warning, this a very long post as I go through basically all the Sam & Tara scenes.

I don't think Tara was ever actually upset with Sam at all, she was upset with herself and lashing out in frustration. She was trying to ignore what happened and pretending to be normal, but Sam's worrying and hovering wouldn't let her forget, and she just doesn't know how to process what she’s dealing with so she shoves it down and down and down until it bursts open.

The leaving the party scene SCREAMS I'm mad at myself but you're a convenient target to redirect my anger at. Especially when combined with the conversation with Chad where she thanks him for not letting her go upstairs and says "I guess I was more messed up than I realised" - which is a great use of a double entendre: messed up by the alcohol but also messed up by the trauma. Truth is that in that scene, she realised she had put herself in a shitty situation in her attempt to ignore her trauma, so when Sam calls her out on it, she gets defensive and snaps back at her.

Also, I just want to say that I called Tara being the subject of ‘A man attempts to coerce a clearly drunk woman to a bedroom to take advantage of her’ a week before the movie came out and I’m super smug about it.

ALSO: when Tara goes “If I wanna hook up with an asshole, that’s my decision. It’s my decision.” Sam, looks up and away and goes “oh-kay” and the expression on her face just makes me laugh on rewatches. I wonder if she’s having flashbacks to her own past behaviour, of if she’s had to deal with a drunk and upset Tara before. I definitely feel it’s an ‘oh boy here we go again’ kind of ok, especially given the twins reaction.

THEN we get the “What are you doing here, Sam. In New York.” which is SO painful to watch. I don’t even know what I can say about that, it’s such a beautiful and emotional piece of dialogue and it HURTS. “I’m just trying to look out for you.” “I-... I know. I know you are. …But you can’t do it for the rest of my life though. You have to let me go.” – This part is Tara acknowledging that Sam has uprooted her life for Tara, and Tara telling her that she has to live her own life too. Ultimately, Tara’s journey in 6 is about deciding whether she wants her sister in her life, and in a meta sense, whether she wants to be ‘a final girl.’

Slight deviation here to talk about Chad/Tara – I’m sorry, I just don’t see it. It feels like Chad is the one with feelings for Tara, and in that bedroom conversation Tara is realising that. To be honest, I kinda feel like Tara wanted to use him in that scene, we’ve already seen that she was going to use a guy to ignore her problems; Chad is a safe option for her. I’m not saying she doesn’t have any feelings for Chad, I’m just saying I feel like… well, everyone wants to say they’re the new Gale & Dewey, except the thing is that Gale & Dewey weren’t some epic love story, they were two very different people who bonded through traumatic experiences but ultimately were never in compatible places and trying to be together made them miserable. I don’t have many feelings about Danny but I do think he’s hilarious in an accidental way and would love to keep him around. I get malewife vibes from him.

We get the scene where Sam wants to flee, this is just a classic Tara is in denial of everything happening all over again. We get the wonderful “before you make the unilateral decision to abandon my college education and flee the fucking state!” It’s there to build the does she want her sister in her life situation: this part is a reminder that Sam is the reason Tara got hurt in the first place.

Despite just being ‘mad’ at her and in denial, she still wants to go with Sam to the police station. Sam, knowing by now that her sister is so goddamn stubborn, doesn’t even try to argue. I wish this scene had actually been longer, and that we got to see them cross a few more streets, and for their chase into the bodega too. There’s a cute tiny moment where Tara bumps her face into Sam’s shoulder as she tries to listen to the phone call. The police station: the girls closing their eyes and looking tired while at the table lmao. This time when Sam says “we’re getting out of town.” Tara does not object in any way and goes “are you serious?” when Bailey reveals neither of them can leave town as they’re both suspect. This all just emphasises the fact that being around Sam puts Tara in danger.

I don’t really need to talk about the Gale scene, but I will say that on rewatches the Sidney comment actually feels really shoe-horned in for the audience. Campus meta scene. Sam’s cute “I had a feeling” as Mindy starts to ramble about rules. I didn’t care much for this scene at first, but rewatching it I actually love it, Mindy’s enthusiasm is so lovely. Her “it’s not looking too good for Gale and Kirby” makes me laugh so hard. Ethan and Quinn both saying why can’t it be a survivor 👀. We get Tara’s “don’t you fucking dare” when Ethan brings up the theories online about Sam. Baby shuts that down so quick.

Apartment scenes: Tara acknowledging that she’s been making life hard for Sam, and acknowledging Sam’s pain. “And I’m really really sorry that you have to do that alone.” OUCH. Sam blurting out that she’s been sleeping with Danny because she doesn’t want to hide things from them and then them being like I knew it had her SHOOK. Tara grabbing the phone and pretending to pick up with a “hey so what are your intentions” genuinely has me crying because it’s so cute. I’m seriously not over Tara’s first instinct being to run TOWARDS the Ghostface. I speak about the apartment scene here.

The shrine. So, first up, firm believer that the only reason Sam hallucinates Billy again is because she’s on day 3 of zero sleep and hasn’t taken her meds in that time either. We’re at just over the half way mark into the movie. I think they should have had Tara’s reflection appear over Billy’s before panning to her in the “what are you doing?” bit. I think it’s really interesting that BOTH Sam and Tara are shown to be overwhelmed by the situation – Sam squeezes her eyes shut, then we see Tara flee the room… to use her inhaler.

On Sam’s side of the story, it shows Tara pulling her out of her head and her fear of losing her to Gale; on Tara’s side of the story, we get the ‘does she want to be a final girl’ situation that I mentioned earlier. We get the fantastic Kirby conversation with Tara that my followers know I love.

Next, we move onto the park scene. Tara’s attitude has changed entirely. She took Kirby’s words to heart; she’s realised there’s a way to keep Sam in her life without being a victim: by getting mad and fighting back. “There’s no point in both of us putting ourselves at risk.” “I’m not, I’m your backup” and her little grin is cute but they do then continue walking together which completely negates that. Tara doesn’t want to stray away from Sam - not because she’s scared, but because she wants to be there for her.

Tara absolutely failing to be able to pull Sam back lives rent free in my brain, Sam is so big and strong and Tara cannot move her unless she wants to be moved. “You went back to Woodborough to protect me. Every single day you make the decision to protect me. None of us would even be alive if it weren’t for you. You have to let us protect you this time.” Tara volunteering the ‘us’ there is so fucking funny. There’s something so special to me about how Tara is the one who begins the plan to capture Ghostface and say “we execute him.” I would love to hear what people think of the pan to Mindy and then Sam when she says this, and what you all think is going through their minds.

