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sanguineterrain · 1 month

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Your writing is so damn good, you execute every request perfectly 😭

Could you maybe write something where Dick's insecure partner wants to break up with him because their self-image is getting worse cause they feel they can't catch up to the Golden Boy reputation, superheroes, billionaires and so on?

hi, thanks for the request! I hope I did it justice :) a brief interlude from jaytodd before we return to our regularly scheduled program lol

dick grayson x gn!reader. low self esteem, an almost breakup, reader feeling insecure, threatened, sad. happy ending! 2.1k words

****

You've been tugging at your outfit for ten minutes. At this rate, you'll have to concede that this is as good as it's going to get.

"My love, you almost ready?"

You sigh and watch your reflection fold its arms.

"Yeah," you say softly. "'M ready."

The door opens. Your heart swoops.

Dick is beautiful, as usual. Your boyfriend can do a lot, including fill a suit. Both your and his outfits were tailor-made because that's one of the perks of being the son of a billionaire.

Over and over, you'd insisted you could wear off-the-rack, and over and over, Dick had said that was silly, that Bruce wouldn't mind.

And it's true that what you're wearing flatters you better than anything from Macy's or Marshall's would've. But you know it won't help tonight. Not in a room full of Gotham's elite.

"Just as I suspected," Dick says, immediately draping his arms over your hips. "You're gonna steal the show tonight."

He's lying.

That voice in your head has gotten louder recently, and you don't know how to turn it off.

You kiss him instead of responding. Dick enthusiastically reciprocates, always delighted when you touch him. You used to think it would be enough.

But ever since you found out that not only are you dating a billionaire philanthropist with a face that makes angels weep, but that said guy is also arguably the most beloved hero in Gotham, maybe second only to the Batman (who's his freaking dad?!), you've begun to have doubts.

You pull back. Dick's tie perfectly sets off his eyes. They're bright as they look at you.

"Everything okay?" he asks, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

"Uh-huh," you say, trying to smile. "Just nervous."

“Hey, it's alright. I'll be by your side all night. I'll save you from any and all small talk, promise." He winks. "And we can duck out early, get hot chocolate from that place you like. They won't care."

Dick's always doing that. Always catering to you. You're just some nobody who happened to stumble into the best relationship you’ve ever had with a golden god.

Dick never reminds you of that. That he could do better. He doesn't have to—you know it all on your own.

You swallow. “Okay. If you're sure. I... I would like to leave early, Gray."

“‘Course, baby,” Dick says, attaching his cuff links. "Anything you want."

You turn back to the mirror, wondering if you can reinvent your personality before you go and remind everyone what a mistake Dick Grayson has made in choosing you.

****

The party is tasteful, though a little stuffy. You're only here because Dick is going to give a speech, and he asked you to come support him. And while you know it's better for him to go without you so you won't dull his shine, it seems Dick hasn't quite figured that out.

You hold onto Dick’s arm as he makes his usual rounds. Dick doesn't enjoy these events, you know that, but he's fluid in his interactions. There is no doubt he’s Bruce Wayne’s prodigy. With his suit, his hair, his easy posture, Dick is almost unrecognizable from when you woke up with him this morning.

He's in his element. All you can do is peer in and watch.

Dick leans in and slips a hand around your waist after the fourth interaction with a donor. A donor who, again, acted like Dick may as well have been dragging around a coat rack with how intently they ignored you. Not that you give a shit about what the one percent have to say about you, except sometimes they say a lot of mean things, things you're pretty sure they don't let Dick overhear, and sometimes you start wondering if Dick is the only person who can't see truth in what they say, and sometimes—

“Hey.” Dick leans in to talk in your ear. He's warm and solid. You wish that was a comfort. “You okay?”

You're exhausted.

“Uh-hmm.”

He is going to wake up one of these days and realize he can have it so much better.

Dick moves like he's about to say more, pull you closer and permeate your senses with his gold.

“Dickie!”

Sweet, tinkling laughter echoes across the room. The crowd parts for this new woman, an obvious socialite, dressed to the nines and gorgeous.

Her dress matches Dick's tie. You feel sick.

When she reaches you two, she wastes no time grabbing Dick and kissing his cheek. He extricates himself from her, like he's done a million times before with everyone else who thinks they're entitled to a piece of Dick Grayson. He shoots you an apologetic look. You look away.

“My God, it’s been what, ten years?” she says. Then she sees you. “Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Caroline Banesbury, Duchess of Middlesworth. I heard the Dickie Grayson was going to be here, and I had to come.”

“Been a while,” Dick says, smiling blandly. “How are you, Caroline?”

“Spectacular! Father just bought another castle. You should come and see it sometime.” She plucks a flute of champagne off of a passing tray and smiles behind the rim of the glass.

“Dick and I go way back,” she says, gaze roving over him. “I hear you're transforming Blüdhaven. Taking a page out of Bruce's book, hm? You always had a big heart, Dickie.”

She grabs his arm and links it with hers. You sigh and take a sip of your own drink. You half-wish Poison Ivy would come in and gas the room or something.

Dick clears his throat and maneuvers out of her grip once more, letting go of her with a light pat. He returns to you, snugly holding your shoulders.

"This is my partner," he says about you.

Caroline hums, looking over you. "I see. Pleasure."

You nod. She turns back to Dick.

“If I can be of any help to your project, you let me know,” she adds, glancing down at where her empty arm now hangs at her side. “Anything.”

“That's generous of you, Carrie.”

Dick and I go way back.

Oh. Right. You're stupid. They've dated.

“We should have dinner,” she continues. “Catch up. I'm dying to know what Gotham's darling has been up to.”

“I feel sick,” you announce.

Dick and Caroline turn to you. Caroline looks perplexed, like you've just said you like to chew concrete.

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,” she says, hardly sparing you a glance. "Perhaps you ought to lie down."

You feel Dick's eyes on you. If you don't leave soon, he'll know you're lying. Possibly the worst part about dating Batman's protégé.

Suddenly, leaving this hall is the most important thing you've ever had to do. You feel like you'll die if you don't.

Your feet start moving.

"Baby—"

Anyway, this is Caroline's chance. She can swoop in with her trust fund and while you think Dick can do way better than her—he can always do better—anyone is better than you. For Dick Grayson, who has been a master acrobat since he was a child, son of Batman, leader of the Titans, indubitably intelligent, capable, beautiful, the best goddamn guy you'll ever know—

You've lost your way. You're out of the gala, away from duchesses and doom. And you meant to get your coat but this hall that Bruce rented is enormous. You've no idea where you are. But you're alone.

Bruce must've known too, how unfit you are for his son. And why wouldn't he tell Dick? Unless Dick ignored him, because Dick, for all his smarts, is stupidly in love with you, thinks you're where he should put his heart, is certain you won't fumble and drop it.

Warm, callused fingers catch your wrist and you remember, suddenly, Dick telling you once, after you'd nearly stumbled into the street, that he'd never let you fall.

You meet his eyes. Why does he look at you like that? Who gave him the right to look at you like-like you—as if you could ever deserve—

"Hey," he says, squeezes your hand. "Hey, hey. What's going on?"

Dick Grayson is not a trusting man but he trusts you and good God, you're about to break him.

"I need to break up with you," you blurt.

"What?" he breathes. "What—why would you say that?"

You wish he'd give you the slip he gave everyone in that room, gently separate your arm from his hand. You never learned how to evade Dick's touch.

"Because it's true. Dick, please understand—"

"No, I'm trying to understand. Because yesterday—no, tonight, you were fine—"

"No, Dick, I wasn't fine! I haven't been fine in months!"

You wrench your arm away. He looks like you slapped him.

"You know anybody I talk to in there means nothing, right? You know that, honey." He's pleading.

You curl your fist into your eye. "It's more than that, Gray."

"Then tell me what the problem is," he says desperately. "Tell me and we'll fix it. I promise we can fix it."

"You can't!" you say, voice cracking. "You can't fix me."

Dick shakes his head. "I don't—"

"Why can't you let me break up with you with a little bit of dignity?" you ask. "Do you have to be better at this too?"

"I don't want to break up," he says, tugging at a handful of his hair. "This doesn't make sense. We're happy. You're happy, aren't you? Don't I make you happy?"

"Of course," you choke out. "Of course you make me happy. But you don't see I'm bad for you. You're wonderful and perfect and golden, Dick. And I'm a stain. I need to be scrubbed away."

"Wh—that's not true!"

"Everywhere we go, people see me with you and are immediately confused. I'm not a superhero, I'm not royalty, I'm not a socialite, and yet somehow I've managed to snag Gotham's darling. This is a mistake. I'm trying to do you a favor and wake you up!"

Dick's face is hard with anger. How could you have thought this would be easy?

"I don't need to be woken up! What is it that makes you think I have no agency over the people I choose to spend time with? Everyone I meet thinks they're entitled to touch me, demand me. Everyone but you. You, the person I chose to love, who I love everyday. Do you think you pulled the wool over my eyes and you're snapping me out of it? Is that what you really think?"