Finally, we reach The Final Act. First up, Tara copying Sam in removing her jacket is adorable. Sam calling for Tara and then them running off without even waiting for Chad, amazing. Sam holding Tara back and shoving her through the door while Tara cries, love the manhandling. Them standing back-to-back, Tara crying for Sam, Ready/I’m ready, it’s all so so beautiful. I just love the simplicity of Tara being scared and calling for her big sister to help her.

Sam pushing Tara behind her when Ethan and Quinn split off to wrap around behind them. Tara’s “you stay the fuck away from her!” Tara moves her arm up to cover Sam when Quinn approaches with the knife. Ethan stabs Sam in the shoulder and Tara grabs Sam and pulls her away from them. Sam looks down and sees that Tara still has the brick, they make eye contact. Sam insults Richie and Tara bashes Quinn when she goes for Sam. Tara tries to get Sam to run with her, Kirby be damned I guess. Sam takes the knife out of Kirby (who tells her to “fuck him up”) and she stabs Ethan 5 times. Tara calls for her again, so she leaves it at that and runs after her. Bailey shoots at Tara, and a bullet grazes her arm, causing her to fall. Once again, Tara is the one with a plan, she and Sam continue their silent eye contact and we get the “you have to let me go” scene.

You all know that I think Tara is the one making the call. Given that Tara has shown a propensity for making plans already in the movie, I even dare suggest she says “he wanted you to put on the mask… maybe you should.” Then of course we get the moment where Tara comes up behind Sam, who stops from delivering a final blow. We get the head tilt, and a call back to Bailey’s “you fuck with my family, you die.”

We get the final part of Tara’s story, where she decides she does want Sam in her life, and accepts that she’s going to need therapy to deal with what happened to her, in order to let Sam in. Tara being the one to say “we’re gonna get through this, together” is SO important, because you would think that would be a line that Sam would say. This is Tara saying I can give back what you’re giving to me. Then of course the final scene is the final part of Sam’s story, where we see one again, Tara acts as an anchor and calls her away from the darkness.

#/mp #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #scream headcanon tag #Scream 6 #topic: trauma #-the girls #-tara/chad #dear god this was a lot. like 1900 words a lot.#side note Sam took her jacket from the shrine but Tara absolutly left hers behind rip her pink jacket I guess

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skepticalfrogcat · 3 months

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Here you all go, the happy part 3 you all were promised.

And I know that for the last part it was just a suggestion to read the previous part, but for this one I'm going to go ahead and say you have to have read the previous part in this series in order for major scenes in this fic to make any sense to you. You have been warned!

(Also I was told that I should tag @choicesficwriterscreations ! Thank you to @lovehugsandcandy for telling me this!)

Relationship: Finch Parnassus (MC) x Aerin Valleros

Warnings: Minor angst. With a happy ending I promise! And as I said in a post I made a while back, it's mostly very soft emotional stuff, nothing too serious.

Word Count: 3,007

Summary: Finch and Aerin take a trip to Riverbend.

Since the end of the battle with the Ash Empress, and the decision to keep the portals open, Finch had been busier than ever. It seemed as though everyone was competing to get him to pay attention to their personal gripes and grievances, and he only had the time and energy for so many of them. Most of the time he ended up directing them to someone who could actually help, because his reputation often gave people the false idea that he had endless talents, which simply wasn't true. Often, there was no way he could properly accomplish the tasks they gave to him.

Luckily, he'd been spending most of his time with the goblins in the Whimsywood, which was far enough away from the bustling environment of Whitetower for his liking. Evidently, and a bit to his surprise, he had a much higher tolerance for handling people's requests when he was in the middle of the woods. Of course, that wasn't the only part of living in the Whimsywood that he was especially fond of.

He'd moved into one of the houses that had already been built into the trees. It was a more permanent residence, more than his room in the castle had been at least, and he was content with it. Truthfully, he would've been happy to start living anywhere, given that he'd be living with Aerin. It had been proven to him time and time again that he could find happiness anywhere they could be together.

After they'd settled in, they actually hadn't had time to do much other than help rebuild. There wasn't much destruction, and Finch was grateful every day that he'd made the right choices in order to keep it that way. Most of what he'd been doing was diplomacy, sorting out conflicts between people passing between realms. It did settle down after a while, though. The hectic nature of his environment persisted for a few weeks at the most, and after that it was over. Everything became sort of… normal. He hadn't experienced that in kind of a long time, longer than he'd realized. He wanted to take advantage of it while he could, because he knew that eventually something would arrive to stir things up again.

And so, Finch and Aerin had decided to take a trip. Not a big or extravagant one, but a well-needed one nonetheless. It was kind of like a little vacation. Finch had realized that Aerin had never actually been to Riverbend, which he knew needed to be rectified. The destination was agreed upon very quickly, partially because it would provide the relatively stress-free break that they both needed, but Finch knew it was also because Aerin had been able to tell how important it was to him.

The trip from the freshly revived Whimsywood all the way to Riverbend had been a long one. Finch loved visiting home, he did, he simply wished that his Realmwalking abilities provided some method of faster travel. He was sure they might, to someone older or more experienced, but for the time being he was stuck traveling mainly on foot. Besides, he wasn't entirely confident that he'd be able to bring anyone else with him that way anyway, which happened to be fairly necessary for this trip.

Given how tiring it had been to make it to the town, all they'd really been able to do on their first day there was sleep. Kade was still working in Whitetower, but the place they'd lived in together was still available to them whenever they wanted it. That was one upside to having grown up in such a small village: it was almost like everyone was family. Even if he weren't the Savior of the Realm - which would never stop being strange to hear - he was sure he and Kade would still have their room above the local tavern, because that was how things worked in Riverbend. People always did favors for each other.

The second day in Riverbend, though, they were actually able to explore a bit. They went to the river, the town's namesake, where Aerin had been able to do some drawing while Finch chatted away beside him. After that, they'd gone to a couple of Finch's personal favorite places, like a bakery he and Kade had been going to since they were kids, and a really old archery range someone had set up in the woods where Finch had practiced with a rudimentary bow in his younger teen years.

By the time evening was rolling around, they'd made their way back to the tavern. Their plan had originally been to retire back upstairs, but the tavern was much more populated by then, and naturally there were demands for the two of them to stay for a round.

“Why don't you tell us something, Finch?” One patron suggested, gesturing with the pint in his hand as he spoke.

“Ah, you all know I'm no good at it,” Finch waved him off. “Just wait for Kade to come back around, I'm sure he'll have something great for you when he does.”

“Come on, just one new story, and then we'll leave you be,” a girl standing nearby attempted to barter. “Why don't you tell us about… a beast you fought?” she suggested.

“I'm sure Kade's told you all about those a million times over, because I'd bet all of you that you've done this exact thing to him before.”

“We don't have to bug him, he just does it!” Someone called out from the back of the bar. Everyone laughed, and it did make Finch wish his brother were here, but he knew they'd be back in Riverbend together eventually.

Finch leaned over to speak to Aerin, lowering his voice so only he could hear. “What do you think? Should I throw them a bone?”

“Personally, I'd really like to hear which one of your escapades you think is entertaining enough to please a room full of mildly drunk people,” Aerin muttered back. “Especially with the way you tell stories.”

Finch laughed, bumping his shoulder against Aerin's. “Don't pretend you don't listen to them every time.”

“Go ahead then.” Aerin gestured to the rest of the room with a nod of his head. “Prove me wrong.”

Aerin had always been quite good at getting Finch to do practically anything. Finch left his spot leaning against the wall and went to take up an empty stool along the bar, which was more central to the room. Then he started telling the story. He'd chosen to tell them about the time he and Mal had met a mermaid near the Shimmering Isles, because he knew that one had a good enough balance of action and glamor to hold just about everyone's attention, no matter what sort of story they favored.

Truthfully, he was a rather terrible storyteller. Kade could tell a story as if it were happening in real time, always getting the details just right with perfect timing and impeccable vocabulary. Meanwhile, Finch frequently had to backtrack to include details he'd forgotten to mention, and he often forgot what he had and hadn't already said. He was lucky he at least had charisma. Even still, every time he'd glance over at Aerin, he'd be looking back, intently listening as he always did.

When he finished the story, a few people did request another, but that time Finch was adamant about his refusal. It was already further into the night than he'd been planning on staying out. He did receive a few playful jabs about the fact that he was turning in early, but he'd been expecting them. Most of the patrons of the tavern had a slightly warped view of what ‘early’ meant anyway.

So he and Aerin went upstairs, back to the room they were staying in. It wasn't very large, and it was barely furnished. All that was really in the room was a small, tattered rug on the ground, a nightstand with a single lamp on top of it, and the two beds he and Kade had slept in since they were much younger. But, despite the fact that he'd lived in much more lavish places since leaving Riverbend, Finch still thought of this room as home. Aerin didn't seem to mind it either. Finch knew he'd never been suited to the extravagance of the castle.

“Do they ask you to do that a lot?” Aerin asked, already in bed after having gotten ready.

“What, tell stories? No, not usually.” Finch pulled his shirt off over his head and put on the pajama pants he'd brought. “I'd say I'm pretty low on the list, even without Kade here. Honestly I think it's just because you were there.”

“What do you mean?” Aerin moved over on the bed a bit as Finch settled in beside him. It was really only meant for one person, but that didn't matter. Even though they'd never discussed it, Finch had a feeling that Aerin didn't like sleeping alone. Not after all those nights in the cell. “Were they trying to make you seem impressive or something?”

“No, not quite,” Finch laughed. “If anything, they were trying to get me to make a fool of myself in front of you. Kind of like what Mal does to Tyril all the time. Luckily, you love me too much to be embarrassed of me, even if I am a terrible storyteller.” He gave Aerin an exaggerated kiss on the cheek.

Aerin held back a smile and reached over to turn off the lamp, making the only light in the room the moonlight coming in through the window on the wall above the bed. “We've both done stupid things in front of each other enough times that it doesn't matter anymore.”

“It's probably best that we don't keep count.”

Finch closed his eyes as peaceful silence fell over the room. He was lying with his cheek resting on Aerin's shoulder, his forehead pressed lightly against the side of his neck. His hand laid flat on Aerin's chest, and if he focused on it, he could feel the indent about the size of his palm where Aerin's scar was.

He'd only ever seen the Nerada Stone once, but he remembered it vividly. He could still recall the precise details of how it had looked, and the terror it had brought on when he'd seen it. He still didn't know what had caused Aerin to decide to take it out, in the end. Finch couldn't imagine what someone would have to feel to put themselves through that kind of pain. At times he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

“Finch,” he heard Aerin whisper, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“Hm?” he hummed in response. He felt Aerin's hand cover his own.

“You were doing that thing again.”

It wasn't the first time he'd done it. Every so often, when he got really wrapped up in thinking about the stone, he would start gently tracing the outline of the scar with his fingertips. He never knew he was doing it until Aerin inevitably pointed it out to him.

“Sorry. I didn't notice.”

“It's okay. I don't mind it. I just want to remind you that you don't have to worry about what I can tell you're worrying about right now.”

“I know, I know, it's just…” Finch shifted in place, propping himself up slightly with his elbow on the mattress so he could see Aerin's face. He had a habit of wanting to be able to look at Aerin when he started talking about something he was deeply invested in. He did it with everyone, but especially Aerin. “I wish there was something I could've done. I'm sure we could've found some other way, if I had known that was what you were trying to do.”

“You not being there didn't have anything to do with what I did. I didn't even know you were gone. Your friends stopped visiting eventually, and no one else seemed to think I should know. So my point is, even if you had still been around, I probably would've done the same thing.” Aerin lifted his hand to run it slowly through Finch's hair a couple times, and Finch leaned into the touch.

“I guess I just want to know why. That's the one part of it I've never been able to figure out,” Finch admitted. “And you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to, but…”

“Do you think it would help?” Aerin's brow furrowed. “Because I don't want to do anything that would hurt you. And don't say it would help just because you want to know.”

Finch considered it for a moment. “I think that… I'd probably think about it a lot at first. But knowing would definitely make it easier to come to terms with.”

Aerin took a deep breath, and sighed it out. “Okay. The truth is…” He looked away, into the wider room, almost as if he was embarrassed. “I decided to take the stone out after you came to see me. All it took was that one time, and I... I knew it wasn't worth it anymore.”

Finch's eyes grew distant as the memories of that night came back to him. He'd forgotten. So much had happened since then that he'd completely forgotten it. That was a terrible thing to have forgotten, what kind of an idiot forgot about something like that? He remembered it now, of course, but he had no idea how it had ever slipped his mind in the first place.