And isn't this the most puzzling thing? That he's not sad or gently accepting; Dick is mad.

"I just—" He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't mean to yell, but really, I can't bear it if you see me as some god on a pedestal, unattainable and inhuman, like everyone else sees me. I love you on purpose."

"You're so accomplished, though," you say weakly. "You're..." You wave your hand over him. "You're fucking Nightwing, D. You were Robin, you have superheroes for friends, Batman for a parent, you're beloved by, like, all of Jersey—"

"My love, you know those are just parts of me. You see all of me. You know me. And that's not a one-way privilege, okay? I'm so damn lucky to know you, to love you, to be with you, to fight with you. To fight for you. Knowing you isn't something I take for granted."

"But I'm boring," you say, tears spilling over. "Jesus Christ, Dick, I'm plain and untalented, barely a dime to my name, so painfully ordinary that—"

"Listen to me," he says, taking your face in his hands. "Flying around or shooting lasers out of your eyes, sure, it's cool, and it's helpful for taking down an alien dictator. But I don't need you to do any of that, honey. I don't need nor want you to be anyone but you. I wasn't tricked or swindled into loving you. We caught each other halfway, just like we were meant to."

You let him pull you into his arms, let him press your tear stains to his silk pocket square, let his hair fall around you.

His embrace is solid, firm, but when he inhales, his shoulders shake.

"Do you—" He swallows, throat against yours. "Do you still want to break up?"

His heart beats against your cheek.

"I'm just afraid you'll get tired of me," you whisper. "Bored. Annoyed."

"I won't," he whispers. "You're the least boring person ever. It's never boring to be loved."

You squeeze your eyes shut. Dick's warmth encloses you.

"No, I don't want to break up. I'm sorry."

He holds you tighter, and you realize you never had to match Dick's tie. Not when you've got his heart.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #richard grayson x reader #Nightwing x reader #Nightwing x you #Nightwing fanfiction #dick Grayson fanfiction #dick Grayson imagine #Nightwing imagine #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #inbox #blurb

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butch-with-a-deep-voice · 2 months

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"I think this is my favourite way to touch you" she said lovingly, while gently tracing circle after circle with her nails along my bare back.

"What?"

"Scratching your back, I think it's one of my favourite ways to touch you. That, or playing with your hair."

I post a lot about how stone4stone love has been healing for me in a way that is so profound and almost spiritual, but finally having it in person has only taken that to a whole other level. My darling femme saying this caused my entire world to slow down as I processed what, up until that point, I thought impossible. A fantasy that would never fully be spoken.

For context, my top three favourite ways to be given physical intimacy/love are the following:

Having my hair played with over long periods of time

Scratching my back and scalp

Massage, especially when chronic pain flare ups are bad

I react so intensely that it excites people a lot of the time. You'd think I was having sex if you were simply listening to the sounds from the other room (which is ironic given I actively hate receiving during, joys of being stone). For my entire life, for my nearly 15 years of dating, every single person before my femme has followed the same pattern.

They'll discover how positively I react to scratches/hairplay, and they actively engage in it regularly due to the advent of your new partner enjoying something that much. Inevitably they get bored but will continue because it makes me happy. Eventually though, the novelty fully wears off and the only true way I can get that level of attention is when I explicitly ask for it. I've often gotten sighs followed by "oh alright" as if it's some chore, or worse yet, half sarcastic "if only you made sounds like this during sex". Every single time I'd inevitably start feeling guilty, anxious, and simply stop asking.

The sheer number of times I'd ask myself "if I said I never wanted to receive during sex again, if I wanted intimacy in only this way, would so-n-so be upset" and the answer was always yes. Always. I'd begun to internalize that my way of receiving was a chore. That how I wanted to be loved was a reward to be earned.

Then comes this absolute darling of a femme, unprompted during our quiet night of non-sexual intimacy after a long day, casually dropping that her favourite way to show me physical intimacy is tied between scratching my back and playing with my hair. By accident in a single half-entraced phrase she took my perceptions of love, what I deserve from love, and what I could expect to receive, shattered them into a thousand fragments, and then stitched them back together into a mosaic that would make the Byzantines weep.

There is something to be said for your partner loving you in a specific way because it is how you like to be showed love, even though it's not their preferred method of showing it. It is a league-of-its-own different feeling to find someone who shows you love the way you want to be shown love because it's how they prefer to show love. She has taught me that and I am never settling for less again.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again.

Stone4Stone is Holy.

#this femme y'all #i love her so much #finally writing about the trip #oh vampling... 💕#stone4stone is holy #bite me #stone4stone #butch #lesbian #wlw #nblw #sapphic #stone lesbian #stone butch #stone top #butch/femme #butch/femme culture

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oncomingnight · 10 months

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𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

You were an admirer of Omar's music for almost a year now. So, you could imagine just how thrilled you were when you were able to snag some tickets for you and your friend for his concert.

Hours before the venue doors were set to open, you were smoothing your outfit of its wrinkles, fussing with your makeup, lathering yourself in lotion multiple times and making sure you were the best smelling person in the crowd. You didn't expect for him to possibly notice you, but it was a nice thing to think about. It was also an excuse to get dolled up.

When the venue doors were finally opened, you practically dragged your friend to get to the closet spot near the stage, as the tickets were general admission.

As the concert was slowly progressing, you were far too entranced by Omar's gruff and all consuming voice to notice he was looking at you. At your sparkling eyes, your fidgety fingers, the pleased smile you were failing so horribly at hiding.

Oh how lovely you were. Omar never knew the beauty he would witness when coming to your city on his tour. He wanted to get this concert over with to invite you, and only you, backstage. He usually invited fans backstage to hook up with them, but you, oh were you special. He wanted you all the time, not just for that one night, not just for a sexual favor.

As his beyond immensely wonderful concert ended, you began to walk out of the building along with your friend. But, you were suddenly stopped by a man that had the frame to be a security guard.

"Omar would like to meet you backstage. You can wait out here if you'd like. But, you, come with me."

If only you could see the look of pure shock on your face. You looked at your friend and she smiled at you before saying, "go, I'll be in the car."

You timidly followed the man through a dark hallway with black ceramic tiling. Suddenly, he stopped in front of a door that had the singer's name on a gold-plated board. "Go right on in."

Your hand turned the silver door knob and you almost flinched when you saw Omar sitting on a black leather couch, his full attention on you.

"yeah, you're the one I saw. Don't be so shy, c'mon, sit down right here, next to me."

He proceeded to ask you about yourself, what attracted you to him and his music, his drive for writing songs, what he does outside of his work. The two of you spoke of almost everything there was to talk about. You told him things you never expected to tell someone upon first meeting, but it felt different with him. You gave him your social media, not expecting how fast he was to message you. I'm talkin', as soon as you left his dressing room, he immediately struck conversation in your direct messages.

The two of you proceeded to talk for weeks on end before he finally decided to ask you to be his girlfriend. You were absolutely ecstatic, but then, you were a bit nervous to face the potential backlash from his intense fandom. But, he swore that he would strike down any attempt to belittle you. He'd absolutely humiliate and ruin someone's self esteem after they tried to come for you. One look at their profile and, oh boy, he'll make them deactivate their account immediately after his response to them.

Yeah, it was shocking to see how protective he was of everything that had to do with you. But, it made you feel secure and incredibly appreciated. He never let you go a minute without letting you know how much you meant to him and how intensely happy you made him.

The way this man writes about you is pure poetry. It makes people weep and stare at the lyrics in awe with the amount of love he carries in his penmanship. He isn't the type of artist to use you purely for his craft, no. The two of you are one in flesh, he writes so you know just how willing he is to throw himself on a sword for your benefit.

The songs he writes in your name put the most beloved poets to shame. You'll regularly see people fawning over the way he writes in absolute adoration of you. People will leave comments like:

"why can't he talk abt me like this" "put this on his fyp, not mine." "Sleeping on the highway tn! 😆" "Oh to hear this song live w/ him." "He posted me to this song 🤭."

It's to the point where people propose to their spouse at his concerts.

Omar yearns for you so intensely whenever the two of you are apart. Sure, he'll hang out with his friends but he knows something's missing. They're just not as fulfilling as you.

He always thinks about marrying you and sealing the deal, but, he's trying to do it in the most perfect way. You were a bright orb of light and he was so desperately trying to find his way to the right path, and oh did you help him. He wants to plan everything just right, not wanting anything out of place. He discreetly measures your ring size and keeps in his mind what engagement ring you are most likely to love.

Omar gifts you the best presents that anyone could ever ask for. The thing is, you never ask for them, he just does it because it makes the both of you happy. Seeing the apple of your cheeks pop out as you smile at the gifts in his hands, his heart is practically crawling out of his chest.