“Hey.” Aerin tapped gently on Finch's cheek with his knuckle, the way someone might knock on a door if they suspected someone was asleep on the other side. “You're beating yourself up over something right now. Tell me what it is, so I can help. I'm not just letting you sit here and stew in whatever you're thinking about.”

It took Finch another few moments to say anything in response, but Aerin allowed him to work through it for as long as he needed to. “I really shouldn't have done that to you,” he muttered. It wasn't exactly what he'd been thinking about, but it was what those thoughts had led him to. “Not the visit, but the fact that I just left. I got scared and I ran, I didn't even try to talk to you about it. I was a real jerk for that, wasn't I.”

“I… can admit that it's not my favorite thing you've ever done. But I've forgiven you by now, which means you should forgive yourself too, because honestly it was probably the best thing you could've done.” Aerin placed both of his hands on Finch's cheeks. “If you hadn't come to see me, and you hadn't done what you did, we probably wouldn't be here right now.”

“I still think I could've handled things better. I didn't think it through. Any of it. Even just a little more planning would've stopped it from going so poorly.”

“Finch, it didn't go poorly,” Aerin insisted. “Maybe in the moment it did, sure. But seeing you that night, talking to you, the way you kissed me, it all reminded me how much I needed you. Then you left, and I realized that before I could get that life back, I needed to become a better person again. I couldn't go on the way I was if I ever wanted to have something good again. That was why I took out the stone.”

“But it must've hurt you,” Finch shook his head, still catching up with everything Aerin was telling him. “To take it out, I mean.”

“Of course it did. It hurt me to have it, too,” Aerin reminded him. Finch did remember that, from when he'd first seen the stone. “But I was betting on the hope that those last few minutes of pain would pay off with more happiness than I knew what to do with. It was either that, or keep hurting other people for the rest of my life. I didn't know what would happen, but I knew I had to try.”

“And… did it work?” Finch asked, speaking hesitantly.

“Yes,” Aerin nodded, possibly sounding more certain than Finch had ever heard him before. He lifted his head a bit and gently brought Finch down to meet him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I'd say that it did.”

A small smile crossed Finch's face, which almost always happened when Aerin kissed him. “Good.” He settled back into his place on the bed, lying down the way he'd been before. He felt Aerin's arms wrap around him, warm and familiar against his skin.

He was finally satisfied with the knowledge he had. He hadn't wanted to push too hard on the matter of Aerin’s scar and how he'd gotten it, because he knew that at times the idea of it upset both of them. It was a big sore spot that neither of them wanted to get close to. But he'd always known they'd have to talk about it at some point, and if it was going to happen somehow, he believed this was one of the best ways it could've been. The room felt much more peaceful then. His thoughts weren't quite so loud anymore. Well, aside from one of them.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” Aerin replied, as Finch knew he would.

Finch was well aware that there would be more problems for him to fix eventually, whether it was a simple favor for a friendly stranger or a new foe for him to save the world from. It seemed unavoidable at that point. But right now, he was safe at home, in bed next to the best, smartest, most breathtaking person he'd ever known. There wasn't anywhere else he'd rather be. Things were difficult at times, and would be again. But for the moment, all was well in the world.

#blades of light and shadow #blades of light and shadow choices #choices #choices blades #playchoices #choices blades of light and shadow #playchoices blades of light and shadow #blades 2 #playchoices blades #aerin valleros #finch parnassus #aerin x mc

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oliverreedmasterass · 7 months

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Chapter Summary: Jake and Kelly but heads. Rae is like 98% sure she's gonna die.

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: blood/wounds, violence

Notes: Thank you to @infinisonicosm for the fic idea! Also so sorry for the shorter chapter, I'm hoping to post a lot more this week because things are heating up!

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Rae looked at Kelly in fear from her knees, and Jake held a hand down to help her back to her feet. As Rae shakily stood upright, Sam leaned into her side.

“Tell him you’re a fairy,” he whispered. Rae knew that Kelly would see straight through that lie and didn’t feel like testing her luck, especially since she was so numb to everything around her. Kelly looked at her expectantly, an eyebrow raised with his broad arms crossed over his chest. Rae opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“She's a friend of mine,” Jake answered for her. Rae was grateful that he spoke up, but she was nervous by how soft his voice was when he addressed his father. It was apparent that this was something that didn’t come naturally to Jake, and he was terrified out of his mind. That, of course, didn’t make Rae feel great.

“A friend, huh?” Kelly cocked his head to the side. He took in a deep inhale and Rae winced. The truth was going to come out whether any of them liked it or not. “A human friend,” Kelly concluded, his face crestfallen. “How much does she know?”

“She knows what she needs to know,” Jake said to his feet.

“Jake,” Kelly growled, “Don’t tell me you did it again.”

Jake’s eyes remained glued to the foliage laying limply on the ground.

“It’s mistake after mistake with you, you should know better at your age, after all you’ve been through, after all you’ve put your pack through,” Kelly continued, his face growing progressively more red. The more Kelly talked, the more Jake retracted deeper and deeper into himself, practically folding into a ball to hide away from his father. “When will you learn?” Kelly demanded.

Jake shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, unable to utter a word.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” Kelly continued. “I really don’t. I wish you knew the troubles you’ve caused me, all the sleepless nights.”

“Kelly, ease up,” Karen tried to tell him, though her words didn’t reach Kelly. He was now facing Rae, which made her heart thunder in her chest. If he had passed Rae on the sidewalk, she wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but having his piercing green eyes focused on her sent shivers rattling through her body.

“I’m sorry it has to end this way, but it will be fast,” Kelly told her, his voice gruff and frustrated, like he had to complete a tedious task. “I sincerely apologize for my son’s carelessness.”

“Dad!” Jake yelped out in horror.

Faster than Rae could react, Kelly transformed. He bent over with a grunt and, as he straightened back upright, Rae watched patches of fur unravel from his skin, expanding outwards with his growing muscles. By the time Kelly was done, Rae was gaping up at a 10 foot tall wolf, standing on his hind paws, glaring down at Rae with red eyes.

“Oh fuck,” she whispered. This was the first time that she was really and truly feeling over her head.

Beside Rae, Jake sprung to action. His newly hairy body leapt in front of her and stood like a barrier, separating her from his bloodthirsty father with his claws out and ready.

“Jake, move,” Kelly growled in a low rumble. Jake silently held his ground.

Beside Rae, she noticed that Sam was keeled over, grunting and panting.

“Hey, no need to force it, kid,” Josh told him.

“I need to help Jake,” Sam sputtered out, still trying to change.

“You need to stop or you’re gonna burst something in your brain,” Josh countered.

“I’m not gonna tell you again, Jake, get out of the way,” Kelly said. “You know this has to happen.”

“Kelly!” Karen hollered, rushing to stand in front of Kelly with her arms up. “It doesn’t.”

Kelly had a gargantuan paw held up, ready to swipe through his son in order to get to Rae, but he held it in place the moment he noticed Karen in front of him.

“Drop it, Kelly,” Karen told him with a level of authority that even Rae felt she had to abide by. Kelly continued to hold his arm up in the attack position, but stood stiff, unable to move, his ears focused on Karen. “The girl deserves to live, she’s as much a part of this problem as we are now,” Karen spoke firmly. “Our pact with the town leaders no longer matters. They have punished us, so there is nothing at stake. We need to focus on saving our nest, our pack.”

These words finally reached Kelly because, in a whoosh, he was back to his human form, his face scrunched, deep in thought.

As everyone waited to hear his response, Rae finally took in Jake’s wolf form, which was still stationed in front of her. Though she couldn’t see the front of him, his frame had grown significantly, impressively toned and wide-shouldered. His coat was a similar caramel shade to his normal hair color, and the gashes and wounds from his run-in with the mysterious beast were still visible, appearing as rivers and canyons in his thick fur.

“You’re right,” Kelly sighed. “We have bigger fish to fry.”

With that, Jake turned back to give Rae a reassuring smile. It was strange to see on the face of a wolf with razor sharp teeth, but his eyes were familiar, and Rae smiled back. Jake tightened his fists together, squeezed his eyes shut, and then shrunk back down to his human size.

“Are you okay?” he whispered to Rae. Rae definitely wasn’t, considering that she had nearly been killed by a werewolf, there was a murderous beast wandering through the woods, and her brother had been taken, but she nodded back at him. Jake glimpsed beside Rae at Sam and frowned when he saw his younger brother still struggling to turn.

“Hey, don’t force it, Sammy,” Jake called to him.

“I should be able to transform!” Sam grunted back, still trying. “You could turn when you were my age, I can feel it within me, I just need to push it out.”

“Please don’t do that,” Josh looked down at Sam in worry.

“It’ll come when it needs to,” Jake assured his younger brother. As Jake went over to comfort Sam, Kelly looked at Karen with a glimmer in his eye, which Rae found to be odd.

“You’ve still got it, huh?” Kelly asked as he bumped shoulders with Karen, who was smirking back at him. “You still know how to work your charm on me. Was that some hypnosis you threw in there?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” Karen replied with a small grin. Rae looked over at Josh, who was watching the same interaction, and they both exchanged confused glances. From everything that Rae had heard about the vampire nest and werewolf pack in Frankenmuth, they weren’t exactly chummy with each other. Vampires had killed Jake and Sam’s mom, and Rae could only imagine what other conflicts the two groups had. Therefore it was peculiar that Kelly and Karen seemed like they were pretty familiar with one another.

Kelly and Karen shared an extended look at one another which finally caught Jake and Sam’s attention. Jake had been giving Sam a comforting rub on the back but stopped and stared at his father with wide eyes, like he was committing some kind of crime. Sam, on the other hand, watched his father and Karen with deep fascination and then, to Rae’s surprise, seemed to light up as if something had struck him. He watched between them with a newfound grin.

It felt as if they could have continued standing in place like that forever, trapped as a tableau, but a sound began to grow beneath their feet as the ground trembled. They all snapped their heads down to study the earth, which was shaking more violently, the dirt expanding and contracting around them. The deep groan of the soil grew louder, and then they looked around at each other in panic when an animalistic howl sounded from the hole Jake had dug.

The thing that had taken Morgan and Danny was close by.

“We need to break through the ice. Now,” Jake was the first to speak, pointing back at the hole.

As a group, they stumbled over the moving ground to the hole and stared down into it. It seemed as if it had gotten deeper since Jake was last in it, like a tunnel leading down to nothingness. Rae’s stomach turned in worry, but then Morgan’s face flashed in her mind. Whatever it took, she was going to get him back.

Whatever it took.

****

Taglist:@lvnterninthenight, @writingcold, @myownparadise96, @i-choose-the-road, @psychedelicsprinkles, @mama-likes72, @ascendingtothestarssasone

#greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #gvf fic #gvf fanfic #gvf fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfic #greta van fleet fic #the frozen light #gvf werewolf au #gvf vampire au

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notyour-valentine · 2 years

Text

Go tell the English II ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader (Angst)

[MASTERLIST] [Series Masterlist]

Summary: Tommy leaves the field hospital in France with nothing but a trinket, and memories of the woman that had given it to him (Reader/OC is only mentioned. She doesn’t appear)

Note: This is the original and main part of an old exercise I wrote a long time ago. It is a little different to my normal writing style and I am very curious what you think and would be very grateful for comments and feedback (style, content, anything else) of any kind. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other. This hasn't been beta'd so I apologise for typos or mistakes

Warning: Description, mention and implication of violence, death and war, possible character death, rape and violence. As I am an adult, all my writing I share is unless explicitly stated for adults (18/21+). Your media consumption is your own responsibility.

Wordcount: 3155

[Previously]

January - 1919

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

He couldn't erase the names from his memory, no matter how much he tried. They kept ringing in his ears and rattling around in his head, as if to taunt him. Like a curse.

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

If he was riding, he'd urge the horse to ride faster as if he could outride reality. If he was fighting, he'd hit harder as if it was their fault, as if they were the enemy. And if there was a drink in range, he'd reach out and drown it as if he could drown the past with it.

And at least that way he'd feel something, even if it was only the short burn of the liquor on his tongue. For a fleeting, shining moment he could feel the warmth spread through his body once more.

But like all good things, it faded away and slipped through left him colder than he had been before.

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

He reached for the bottle again. Why bother with the glass?

There's no one here to judge but if there were, he wouldn't mind a fight.

Otherwise he might punch a wall again and his knuckles were still only half healed.

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

He took another swing of whisky.

It's no longer the good Irish one, instead a worse, nastier sort, but he doesn't drink it for the taste. He drinks it for the burn.

She wouldn't want him to beat his fists bloody on the wall when he knew the house was deserted. She wouldn't want him using opium either, come to that, but he could no longer see her, not since he had read the list, but sometimes he could hear her voice.

"Meet me tonight in dreamland,

Under the silv'ry moon

Meet me tonight in dreamland,

Where love's sweet roses bloom."