"Don't get me wrong, I absolutely adore this but ....oh, Omar...how much was this, hm? I need to step up with my gifts, you're so consistent with yours." You lightly laugh as you finish your sentence.

"It didn't cost enough. Don't worry about the price, your love is enough of a gift for me, حبيبة قلبي."

He'd take you on the most beautiful vacations to any of the cities/countries he's heard you fawn over. Want to visit New York? Of course. He'll take you to the best cafes with the most appetizing food items, book a hotel with the loveliest view of the multicolored lights of the restless city, reserves a table at restaurants that only the most self disciplined chefs work.

For Christmas every year, the two of you go on the loveliest trips together. He'll fly you out to his cabin in Quebec. The presents that are put under the tree are only of the best quality, of the finest fabric and material.

You're always his plus one when he attends events for only the best of the best. You deserve to witness and experience absolutely anything and everything wonderful to the fullest.

Translation: حبيبة قلبي ; Love of my heart/ sweetheart (so basically the same thing)

Thank you very much for reading ⁠♡ feel free to send asks/requests!

#yandere oneshot #yandere oc x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere #yancore #yandere singer x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x willing reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere oc x y/n #obsessive love #obsessive yandere #oc x reader #oc x yn #oc x you

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misguidedasgardian · 1 year

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The Winter Sun (21)

21. The dangerous Road

MASTERLIST

Summary: War came at a heavy price

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader

Warnings: Cursing, medieval and asoiaf customs, AGE GAP, Cregan is 12 years OLDER than reader), arranged marriage, death of a character, war and all that comes with it, mentions of pedicide (killing of a baby), threats of non-con, technically adultery, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3 k

Notes: Like I said, the pace is picking hehe, and it will get dark for a couple of chapters. SO SORRY FOR THIS LOVES

“I bled once”, you whispered to the maester, “but the symptoms hadn't stopped, I thought to be with child”

“after the birth of a child it could be tricky”, he warned with a warm smile, “forgive me my lady but I must check you out”

It was an uncomfortable afternoon with the maester, but afterwards, you left his tower to search for Sara

The test that he had made you do was going to take time to… “develop”, so you had a couple of days before receiving any news

Sara, and you, had started a quick net of communication throughout the North, you had contact with White Harbor, with the Lady Mara, and the Lady Bolton from the Dreadfort, all the way up to the Bear Island, even down at Widow’s watch, you exchanged ravens regularly, you even created, with Cregan, the “Dragon watchers”, dragons were faster than ravens, but you had placed outposts with huge beacons of fire that were to be lit as soon as they see or hear them, so as soon as it is lit, the next one will light them also, creating a line of fire to be seen miles away in Winterfell

You were nervous, the people were nervous, you had yet to receive news of Cregan, but if you think about it more carefully, it could be dangerous for him to be writing where they are and where theta e going, letters can be easily intercepted, an the last months you realized people who believe a man should have priority to ascend the Iron Throne over a woman is bigger than you expected.

You could have Aegon royalists within Winterfell without even knowing

When you found Sara, you gasped

She was a mess, clutching to her own chest, heaving and crying by the window in her room

“Sara!”. you called for her name, running to her, hugging her, “what happened?”

“I don’t know!”, she managed to whine, “I saw something”

“What did you see? What happened? are you alright?”, you were so confused, she was distraught

She weeped in your arms, and you hugged her to comfort her, you directed her to sit on the bed, and you cuddled her. She eventually calmed, but she still shook with the sobs

“I don’t know what happened”, she whispered, “one minute I was here, and another…I was somewhere else”

“What do you mean?”, you asked her softly

“That somehow, I was somewhere else, I was something else”, you believed in magic, you believed in people who could dream about things that were going to happen, everyone in your family knew the tale of Daenys the dreamer and how her visions saved the Targaryens from The Doom. Once you were hiding from the boys with Helaena, and she couldn’t stop whispering about stars in the middle of the day, you didn’t listen and when the boys found you you ran from them, failing to see the edge of a wooden furniture and banging your head against it, you passed for several minutes in which you could see silvery stars under your eyelids

But this was something else

In the book Cregan had lent you, you had read about wildlings north of the wall that could take the body of animals and use them as their own… but it was only a tale, wasn’t it?

“I was in the skies”, she continued, “I was flying, I was big, I saw Dragonstone”

“Dragonstone?”, you asked

“I think it was, I- I had never seen it”, she explain, still catching her breath, “it was big and dark, seemed like it was built front he rock itself, and… had many dragons sculptures all over”, that was a fair description of the castle of your family

“What else did you see?”, you asked

“I took flight towards the west”, she said shakily, “over the seas until I could see a castle, surrounded by a powerful wall, and a small village, under the protection of another wall”, she said, she was with you, but her eyes were seeing something outside of the room, they were lost in her memories, “the castle was made of gray rock with reddened tiles in their towers”, you paled then, “a banner was hanging from the biggest one, two black wings over a white banner, in front of a checkered black and gray field”

“House Staunton”, you whispered, “a house front he crownlands, loyal to Rhaenyra”

“They were under siege, and I was going to help them, but then…”

“Sara…”, your heart was pounding in your chest

“Two huge beasts, Vhagar, and another golden dragon flew down upon me, jaws open, a breath of fire and I…”, her eyes filled with tears again and she wept in your arms, “I could smell the burnt flesh, and the reek of death!”, she weeped again, and you held her against you

“Shhh, it’s alright”, you whispered, “it is alright”

But it was not

You could feel it

And you were made certain the very next day

“See that he is bathed gently”, you said to the main maid that took care of RIckon, “Even though he likes the heat, just like a little dragon”you giggled, playing with his feet, “I would bathe him myself but I have a meeting with the master at arms”

“Yes My lady”, she said gently, you liked her, she was sweet and cared for RIckon as he was her own, she took him gently and accommodate him in her arms

“Who is this handsome boy that needs a bath?”, she cooed, “let’s take a bath and let mommy focus on her meeting”, she said as she walked away

You smiled as you saw her leave the rooms, but were called by a pup, Rickon’s pup as he barked at you playfully, moving her triangular tail

“Don’t believe you are free of a bath!”, you chided playfully, and he barked again but ran to hide from you with a whimper.

You giggled

They were really clever animals Direwolves

But as you were preparing to leave your rooms to your meeting, there was a knock on the door

“Yes?”, you asked cheerfully, as you were the Lady of Winterfell, and you needed to show yourself strong, but the face the maester had, it immediately told you something was wrong

Very wrong

“I have letter for you, My Lady”, he said, he sounded apologetic

“What is it?”, you whispered

“One if from Dragonstone, but the other… is it from Harrenhal, from Aemond Targaryen”

You palet

you received the two small scrolls, your hand already trembling, you didn’t know which one to open first, you decided, that the one from Dragonstone

It surprised you to see it was from Rhaena, you had never had a personal relationship with her, but still you read the few lines she wrote

And as you did you whimpered, bitter tears falling from your eyes

Rhaenys was dead

Her and Melys had been burnt by Aemond and Aegon in both their dragons

Just like Sara described

Rhaena goes on saying she wanted you to hear it from her, because she knew how dear you were to her grandmother and vice-versa

“No, no, no please”, you cried, clutching your chest, falling to your knees

“My Lady!”, the maester fell to the floor on his knees beside you, clutching you tightly, “Are alright?” he placed his hand on your forehead

“No!”, you whined, you let out a scream of pain as you felt your heart was ripped from your chest. Sara showed up, taking the place of the maester by your side, grabbing you tightly

“I will bring you a special tea, to calm your nerves”, he left the room

“She is gone, Aemond killed her”, you whined, grabbing into Sara, “my aunt is gone”

“I’m so sorry”, she whined, “I should have seen it sooner”

“It’s not your fault”, you whispered, your voice as broken as your spirit. You then looked at the other scroll that had fallen by your skirts, this had to mean something… something else…

You couldn’t resist, you couldn’t

You opened it

What you found there didn’t surprise you, there were threats, a warning, and a demand

You whined at the sight of his poisonous words

But now… you jumped from the grief, straight to the anger

It was him!

The source of all your pains, all your traumas, it was him, for taking your baby nephew, and now your dear aunt

It was him

And you were the only one who could stop him

Sara looked at you, petrified and scared of what she found in your eyes

“No”, she whispered, when you looked straight ahead, tears were no longer falling from your eyes, all it was there was fire, and bloodthirst, “whatever you think you need to do…”

“I have to”, you answered barely, standing from the floor, your hands made fists

“No! you need to stay here!”, she cried, “please!”

“I am the only one who can stop him, stop this”, she took the scroll from your hand and read it, and she whimpered

“Its a trap!”, she said

But you were already on your feet, grabbing your riding gear, the thickest pants you could find and the upper part to go with it

“Please! think of Cregan! of Rickon!”, she insisted

“Is for them I’m doing this”, you said, all emotion in your voice disappeared

“Please! they can fight him”, she insisted

“I can get close to him and kill him, I’m the only one who can”

“But at what price?”, she asked

“the debt is high already”, she whispered, “and it will only take me”

“please!”, you turned to look at Sara

“Tell Cregan I’m sorry”, you whined, tears falling down your cheeks again

“You tell him yourself!”, she insisted

“Take care of my son”, you cried, “please love him as your own”

“You will!”, she said, now desperate, “you will love him, and see him grow!”

“I did the best I could for the North, I’m sorry if it wasn't enough”, you cried

“It was! but is not over!”, she grabbed your arms, “please!”

“I’m the only one that can stop him”, you insisted, “I can kill him”, she knew there was no convincing you, she can see it in your eyes

“Please”

“No one else is going to die for me”, your voice again a flat line, “Cregan will be spared, and the crown will belong to Rhaenyra”

“But please let’s wait until we can reach Cregan”

“You know what his answer is going to be”, you said, but you realized Sara was not going to let you leave, so instead, you agreed to wait

Only to sneak out in the middle of the night, after telling the nannies to take RIckon for the night claiming you needed to be alone, they took him without question.

You couldn’t dare to see Rickon for one last time, if you did, you would second guess your decision and you couldn’t

This was more important than yourself

This was about the future of the seven Kingdoms and the future of your family and everyone you loved

This was bigger

Vhaelar was waiting for you outside the Winterfell gates, she roared into the night air but at this point you didn’t care if everyone listened, you will be in the air by the time they think they can do something to stop you

So you climbed on top of your dragon, Aemond’s words burning inside your brain

“I killed Rhaenys at Rook’s Rest, it wasn’t personal, but I know your husband is marching down with his army, you have three days to come to Harrenhal, if you do not, I will burn them alive, and then I will ride North and take you anyways. Spare the Starks, give yourself to me”

You had to answer his call

It was true, you can come to him willingly, you had a dragon, you could hide a blade in your undergarments, and after, you could slay him in his sleep or something, anything, but when he said it was the end of house Stark, it meant your baby as well, pedicide is not something you would put past Aemond. You knew he was capable and able to do it

For Rickon

For Cregan

And for Sara and the North

Yourself was a small price to pay

The night was long but you didn’t plan to stop as Vhaelar flew decisively under you

You believed you had until morning until Winterfell wakes up and sends a raven to Cregan, if you manage to fly over them it will be too late also

In the air, atop your dragon, nothing could stop you

Unless perhaps, another dragon

All night, all the way south, your mind was blank, there was only grief, pain, and rage.

You did not deemed yourself as vengeful person, and yet, you wanted it, desire it, you felt a fire growing within you, that wanted to burn everything in your path

You felt such heat within you you barely felt the still cold air that hit your face in the heights, and before you even knew it, the sun was shining in the horizon.

You felt no hunger, no tiredness, no nothing

Only the rage

It was Midday when you saw the unmistakable burnt towers of Harrenhal

Your dragon growled, like she was in pain, feeling your anger

You led her to descend upon the castle with a velocity that made your stomach drop, but you didn’t care about that, you cared about vengeance

But you were in a close distance, you felt the fire burning within you, one command and you could burn Harrenhal and the Green forces within them, Aemond probably was there, inside

“Dra-!”

As you were going to give the order, you were interrupted by a low growl. Vhagar appeared from nowhere, pushing your dragon and you in the air

Vhaelar whined as she struggled to keep in the air and you knew then and there, that against the monstrous Vhagar, you could do nothing. Even if your dragons was one of the largest

The Queen of dragons growled in greeting and you could feel Vhaelar’s nervousness as your own.

Or perhaps you were your own

Some people would say that you are more lamb than dragon, because of your mother’s house

But they were wrong

You were a dragon he awakened

You landed heavily by the gates, you could see the restlessness of the soldiers in you and your dragon’s presence. You abandoned the want to burn everything, against Vhagar you couldn’t win. you had to be smart about this, she had the upper hand, the surprise factor was ruined

“WHITE DRAGON!”, they chanted all over the walls, but you didn’t attacked them

Perhaps that is what you should do.

Burn them all

But the retaliation from King’s landing and the Greens could be worse

Aemond appeared by your side, he did not hide his smile, his happiness of seeing you there.

Bold, you assumed, as you were near your dragon, you could burn him, here and now

The temptation was great

“You came”, he greeted, “good girl”

“I came to the call of your insanity”, you growled, he came to you, quick on his feet, you took a step backwards, still he grabbed you by the back of your neck

Vhaelar growled, dangerously, but VHagr was there, right by her side, she grabbed your dragon by the neck, furiously, dangerously

“NO!”, you screamed

Vhaelar whined in agony, and Vhagar released her, it was only a warning, but her black blood flowed profusely from the injury in her neck

“NO!”, you wanted to go to her, but Aemond held on to you tight

“If you don’t want me to finish her off, you will come with me”, he had to drag you towards the castle, as you could hear her whines of agony as her pain as if was your own

He dragged you through the halls, the stench of dead was clinging into you by every forceful step, and you whined under Aemond’s brutal hold

He threw you into a room. It held no windows, no nothing, but it was furnished with the very best he could find in his proximity, you realized. A luxurious big bed, with small tales on each side, many candles all over the room to light it up since it had no windows, and a table with chairs on one corners, tapestries on the floor and hanging from the walls to give it a more comfortable feel to it, but it didn’t hide what it was, it was a prison, only made for you

“A room for a princess”, he said mockingly, closing the door behind him, “you will stay here”

“I did as you asked”, you said, trying to regain control, “I came, I did as you said, promise me you will kill no one else”, you whined, “please”, he only smirked

“I promise I will no seek the death of anyone else”, he pleaded with a hand on his chest and another raised, but all seemed like a mockery, “I only wanted you, it is good that you finally saw this”

“I don’t understand”, you whined, “why me? after everything”

“That is not for you to know, now put on the dress I selected for you”, he said, taking your shoulders and directing you to look upon the bed, where a very revealing dark green dress was waiting for you. “You are to please me, since you are married, since you didn’t want to marry me, you will be nothing else, but my whore”

A single tear fell down your cheek as you contemplated what you willingly let your life turn into.

@severewobblerlightdragon @missusnora @stargaryenx @poppyreader @chainsawsangel @court-jester-stuff @batprincess1013 @eddiepicker

@lyannesworld @arujee @kamisunshine @mss-nthng @partypoison00 @grimistangel @elleclairez @may-machin @prettykinkysoul @justagurlwithships @champomiel

@laura-naruto-fan1998 @zoleea-exultant @devotedlythoughtfulanchor @zoleea-exultant @llleon666 @dark-night-sky-99 @bitchigoteverythingissues @harrypotteranna23-blog

@esposadomd @ajanauia @phantomtea19 @let-love-bleeds-red @kishie8 @dreamingofyourmoons @esposadomd @sandronebabyy @kemillyfreitas @trifoliumviridi @dreamingofyourmoons @darling-jace @biblichorr @ivvypg @mendes-bae @borikenlove @tssf-imagines @praline357 @alitaar @prettykinkysoul @aelora-a @a-mexican-waffle @ateliefloresdaprimavera @alexa4040 @lrboyd @anditsmywholeheart @weaselyssss @scarlettqueen190 @deeeeexx @cloudroomblog @dreaming-of-the-reality

#misguidedwinter #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan #cregan x you #cregan smut #hbo house of the dragon #house targaryen #house of the dragon #house stark #aemond targaryen #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x reader #targaryen!oc #targaryen!reader

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qdbs-writes · 1 year

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Mortal kombat kabal, fujin, hasashi, and kuai liang react to y/n who can’t die and things like wounds just immidiatly heal, so like y/n (while dating them) just jumps of the roof and lands in front of them and the boys are having a panic attack til there bones start snapping back in place and her neck snaps in place and she just looks up after her jaw pops back into place and just goes “hi :)” not even bothered as the blood goes back into them and wounds close back up, just ignore this if you don’t wanna do it, that’s fine too! have a good day!

MK Lads x Unkillable!Reader Experiencing Bodily Harm

Kabal

Now Kabal has seen some shit in his time, he's fucked around and found out so to speak. But nothing could prepare him for how you casually mangle your own body for no particular reason other than that you can.

The most egregious incident of your abilities was when Kabal accidentally exploded the kitchen microwave. This would've been bad enough by itself except that the explosion lodged a large piece of metal shrapnel directly into your face, embedding itself several inches into your skull.

You lie there, motionless, bleeding profusely, and all Kabal can do is stare in horror. He's seen you come back from shattered bones, torn limbs, but never something like this. Tears pour silently from his eyes, crumbling to the floor to weep before you jolt into a sitting position, arms moving about animatedly until your hands reach the chunk of metal and slide it delicately from its crevice in your head.