And yet there was no crueler torture in the world than to wake up and stare at the ceiling, and more than once he wished it was the high ceiling of that field hospital in the hell they called France. Because at least, she'd still be there. And that makes shame burn in his chest.

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

He doesn't want to think about it, but he does.

And he can't stop. Two hospitals had been bombed, another had burned down and a fourth overrun. But he did not know which fate hers had been.

He hoped it wasn't the fire. She had been so excited when he showed her how to build one from scratch. But a bomb was fire too, though too quickly to realise.

The worst would be the last. They had taken prisoners, he knew, but not those who resisted and she would have resisted.

She would have resisted until the very end to protect her patients and her values. Even after everything, she still believed in silly things like that- in King and Country, in Honour and Duty and Service. Tommy had stopped believing the first week he had been in France, if he ever had.

He remembered a time where he had joined her as she paid a visit to the graves of all the patients that hadn’t survived. What was the poem, whose words she had traced over and over in the pages of her little notebook-

Go tell the Spartans…

He didn't need anyone to tell him. He knows by himself just fine.

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

She would never have given in. She would never have surrendered, not a single inch, not a single patient.

With luck then, she would have been shot, but she was a dainty thing with a will far exceeding her physical capabilities. It would be far too easy for a man half Tommy's size to overpower her.

The thought made him sick to his stomach.

Then, he thought bitterly, rather the fire.

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know if they buried her.

A part of him hoped they did not leave her out there to rot, but the thought of her, all alone in the cold filth and the darkness, in the thick black soil of France, was too much for him.

He wretched up the little food he had eaten and refilled his stomach with burning amber.

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

“What happened, Tommy?”, Polly asked.

It had been a bad night and one of the few times he had slept in long enough for them to find him. She had woken him up though, and got him cleaned up before Ada or Finn could see.

“Got drunk.”, was all he muttered as he splashed water onto his chest.

Behind him, she had only ever sighed.

His body was specked with scars, seeming more prominent to him now than the tattoos they had made both in France and before.

Tommy had thought of getting another one, a flower maybe. She had liked flowers, but he already had a mark of hers on his body.

His fingers ghosted over the scar on his side, tracing the thickened, paler skin.

She had been there when they had dug the bullet out, had washed and dressed and re-dressed the wound countless times. She had healed him.

“Who is she?”, Polly asked.

In the reflection of the mirror he could see she was holding up the pale blue ribbon.

Only then did he realise that she had plucked it from his fist before waking him up.

He crossed the room in two strides and tore it from her grasp so sharply that his aunt hissed in pain. But Tommy didn't care. Relief washed over him as soon as he felt it in his hand once more.

As always, he could feel her dark eyes on him, digging holes into his skull. She wouldn’t leave him be, he knew, and all he wanted to do was get away.

Maybe he’d take a horse and ride until he fell off the edge of the earth. That wouldn’t be too bad.

But for that he needed to get past Polly first.

“Some girl.”

His throat was still sore from last night and so his voice was strained.

“The nurse from France?”, Polly demanded to know, but the look he gave her was enough to make her go quiet.

She doesn’t ask him again, but he knew Arthur talked. He could see it in their eyes.

Fuck them both.

Arthur could say what he wanted, he had no clue. He had never even met her.

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

She would have loved Finn, after all she had adored her siblings and the way she talked about them had made them more real than his own siblings seemed at times.

She admired her older brother, shy but still determined to be their protector, had a constant back and forth with Frederic, her twin, who had been both her best friend and fiercest rival and was fiercely protective of sweet Isabella, her parent's first born. And she had doted on the youngest.

Tommy liked watching Finn, but there was an invisible wall between him and the boy, as if something thicker than glass was separating them. He tries, but it’s not enough, not as much as he would have liked.

All he could think about was another boy, one he did not know, who, like Finn, had waved off three siblings for France, but of those three none had ever returned.

"Why don't you laugh anymore?"

The question tore him back to reality, to the little boy in front of him and not the one he thought of the way she spoke of him - "the baby".

"Finn, leave Tommy be.", Ada insisted, taking him by the hand and ushering him out.

"I'm just asking.", he heard him defend himself before the door fell shut. "He always laughed before France."

That was a lie.

He had also laughed in France, with the men, with Arthur and John and Freddie and the rest of them, even if it seemed strange to remember it now.

He had laughed with her too.

Her laughter was a giggle she always hid behind her hands, one she tried so very hard to hold back but he could always coax it from her.

His imitations had always done the trick- the other patients, the nurses, the matron, but especially the way he copied the priest had reduced her to tears of joy.

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

She didn’t own a horse, had never even ridden one.

He had found that absolutely ridiculous, especially since she had told him she had ridden a camel once.

But she knew stories about horses, stories that had made him chuckle in disbelief.

They were tales about long dead Kings and insane Emperors, of the one who made his horse a senator and later declared war on the ocean- all so ridiculous he didn't believe them then, but once he got home he had checked each and every one. Because these stories she had told him were the only threads that still tied him to her, and the fact that they were true proved to him that she had been real and not just a fragment of his fever-strained and shattered mind.

Incitatus, that was the name the mad emperor had given his horse.

But what good was that now, eh?

When he had asked which kind of horse she liked he had expected a breed, even the name of a famous racehorse, after all, she was posh enough to get the good seats at the races, but instead all she had said was 'the white kind'.

That had made him scoff so much he had nearly spat out his water, but he wasn't laughing now.

The white steed was beautiful- the silver glimmer on her fur ran over her body like waves over rocks as the muscles worked under the skin.

She was a gentle thing, easily compliant too, and not a bad horse for a still untrained rider.

Tommy won the horse and as he was grooming her, his eyes burned.

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

The new barmaid is pretty, and sweet, too sweet for a place like this.

But when he heard her singing, he felt a foreign rage boil up inside him.

She wasn't a bad singer, and it cheered the men, it cheered them here like it had cheered them in France. But he forbade it and beat his fists bloody on the wall before drowning his sorrows.

The next morning, he felt ashamed.

He had seen how happy the men were, how much it lifted their spirits.

She wouldn’t have disapproved- on the contrary. She had given everything to cheer the men, the injured and the dying alike, sacrificing her sleep and probably the better part of her sanity as well before finally giving her life for them.

When he led the horse home and the barmaid asked him, he saw a similar glint of determination in her eyes.

And so he thought, he might just let her sing, if only to escape the guilt.

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

There was nothing he could do.

He didn’t want to see it, but he did and he knew what he had to do.

And yet it hurt him, practically tearing his heart from his body.

Tommy asked them all to leave as he led the horse outside.

The grave is dug faster than he would have liked, and once it was wide and deep enough he had no other excuse to delay.

The white steed was so calm as he placed the blindfold over her eyes.

“Good girl.”, he praised, as his voice grew thick, fighting to pass the lump in his throat.

She neighed as if to respond to him, as if she somehow understood and sought to give him comfort. But there was no comfort for men like him.

He lifted the gun and whispered the words “In the bleak midwinter…”

Now, he thinks, but he can’t. Now, do it now!

Still nothing.

Those were his words, not hers. She had chosen different ones.

But who could he tell? And which laws was he obeying but the cruel laws of nature?

Tommy took a deep breath and steadied himself as his own eyes fluttered shut.

He heard the bang and the frantic last cry of the poor animal as it fell into the grave he had dug.

It took him long to be able to open his eyes again and it was dark by the time he had refilled the grave.

His arms were aching and the rain was mixing with the sweat on his body.

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe horses went to heaven as well and maybe the steed would get to meet her there.

But that was a stupid thought- a childish thought.

No one went anywhere when they died, they were just gone.

And there was no heaven either, none to strive towards.

If there was a God then he was cruel and unjust because otherwise she would still be alive.

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

Tommy was so tired of being hurt.

He just wanted it to stop, but halfway home he realised that all the whiskey was gone.

But there was still light in the Garrison.

That would do.

The pretty barmaid looked scared when she let him in, but did so anyway. The way she tried to be brave made her look beautiful.

She was pretty, with hair of spun gold and soft features.

And she was kind to him. And Tommy was just so tired.

Maybe that was why he let her, after all it made her happy and at least one of them deserved to feel some joy.

He doesn’t want her to sing a happy song.

She warned him, but he nearly laughed.

There was no way she would break his heart, even if she tried.

“Already broken.”, he whispered as he allowed himself to drown, after all he still remembered the complete honours list he had greased palms to get from the war office, and the names on it, written in black on white.

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

He couldn't breathe.

His lungs are burning and he yet he couldn’t breathe.

And when he did, he heaved in sync with the crashing down of the jug, again, and again and again.

Only when he started to feel the pain in his arm, did he realise what he had done.

The man’s face is but a mass of red, and here and there specks of white but Tommy couldn’t tell whether it was bone or brain.

He could suddenly taste bile in his mouth as he wiped his face clean of the sticky red matter, or at least cleaner.

All the while, laboured breaths tear from his body.

Only then did he remember the barmaid, who was shaking like a leaf, still clutching the gun in her hand.

She whispered tearful apologies to him as he approached her, but he wasn't angry. How could he? She had been afraid, overwhelmed, and all he had taught her was how to hold a gun.

But if she was able to pull the trigger and hit a target, then maybe his other pupil could have done it as well.

She had objected to even holding the gun at first, but he had insisted.

That had been his parting gift, a gun and instructions how to use it.

She had given him a ribbon.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the red mass on the floor, the pulp of blood and worse.

It was self-defence but it felt like vengeance.

And that was what she had hated.

Tommy had asked her once if she had wanted to avenge her brothers.

How angry she had gotten, how much had the fire burned in her eyes.

“Vengeance makes monsters of anyone”, she had insisted, as her eyes shone, “all it does is bring more pain and more suffering and more anger and so it goes on and on and on and soon enough no one remembers what started it all and how we got here but it doesn’t matter anymore because we’ve all gone too far to turn back even if we have lost ourselves along the way.”

He had heard the fear in her voice- a girl who had gone to war, who had seen terror and agony, who had held men ripped to shreds in their dying moments, and yet the thing she had feared most was the price of vengeance.

A part of him knew he can’t continue like this. And he doesn’t want to.

But I don't know- I don't know how.

She had become a quiet part of his life, like a shadow behind him, guiding his hand and whispering in his ear.

But he had gotten used to her subtle presence, for it had been just that- subtle, until Grace had mentioned America.

Then it came back with full force, all the memories, the smells and sounds, like a wave crashing down on him and pulling him under.

She had gone to so many places already, Rome and Berlin, Budapest and Greece, all the way to Turkey and even Egypt.

She had visited the Colosseum, the Arc de Triomphe, Schloß Schönbrunn and the Acropolis.

She had stood in the shade of the great Pyramids and had walked amongst the ruins of Troy and yet she had longed for America, for the Statue of Liberty and the Memorial they had begun to build for that President that had gotten shot for freeing the slaves.

He would like to see those places too, that place of freedom and equality.

She had recited the poem back in France from only her memory which housed so many rhymes and stories of times long past, with only him and the trees as audience.

Give me your tired, your poor,

your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

That certainly applied to him.

end these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

It was the country with unlimited possibilities, and anyone could make their way over there.

But he was not sure.

He couldn't be sure and as he thought, he twirled the ribbon between his fingers. Her ribbon.

If he were to leave, he would have to let go. It wouldn't be fair to Grace otherwise.

But could he?

Thomas Shelby was no coward but in this, he let the coin decide.

When the face of the man he despised stared up at him, he breathed a small sigh of relief and tucked the ribbon back into the pocket of his jacket, closest to his heart.

As he got up, the names that haunted his nightmares echoed in his head once more.

Farrell, Wilhelmina

Farrow, Sophie

And he would never forget the name that was missing- the one that ought to be right between them, but never was. After all, they didn’t award these types of medals to the fallen.

End.

I would like to thank anyone who has taken their time to read it and I would be very grateful for any kind of feedback or comment.

xx Val

#tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fic #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #Go tell the English #tommy shelby #Thomas shelby #valentineswritings

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nicolesainz · 4 months

Text

Within The Limits (Ben Chilwell x Jenson Button x OC) Chapter 2

warnings: none so far, you are safe.

author's note: I just realised this story will be bigger than the one I wrote for Mason and Carlos. Don't know why but I have more confidence in my writing now than I had a year ago!

next chapter

"How long?"

"Eh, probably 3 weeks. Almost a month." I look at my knee and sometimes I wish I had one made out of iron.

"I'm so sorry mate. You were doing very well and this is unfortunate. The defence looks weak without you and Reece." Mason says as he takes a sip from his glass of wine.

Even though we may not be teammates anymore or England's regulars, our friendship has been stronger than ever. I sometimes travel to Manchester, or he drives to London. I do miss him as a teammate but if that was the best for his career, I wasn't going to be an intruder in his dreams.