You turn and beam at Kabal, the bleeding canyon in your face reaching from your mouth to your forehead. His tears don't stop even as the vast gash begins to knit itself back together again. Overwhelmed with relief, Kabal could only manage the words: "Babe, what the fuck?".

Fujin

You would imagine that after living for several thousand millennia, that the gods see a lot of death, in all its many forms. Fujin had been warned away from befriending mortals because one day they would go and leave only grief in their place.

In dating you, Fujin had convinced himself that the eventual grief would be worth the relatively brief time he got to spend with you in his life. But despite all his efforts, he feared that death would take you from him too soon.

Because of your abilities, Fujin can never fully let go of this fear, as you have literally no sense of self-preservation. You'll dunk your bare hands in boiling water, merrily stroll into oncoming traffic, and even jump off high ledges to save the time of taking the stairs. Regularly your antics have left your body mangled, limp, and twisted, like a ragdoll filled with blood.

No matter how much Fujin cries, pleas, begs for you to be more careful, your wounds heal themselves and once more everything is fine. Seeing you defy death and Darwinism on such a regular basis never quite eases the pain Fujin feels when he sees you get hurt, but he is comforted that death will have to work a lot harder to take you from him.

Hanzo Hasashi (Scorpion)

I dare say going through Netherrealm and back does a number on someone, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. So Hanzo isn't coming from the best place in terms of dealing with loss or grief. Especially considering the whole dead wife and kid situation.

So I would suggest that despite your powers, don't use them in front of Hanzo, just... Don't. He's seen enough and watching you suffer isn't good for his healing.

It's mostly because he still carries a lot of regret over his actions as Scorpion and even after all his hard work still struggles to leave that part of himself behind. So you can imagine that seeing you take any kind of damage can send him back into an angry vengeful fire demon.

This isn't to say that you can never use your powers, as Hanzo is capable of channeling his rage, particularly in kombat. In those situations, you are at liberty to get your ass kicked as much as you like. But outside of that? Please remember to be mindful of how much Hanzo loves you and that he just wants you to be safe and happy.

Kuai Liang (Sub Zero)

From a psychological perspective, it would be fair to say that Kuai Liang is a man well-acquainted with pain. With this in mind, you'd assume your abilities would be disturbing for Liang, but instead, he finds a strange sense of peace. He's seen you take deadly hits again and again and you just keep getting back up!

This isn't to say that there haven't been close calls. Liang still has nightmares about the day you asked him to remove the insanely large icicles from the roof of your Arctika home. Liang was busy at the time and didn't go to remove them until after you came back. When he met you outside, he closed the door behind him, sending enough shockwaves through the building to dislodge the largest icicle, which proceeded to plunge directly into the back of your neck and out through your chest, popping your head clean off.

The icicle shatters, your body crumbles, and your severed head rolls lazily toward Liang. He stands frozen, unable to comprehend how the love of his life has just been decapitated in front of him. When he drops to his knees to cradle your head, he almost doesn't see your headless body rise unsteadily before stumbling towards him. In a fit of alarm, he launches your head into the air where your body catches it, holding it over the shoulders when the neck vertebrae snap back into place, your throat and flesh regrowing as well. As the nerves reattach your face lights up and moves again, you smile meaningfully at Liang, who now cowers in front of the door. Needless to say, any hazards you ask Liang to take care of are now immediately dealt with.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat headcanons #mortal kombat x reader #kabal #kabal x reader #fujin #fujin x reader #scorpion #scorpion x reader #hanzo hasashi #hanzo hasashi x reader #sub zero #sub zero x reader #kuai liang #kuai liang x reader #qdbs writing

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sparklecryptid · 1 month

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A Reveal because the Lucis Caelums had a magical family tree made up once and somebody finally found the thing after it was lost in the archives for a few centuries.

Regis is not even the only person with bastards, he's just the most recent one and it's not even the biggest scandal.

(That would be the confirmation that the children of that one LC queen couple of hundreds years ago were most definitely not sired by her husband, which honestly, everyone expected already because the man was so gay and not even pretending otherwise.)

Noctis stares at the magic family tree.

He stares at it. Ignis stares at it.

The two of them exchange looks.

"Well," Noctis says eventually, "Do you think I can toss the crown at one of my siblings-"

Ignis gives him a look that would make lesser men weep.

"I'm not sure they would appreciate that."

After that Noctis takes the family tree and with Prompto's help carefully looks up the names of his siblings.

One of them lives in Lestallum and works as a scientist at the power plant, Thanatos seems to be a cheerful man with red eyes and that makes Noctis wonder WHY no one has connected him to their father earlier.

The next is Ardor, who has a Kwetter account that is only used to post blurry shots of beasts and daemons that Ardor was hunting and to response to his other siblings.

Which is how Noctis finds out that all his half-siblings know about each other and regularly interact through the internet.

It makes him feel a bit lonely to be honest. He understands their desire to not want to come forward but-

Well.

He's always wanted a bigger family.

The next person Noctis and Prompto find is a man named Ace who is Hunter and sometimes appears in Ardor's photos. He's Galahdian, obvious by the beads in his hair, and Noctis and Prompto share a look when they realize that Ace is married to an active member of the Kingsglaive.

Persephone is next, she's a priestess with a warm smile that Noctis thinks is somehow comforting and threatening at the same time. She is also married to an active member of the Kingsglaive and routinely shows up on her siblings feed asking them to 'please reconsider what they are about to do'.

Jules works in a book store. She has mousy brown hair and bright blue eyes hidden behind thick frames. She looks like someone Ignis would get along with.

Bard is - okay, Noctis has known who Bard is for a while know, her videos go viral whenever she posts her street performances and Noctis knows that Ignis and Gladio are fans. He wonders if he can get them an autograph.

Jupiter is the sister of an active member of the Kingsglaive and Noctis begins to wonder if they're training them so poorly they can't recognize members of the loyal family.

There is nothing on Mercury's page but cat photos that she tags her siblings in with 'this you?' the latest of which is a wet cat staring at the camera that Mercury tagged Ardor in.

Noctis is a little hurt that they all know each other and yet never bothered to come forward.

If he posts a video of the magically glowing family tree on his Official Account and tags all his siblings in it with 'this u?' well-

Noctis deserves to blow up the internet once and while.

As a treat.

(The existence of the siblings gets quickly brushed aside when the family tree - upon study by various historians - confirms that the children of The Star were not sired by her husbands.

Thanatos immediately posts a joke about 'horny running in the family'.)

#all the bastards verse

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nalyra-dreaming · 2 months

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"... And of course there are some really juicy parts in "The Tale of the Body Thief" that Jacob commented on wanting to do with Sam :) ..."

For people who haven't read books and only watch the series. Can you please tell me what this means? And what was Jacob talking about?

Sure :) "The tale of the Body Thief" deals with Lestat spiraling and deep in depression (which leads to a suicide attempt that fails because he is simply too powerful for the sun to kill him anymore), and being presented a way out, namely a (supposedly temporary) body-switch. Which… everyone warns him not to do, of course, and which he actually does, of course.

Louis and Lestat are… in a weird relationship at that point. They cannot live with each other, but not without each other, and so they live separately, but visit the other regularly. Their own chairs in the other's house, literal "Netflix-and-chill" routines, and so on. They see each other often. Louis of course warns Lestat not do that switch.

(sorry, couldn't indent or quote this, the post wouldn't save, lol)

__________________

"You're out of your mind," Louis said. "Don't be so hasty," I answered.

"You quote this idiot's words to me? Destroy him. Put an end to him. Find him tonight if you can and do away with him." "Louis, for the love of heaven . . ."

"Lestat, this creature can find you at will? That means he knows where you lie. You've led him here now. He knows where I lie. He's the worst conceivable enemy! Mon Dieu, why do you go looking for adversity? Nothing on earth can destroy you now, not even the Children of the Millennia have the combined strength to do it, and not even the sun at midday in the Gobi Desert-so you court the one enemy who has power over you. A mortal man who can walk in the light of day. A man who can achieve complete dominion over you when you yourself are without a spark of consciousness or will. No, destroy him. He's far too dangerous. If I see him, I'll destroy him."

"Louis, this man can give me a human body. Have you listened to anything that I've said."

"Human body! Lestat, you can't become human by simply taking over a human body! You weren't human when you were alive! You were born a monster, and you know it. How the hell can you delude yourself like this."

"I'm going to weep if you don't stop."

"Weep. I'd like to see you weep. I've read a great deal about your weeping in the pages of your books but I've never seen you weep with my own eyes."

"Ah, that makes you out to be a perfect liar," I said furiously. "You described my weeping in your miserable memoir in a scene which we both know did not take place!"

"Lestat, kill this creature! You're mad if you let him come close enough to you to speak three words."

__________________

(This also refers to the contested NOLA meeting right here.) Jacob called their … bickering "petty and in love". They're both not ready yet at that point.