"Says you. Mate, I miss seeing you on the pitch. I am sure though you will come back stronger. I miss playing with you." I say even though I feel like Mason regrets his move.

United are on a losing streak and have been officially knocked out of all European competitions. It's a shame because Mason has showed what he is capable of.

"I guarantee you, early March or before the call up for the Euros, we will be ready and fit and play again together. Nothing will change my mind" he says and I feel my confidence boosted. I can always count on Mason and so can he on me.

"I hope you're right. I so want to play for England again. I missed the World Cup so now it's my chance to revive myself" I empty my glass and lay my head back on the pillow.

"Hey, wanna watch a game? I think Spurs and City are on." Mase suggests but I am in no mood for football. I prefer playing not watching and especially when I am injured.

"What about some F1? Quali was on and I missed it. Plus, remember that we have been invited to the race tomorrow" We had passes for three days but training was ahead and better be safe than sorry.

“Oh yeah. I wanna be aware on who’s on pole and stuff. The grid walk is kinda stressful when they ask you questions about stuff you barely know.” I click on Sky Sports and tune into F1.

We’ve missed the session but the post Quali analysis is on so we will see the list of drivers underneath. And oh, Lando is on pole! Jolly. He’s more close with Mason but a Brit being first amongst 20 isn’t bad, especially at the British Grand Prix.

“Oi Lando! Happy for him. Gonna wish him good luck tomorrow.” Mason exclaims but my eyes remain locked with the woman’s figure on the tv.

She seems fairly young, probably around my age. And a bit familiar too. Her brown locks cover her shoulders perfectly and her expression radiates intelligence but also sweetness. Currently interviewing Lando and his former teammate, Carlos, with such maturity and afterwards congratulating the both of them.

She then faces the other two interviewers that are with her, but mostly the man next to her. She looks so happy to be there, talking about something that she probably loves, given that she works for F1.

“Earth to chilly. Hello?” Mason clicks his fingers in front of my face and I immediately realized that I was lost at admiring her beauty through a screen.

“Sorry. Got distracted” I shake my head and look underneath at the stats.

“You were looking at Chelsea” Mason says with a massive smirk on his face.

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Chelsea. The interviewer. She works for both F1 and the Premier League.” Wait, how wasn’t I aware of that?

Probably because you don’t play now idiot. And you’re more on the training ground.

“Is she new in the Prem? My eye never caught her and given how she looks, I would have noticed.” I don’t know why I said that last thing. And I don’t even know her.

“Not really. She was recruited a bit before the World Cup started. She mostly commentates on United and City’s games given that she does live in Manchester.” Mason explains and I’m still trying to spot her inside my mind. How come I’ve never seen her before but Mase has?

“And her name is Chelsea you said? What, is she a fan or something?” I ask and my glance falls back on her. Oh she looks like a true grace.

“I have no idea. Ask her tomorrow.” He blurts out so casually.

“As if I know her. She’ll think I’m a creep.” I say trying to hide my blush.

“Fine coward. We will go together. Or I’ll go by myself if you don’t want to. Good thing she lives close to me.” Mason winks evilly and I punch his shoulder lightly.

She seems so full of knowledge that I wonder why she's not commentating more premier league games.

Probably because she's travelling the world with F1.

"All jokes aside, she is a really nice girl. Always polite, smiling and never judging. I am sure you will like her once you meet her." Mason says as he types on his phone.

"I will take your word for it."

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"Hey Chels, can I ask a favor?" Lando approaches me in a rush, followed by Carlos who is not paying attention because he is busy talking on the phone.

"Uh, sure. Tell me." Usually Lando isn't the one asking favors. It's mostly George who wants to show off to the guests or Alex who can't keep track with the sessions.

"Two lads from the England squad will be in the paddock tomorrow and one of them hasn't been to a Grand Prix before so could you show them around the paddock?" Suddenly alarms are echoing in my head as I imagine who those may be.

"No problem. May I ask, who are the two guys?"

"Mason and Ben. I'm assuming you know them and especially Mase given you work at Manchester."

Ben? As in Chilwell? Oh the shock my dad with get when I tell him that. Also, I haven't met in him person. Never had the chance to commentate on a Chelsea game. And I briefly remember him at his Leicester days.

"Yeah yeah. I will show them around. You got it."

"Thank you so much. I owe you." He hugs me tightly and a confused Carlos looks at the both of us.

"I'm not gonna steal your boyfriend Sainz. No need to death stare me." I say mocking him.

"You know, one day, some reporter will hear you and then people will start asking us about the wedding date." Carlos says rolling his eyes annoyingly.

"I will see you guys tomorrow. Take care" and I wave both of them goodbye, as I feel my heart skipping a beat when a pair of strong arms are wrapped around my waist.

Jenson is leaving small kisses up my neck as I try to remove myself from his grasp. He knows I have a weakness and he uses it against me.

"Ready to go, love?"

"Mhm" I nod and take his hand into mine.

"What were you and Lando talking about? Does he need tips on how to block Max from stealing the first place at turn 1?"

"He will be fine on that part. No, uh, he wants me to give a tour of the paddock to some of his friends that will be in the Mclaren garage and given that I know one of them very well, he thought I was fit for it."

"What friends? The ones that are with him on that e-sports team he has?" It's funny seeing Jenson so confused and not knowing what Quadrant is and being kinda uptight about me missing from his side.

"No babe. Some football players. Mason Mount and Ben Chilwell. I know Mason very well but it's Ben's first time watching a race from up close so he wants me to guide them. Won't take more than an hour."

"Don't remind me that those football boys will have eyes on my girl while I won't be able to do anything." Jenson's hand grabs my waist firmly and I can sense he is worried about my time in England.

We are not an official pair and yet he is safeguarding me like we have been dating for ages. I guess two years is quite some time to be dating or "seeing" someone, so I understand the possessiveness. Although it does seem weird that he has been acting up since last night.

He is being all touchy and loving with kisses and mind-blowing sex, aftercare and treating me as if I am more fragile than a glass. I can understand that he is worried but if he wants us to become an official couple he can say it. I don't know what's holding him back.

"You could do something about it, if you don't want those ballers gawking around me like eagles." I drop slight hints even though I know deep down that is not what he wants.

But what they say is true,

if you want something very badly, go for it, right?

#ben chilwell x reader #jenson button x reader #ben chilwell #jenson button #fanfic writing #fanfic

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