Of course Lestat ignores the warnings and actually does the body switch, and as could be imagined the person takes off with Lestat's immortal body.

Lestat get's sick (as a mortal), and then goes to Louis to ask to be turned, so he can hunt down the thief, which then leads to one of the most raw exchanges (and iirc that power switch is what Jacob would really love to do), because Louis rejects him, though he is mightily tempted.

__________________

"I bare my soul to you and you use it against me!" "Oh, I do not, Lestat. I seek to make you look into it. You are begging me to drive you back to Gretchen. Am I perhaps the only guardian angel? Am I the only one who can confirm this fate?" "You miserable bastard son of a bitch! If you don't give me the blood . . ."

'He turned around, his face like that of a ghost, eyes wide and hideously unnatural in their beauty. "I will not do it. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever. Go back to her, Lestat. Live this mortal life." "How dare you make this choice for me!" I was on my feet again, and finished with whining and begging. "Don't come at me again," he said patiently. "If you do, I shall hurt you. And that I don't wish to do."

"Ah, you've killed me! That's what you've done. You think I believe all your lies! You've condemned me to this rotting, Stinking, aching body, that's what you've done! You think I don't know the depth of hatred in you, the true face of retribution when I see it! For the love of God, speak the truth."

"It isn't the truth. I love you. But you are blind with impatience now, and overwrought with simple aches and pains. It is you who will never forgive me if I rob you of this destiny. Only it will take time for you to see the true meaning of what I've done."

"No, no, please." I came towards him, only this time not in anger. I approached slowly, until I could lay my hands on his shoulders and smell the faint fragrance of dust and the grave that clung to his clothes. Lord God, what was our skin that it drew the light to itself so exquisitely? And our eyes. Ah, to look into his eyes.

"Louis," I said. "I want you to take me. Please, do as I ask you. Leave the interpretations of all my tales to me. Take me, Louis, look at me." I snatched up his cold, lifeless hand and laid it on my face. "Feel the blood in me, feel the heat. You want me, Louis, you know you do. You want me, you want me in your power the way I had you in my power so long, long ago. I'll be your fledgling, your child, Louis. Please, do this. Don't make me beg you on my knees."

I could sense the change in him, the sudden predatory glaze that covered his eyes. But what was stronger than his thirst? His will.

"No, Lestat," he whispered. "I can't do it. Even if I'm wrong and you are right, and all your metaphors are meaningless, I can't do it." I took him in my arms, oh, so cold, so unyielding, this monster which I had made out of human flesh. I pressed my lips against his cheek, shuddering as I did so, my fingers sliding around his neck. He didn't move away from me. He couldn't bring himself to do it. I felt the slow silent heave of his chest against mine.

"Do it to me, please, beautiful one," I whispered in his ear. "Take this heat into your veins, and give me back all the power that I once gave to you." I pressed my lips to his cold, colorless mouth. "Give me the future, Louis. Give me eternity. Take me off this cross."

In the corner of my eye, I saw his hand rise. Then I felt the satin fingers against my cheek. I felt him stroke my neck. "I can't do it, Lestat."

"You can, you know you can," I whispered, kissing his ear as I spoke to him, choking back the tears, my left arm slipping around his waist. "Oh, don't leave me here in this misery, don't do it."

"Don't beg me anymore," he said sorrowfully. "It's useless. I'm going now. You won't see me again."

"Louis!" I held fast to him. "You can't refuse me." "Ah, but I can and I have."

_________________

…. Lestat burns down Louis' little hut after the refusal in a fit of disappointment and anger after. (Not before saving the paintings in it though coughs)

When Lestat finally gets his body back he meets Louis again in NOLA, in a church. Lestat is bitter, and jaded, Louis is just so relieved to see him.

__________________

We sat there in silence for many long moments, and then he spoke. "You burnt my little house, didn't you?" he asked in a small, vibrant voice.

"Can you blame me?" I asked with a smile, eyes still on the altar. "Besides, I was a human when I did that. It was human weakness. Want to come and live with me?"

"This means you've forgiven me?"

"No, it means I'm playing with you. I may even destroy you for what you did to me. I haven't made up my mind. Aren't you afraid?" "No. If you meant to do away with me, it would already be done."

"Don't be so certain. I'm not myself, and yet I am, and then I am not again."

Long silence, with only the sounds of Mojo breathing hoarsely and deeply in his sleep.

"I'm glad to see you," he said. "I knew you would win. But I didn't know how."

I didn't answer. But I was suddenly boiling inside. Why were both my virtues and my faults used against me? But what was the use of it-to make accusations, to grab him and shake him and demand answers from him? Maybe it was better not to know.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

"I will not," I replied. "Why in the world do you want to know?" Our hushed voices echoed softly in the nave of the church. The wavering light of the candles played upon the gilt on the tops of the columns, on the faces of the distant statues. Oh, I liked it here in this silence and coolness. And in my heart of hearts I had to admit I was so very glad that he had come. Sometimes hate and love serve exactly the same purpose.

I turned and looked at him. He was facing me, one knee drawn up on the pew and his arm resting on the back of it. He was pale as always, an artful glimmer in the dark.

"You were right about the whole experiment," I said. At least my voice was steady, I thought.

"How so?" No meanness in his tone, no challenge, only the subtle desire to know. And what a comfort it was-the sight of his face, and the faint dusty scent of his worn garments, and the breath of fresh rain still clinging to his dark hair.

"What you told me, my dear old friend and lover," I said. "That I didn't really want to be human. That it was a dream, and a dream built upon falsehood and fatuous illusion and pride."

"I can't claim that I understood it," he said. "I don't understand it now."

"Oh, yes, you did. You understand very well. You always have. Maybe you lived long enough; maybe you have always been the stronger one. But you knew. I didn't want the weakness; I didn't want the limitations; I didn't want the revolting needs and the endless vulnerability; I didn't want the drenching sweat or the searing cold. I didn't want the blinding darkness, or the noises that walled up my hearing, or the quick, frantic culmination of erotic passion; I didn't want the trivia; I didn't want the ugliness. I didn't want the isolation; I didn't want the constant fatigue."

"You explained this to me before. There must have been something . . . however small. . . that was good!" "What do you think?" "The light of the sun."

"Precisely. The light of the sun on snow; the light of the sun on water; the light of the sun… on one's hands and one's face, and opening up all the secret folds of the entire world as if it were a flower, as if we were all part of one great sighing organism. The light of the sun … on snow."

I stopped. I really didn't want to tell him. I felt I had betrayed myself.

"There were other things," I said. "Oh, there were many things. Only a fool would not have seen them. Some night, perhaps, when we're warm and comfortable together again as if this never happened, I'll tell you."

"But they were not enough." "Not for me. Not now."

Silence.

"Maybe that was the best part," I said, "the discovery. And that I no longer entertain a deception. That I know now I truly love being the little devil that I am."

I turned and gave him my prettiest, most malignant smile. He was far too wise to fall for it. He gave a long near-silent sigh, his lids lowered for a moment, and then he looked at me again. "Only you could have gone there," he said. "And come back."

I wanted to say this wasn't true. But who else would have been fool enough to trust the Body Thief? Who else would have plunged into the venture with such sheer recklessness? And as I thought this over, I realized what ought to have been plain to me already. That I'd known the risk I was taking. I'd seen it as the price. The fiend told me he was a liar; he told me he was a cheat. But I had done it because there was simply no other way.

Of course this wasn't really what Louis meant by his words; but in a way it was. It was the deeper truth. "Have you suffered in my absence?" I asked, looking back at the altar. Very soberly he answered, "It was pure hell." I didn't reply.

"Each risk you take hurts me," he said. "But that is my concern and my fault." "Why do you love me?" I asked. "You know, you've always known. I wish I could be you. I wish I could know the joy you know all the time." "And the pain, you want that as well?" "Your pain?" He smiled. "Certainly. I'll take your brand of pain anytime, as they say."

"You smug, cynical lying bastard," I whispered, the anger cresting in me suddenly, the blood even rushing into my face. "I needed you and you turned me away! Out in the mortal night you locked me. You refused me. You turned your back!"

The heat in my voice startled him. It startled me. But it was there and I couldn't deny it, and once again my hands were trembling, these hands that had leapt out and away from me at the false David, even when all the other lethal power in me was kept in check.

He didn't utter a word. His face registered those small changes which shock produces-the slight quiver of an eyelid, the mouth lengthening and then softening, a subtle clabbering look, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. He held my accusing glance all through it, and then slowly looked away.

"It was David Talbot, your mortal friend, who helped you, wasn't it?" he asked. I nodded.

But at the mere mention of the name, it was as if all my nerves had been touched by the tip of a heated bit of wire. There was enough suffering here as it was. I couldn't speak anymore of David. I wouldn't speak of Gretchen. And I suddenly realized that what I wanted to do most in the world was to turn to him and put my arms around him and weep on his shoulder as I'd never done. How shameful. How predictable! How insipid. And how sweet. I didn't do it.

We sat there in silence. The soft cacophony of the city rose and fell beyond the stained-glass windows, which caught the faint glow from the street lamps outside. The rain had come again, the gentle warm rain of New Orleans, in which one can walk so easily as if it were nothing but the gentlest mist.

"I want you to forgive me," he said. "I want you to understand that it wasn't cowardice; it wasn't weakness. What I said to you at the time was the truth. I couldn't do it. I can't bring someone into this! Not even if that someone is a mortal man with you inside him. I simply could not."

"I know all that," I said.

I tried to leave it there. But I couldn't. My temper wouldn't cool, my wondrous temper, the temper which had caused me to smash David Talbot's head into a plaster wall.

He spoke again. "I deserve whatever you have to say."

"Ah, more than that!" I said. "But this is what I want to know." I turned and faced him, speaking through my clenched teeth. "Would you have refused me forever? If they'd destroyed my body, the others-Marius, whoever knew of it-if I'd been trapped in that mortal form, if I'd come to you over and over and over again, begging you and pleading with you, would you have shut me out forever! Would you have held fast?"

"I don't know."

"Don't answer so quickly. Look for the truth inside yourself. You do know. Use your filthy imagination. You do know. Would you have turned me away?"

"I don't know the answer!"

"I despise you!" I said in a bitter, harsh whisper. "I ought to destroy you-finish what I started when I made you. Turn you into ashes and sift them through my hands. You know that I could do it! Like that! Like the snap of mortal fingers, I could do it. Burn you as I burnt your little house. And nothing could save you, nothing at all."

I glared at him, at the sharp graceful angles of his imperturbable face, faintly phosphorescent against the deeper shadows of the church. How beautiful the shape of his wide-set eyes, with their fine rich black lashes. How perfect the tender indentation of his upper lip.

The anger was acid inside me, destroying the very veins through which it flowed, and burning away the preternatural blood. Yet I couldn't hurt him. I couldn't even conceive of carrying out such awful, cowardly threats. I could never have brought harm to Claudia. Ah, to make something out of nothing, yes. To throw up the pieces to see how they will fall, yes. But vengeance. Ah, arid awful distasteful vengeance. What is it to me?

"Think on it," he whispered. "Could you make another, after all that's passed?" Gently he pushed it further. "Could you work the Dark Trick again? Ah-you take your time before answering. Look deep inside you for the truth as you just told me to do. And when you know it, you needn't tell it to me."

Then he leant forward, closing the distance between us, and pressed his smooth silken lips against the side of my face. I meant to pull away, but he used all his strength to hold me still, and I allowed it, this cold, passionless kiss, and he was the one who finally drew back like a collection of shadows collapsing into one another, with only his hand still on my shoulder, as I sat with my eyes on the altar still.

Finally I rose slowly, stepping past him, and motioned for Mojo to wake and come.

__________________

It's all… very emotional and very raw.

The power dynamics are inverted. There is history between them. Petty and helpless love, too. Desire, passion, anger, love, hate, you name it.

Just thinking about Sam and Jacob doing this gives me the shivers.

(As a side note, we have "artful glimmer in the dark" here as a description for Louis, calling back to "spark in the dark".)

Louis moves in with Lestat (and David) once more after this, into the renovated Rue Royale.

It's where he lives until the events after Merrick, after which they abandon Rue Royale, and Louis goes to Armand to New York for a while until the court is created in the Auvergne.

#Anonymous #asks #ask nalyra #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #loustat #vc #the vampire chronicles #the tale of the body thief #spark in the dark #artful glimmer in the dark #book quotes

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sehtoast · 27 days

Text

Caught (Homelander x OC Smut)

18+ | 4k words | masturbation, underwear sniffing, getting caught, mirrorlander, mirrorlander vs homelander, slight dubcon, dirty talk, fingering, pussy eating, p in v sex, premature ejaculation, spidersona oc | Fic Directory

He takes a deep breath, holds it, savors it, then releases it slowly.

Delicious.

He’s been snooping again. Well, it’s not like he ever stopped and, really, it’s not like he could even if he wanted to– which he doesn’t. Benjamin’s room is rife with all sorts of little odds and ends that help satiate that desire to know more about the web-head. Papers, books, trinkets, hobbies, clothes…

Especially the clothes.

He’s been in here before with Benjamin. Had to act like he didn’t already know the layout so intimately. Like he hasn’t been breaking in regularly and browsing to his heart’s content. Like he hasn’t been doing this.

He takes another deep breath.

Like he hasn’t been huffing Benjamin’s dirty laundry.

He holds it tight, letting his eyes flutter shut.

But not just any dirty laundry. Clenched in his bare fist is a pair of black boxer briefs, wrinkled from sitting in the hamper. He presses the crotch of them to his nose and inhales over and over again, memorizing the scent, the taste of his little spider.

He’s leaned back, half sat on the foot of the bed as he indulges with a hand around his weeping cock. He strokes himself slow, taking his time. He imagines what he’d do with his face buried in Ben’s cunt, imagines the taste, the scent, the heat. His tongue laves over the fabric and he moans brokenly.

Oh, he’s wanted this for some time now… Watching the bug, following him around. Basking in their shared moments. He imagines how easy it would be, too. Just one kiss, hot and needy, would convey all he needs. What would it be like to have Ben’s hand in place of his own? Those soft digits wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly and working him into deep breaths and needy moans– how would they feel? Ben would whisper in his ear, sing his praises, tell him how good he is. He fucking knows it. Johnny, he’d say, why don’t you let go for me?

Oh, and he would. He’d spill so quickly it’d be downright humiliating.

His mind clouds with so many fantasies that he can hardly pick one to be his undoing. Ben’s lips around his cock, his pussy stretched deep, fucked within an inch of his life. All the while, Homelander moans unabashedly into the fabric.

It’s so good, so fucking good–

“Johnny…”

That’s right, say my name! C’’mon, say it! Say my fucking name!

He starts to fuck carelessly into his grip, fist pressing the fabric harder against his face.

Oh fuck, fuck yeah– little whore, mine, all mine…

And it feels so good, he can’t–

“Johnny?”

A raspy hum rattles from his chest, pinching off in a tight little moan as he spills his load, fucking his fist with languid rolls of his hips.

“Mm, fuck, Ben… God…” He groans against the fabric. He stands there in perfect bliss, eyes shut, warm and relaxed as he comes down from his high. When he does finally open them again, he navigates the process of wiping his hand on his pants and getting himself zipped up. He’s still dazed but, when he glances back up, he’s shocked clear into coherency and halts putting himself back together entirely.

Wide eyes meet in stunned silence.

In the doorway stands Benjamin, jaw practically on the floor, gaze flitting from Homelander’s face to the underwear gripped tight in his left hand, then down to his cock. The bug’s face burns a deep crimson as he connects the dots, but his eyes continue darting up and down.

Homelander doesn’t know what to say, doesn't know what to do. He should’ve never let his guard down to indulge like this; he should’ve kept his eyes and ears open for Benjamin. He fucked up. He fucked up bad. He’s probably single handedly ruined his relationship with not only the best friend he’s ever had, but with the man he’s developed more than just simple lust for.

“I–” He tries, but his voice comes out strained. “Uhm…” He looks down, shame burning deep in his gut under Ben’s shocked gaze.

“Wow…” Is all Benjamin says in response. It scares Homelander to bits, not being able to read his tone.

And he just stands there, guilty as ever with those boxer briefs clutched in his grip, cock still hanging between his zipper.

“So, uh…” Ben starts again, shifting in place. “How long you been doing this?”

Homelander doesn’t know how the fuck he’s supposed to answer. How does he salvage this, how does he fix it? He can’t just say this is the first time, that’d be too obvious–

“I–”

Fuck. Fuck. Now he has to say something, and quick.

Let me. Sings that devious voice in his head, all too eager to take the reins. Homelander, all too relieved to let go and escape the shame, relents immediately. The change happens in a flash.

“Benjamin,” he tuts with a cock of his head. “What kind of question is that, hm?”

The bug bristles at the change in his demeanor– probably that sixth sense of his tattling on the shift. From within the safe confines of his mind, Homelander practically begs: Please, please be gentle with him. He’s good to us, remember?

“Come here,” he demands, a finger pointed to his boot as if he meant to beckon a dog. He watches with a sick, satisfied grin as Ben comes forward timidly, lips parted, hand all but outstretched to show no ill intent.

The web-head has met this alter ego before. He knows exactly what this is.

He grips Benjamin by the wrist, tugging him damn near chest-to-chest.

“Attaboy,” he breathes directly into Ben’s ear. The way he squirms sends a delicious shiver right to his cock. “If you must know… I do it every… single… day.”

He can hear Ben gulp in response. He feels the heat of the bug’s body, feels how rigid he is. One overdramatic sniff of the air and he smirks down at the web-head.

“Smells like you’re cookin’ up my next pair, aren’t you? Getting ‘em good and wet for me…” His lips spread into the most devious smile possible, parting only to lick a stripe over Benjamin’s cheekbone. He doesn’t know what he loves more: the fact he doesn’t resist, or that Ben fucking reached out to grip his arm when he did it. That he needed to steady himself was a delicious thought.

John watches from behind his own eyes, mystified, but also saddened. It should be him in control, it should be him teasing his Benjamin like this.

“Answer me, bug boy.”

“I–” Ben starts, but his voice breaks from nervousness.

“I knew it.” Homelander teases, leaning in close to murmur in his ear. “Y’know, I’d love a fresh taste… And you’d love to give it to me, wouldn’t you?”

Ben gulps audibly, squeezing tighter around Homelander’s arm which, of course, makes that smile grow all the more devilish.

“Tell me right now you don’t want to lay back and let me eat your pussy until all you can possibly do is scream my name.” He murmurs, a hand coming up and tugging Ben’s head back to reveal his neck. Homelander peppers a kiss or two before scraping his teeth along the side he’s always imagined would be most sensitive.

His satisfaction at Benjamin’s weak gasp is unmeasurable. His cock twitches and he presses it against the bug’s hip. He could take this boy apart so easily…

“Imagine it… my tongue running between your pretty little pussy lips. You, writhing and moaning like a little whore for me. Creaming around my fingers because you just can’t help yourself…” Homelander chuckles darkly, rubbing his cock against Ben more brazenly now. “You taste sooo sweet on your clothes. C’mon, Benny… Give us a taste.”

He reaches down to grab himself and tucks his cock between Ben’s thighs. With slow, calculated thrusts, Homelander mimes the act of fucking him.

“When I’m done, I’ll give you what you want.”

The panting breaths from the wall-crawler are so enticing he can hardly help himself when he swallows those soft little noises with a kiss, tongue delving between Ben’s lips without hesitation. “You want this…” He purrs between unreciprocated kisses. “You want me.”

“I–” Ben starts, pausing when a finger hooks under the waistband of his pants.

“Mm, say it.” Homelander orders in a whisper. He starts to snake his hand inside. “Say how much you want me, how badly you want me to taste you– fuck you…”

Benjamin goes to speak once more, but sucks a sharp breath instead when a finger swipes between his soaked folds. It drags back and forth, pressing against his hole, dipping inside just the slightest bit before trailing to his clit.

“Drenched,” Homelander all but moans. “Fucking knew you would be…” He draws his hand free and brings it to his lips, tracing slick over them before slipping inside. “Delicious… I knew you fucking wanted me.”

“Johnny…” Ben murmurs.

Homelander practically doesn’t even hear it.

“I want Johnny.” He repeats, this time a little more brave despite how much anxiety dances in his words. This was volatility personified.

Homelander looks at him with a flicker of ire, as though he’s ready to discipline him. Throw him over his knee for a good spanking, fuck him senseless– something or the other. Whichever one scratches the itch and accomplishes the task all at once.

“And why the fuck would you want him instead of me?” He asks, bitterness lacing his words. He spins them and traps Benjamin against the bed.

This is how it went last time. Though last time was incredibly different, significantly more violent, and a lot less sexually charged, Benjamin needed only to ask and, somehow, John would find himself with enough strength to come back to the surface. He can practically feel the resistance brewing.

Let me out.

Absolutely not.

Let me the fuck out!

“I want Johnny.” Ben repeats again, firm with every word. In all fairness, Ben would absolutely have a round with this version of Homelander. Just… not right now. Not before John. A snarl precedes that hand diving back into his pants, fingers delving deep into his cunt. Benjamin can hardly stop the gasping moan that comes out. It’s hard to resist it, hard to pretend he doesn’t actually want this.

But this isn’t who he wants it with. Johnny would come first, always.

“Sing for me, little birdie.” Homelander commands, fucking his digits in and out, fingers curled perfectly. His face twists as if he’s struggling to keep control. “You’re soaked for me. You’re like this because of me! Not him!”

Ben’s whines are music to his ears even as he fights to keep from losing his hold.

I’m in control here! Me! You let me out right fucking now! He wants me!

Suddenly Homelander is shaking his head violently, expression pinched, teeth bared and grinding– and then he’s not. His fingers still, his expression softens, eyes widen like a deer in headlights.

Still knuckle deep, Homelander freezes.

“Johnny..?” Ben asks, though he’s already confident the switch had happened. Despite the intrusion between his legs, the moment is significantly less tense than with the previous presence. “I–”

“You want… me?”

His voice is nearly a whisper, a touch of timidness in his tone.

“Yeah,” Ben nods, eyes shutting. He leans in to press their foreheads together. “I didn’t think it’d happen like this, y’know, but… yeah.”

Homelander lurches forward in an embarrassingly desperate manner, taking Ben in a kiss that he certainly didn’t mean to moan into. Just like he doesn’t mean to melt when he feels reciprocation, he just does.

He can hardly wrap his mind around any of it. Ben’s lips, so soft and sweet against his. The sweet boy’s cunt fluttering all hot and wet around his middle and ring fingers. He could come undone just from what he’d been dropped into. He sighs and starts moving his fingers, slow at first, soft.

Just enough to milk the most beautiful noise he’s ever heard from his Benjamin. It’s enough to make him whine and press his stiff cock right against Ben’s thigh– but only for a moment. Long enough for his desperation and revived confidence to grow into a hunger unlike anything he’s ever known. Suddenly he’s lifting Ben to lay flat on the bed, legs hanging off the edge, and he’s got the bug’s pants torn free and–

The first lick to his core isn’t even full contact. He suckles the wet spot of Ben’s underwear, lips wrapped tight to get every last bit. He mewls for it, face pressing between his little spider’s thighs to tease that first truly fresh taste of his greatest longing– like he means to drown in it. The hands in his hair satisfy every dream he’s ever had of such a moment, tugging and gripping like Benjamin would die if he didn’t.

“Oh god…” The bug whimpers, hips bucking. It’s all the motivation Homelander needs to deny himself just long enough to yank those boxer briefs away and reveal his meal. He dives in completely undignified, moans muffling as he presses the whole of his open mouth to Ben’s cunt, tongue delving as deep into his hole as physically possible. He’d trade his powers for a longer tongue right fucking now if it meant he could reach further inside– if he could collect more of that sweet nectar on his tongue and feed the starving beast inside of him that demanded so much more.

He suckles and flicks Ben’s clit, practically hypnotized at his size and thickness. It’s so easy to get it into his mouth– so easy to suck and hold and–

The bed creaks with a particularly sharp unconscious thrust of his hips at the realization. It’s like having a cock in his mouth.

He keeps Ben’s legs spread high and wide. The quakes of them in his iron grip shoot straight to his ego and cock, making his eyes roll and heat all at once.

“Johnny– Oh, fuck, fuck, please–”

That’s right! Say it! Say my fucking name!

As if reading his mind, Benjamin does. He howls and shivers and shakes through an orgasm that leaves him gushing slick against Homelander’s eager tongue. Homelander’s head is pressed down hard by the hands in his hair– silent pleas for more and more.

He’s so thrilled with himself that he couldn’t possibly prevent the moan that reverberates against Benjamin’s throbbing clit. It practically jerks in his mouth.

“Oh god!”

I am your god.

And he just can’t bring himself to stop. Can’t help but act out every single scenario he’s ever dreamed up while pressing stolen clothing to his nose and fucking his hand. It’s going to pale in comparison when he finally slips into Ben’s cunt– he fucking knows it. He’ll never be able to go back to something so dull when he’s tasted heaven and touched the stars.

He’s damn near ready to dive in for more when the hands in his hair yank good and hard, pulling him up. He’s still clothed except for his cock free between his zipper, now harder than he's ever been in his life. He has half a mind to just shove it in and fuck Ben before the boy could strip him down, but that option is long gone when a kiss distracts him long enough for zippers and clasps to get undone.

Pussy.

Shut the fuck up!

He neglects his alter ego’s taunts in favor of reveling in touches to his bare chest. It’s enough to leave goosebumps and make him shiver. He hardly knows what to do when Ben strips him the rest of the way, much less when a hand finally wraps around his cock. The gasp that left him was less than pathetic, but it doesn’t deter the touches and soft kisses pressed to his neck.

“You’re amazing,” Ben murmurs against his flesh, breath fanning wet spots and making him twitch like some sort of virgin. His eyes flutter open and catch a smile so genuine it melts his heart. Each stroke along his length makes his chest heave with deep, unsteady breaths– every swipe of Ben's thumb to his soaked tip drives him near insanity. He’s so pent up, even after getting off earlier. He could blow at any second– god, what if it’s disappointing? What if he ruins it because he’s too fucking weak to hold back?

He’s thought of this so many fucking times that he practically has no control whatsoever. But he never thought it’d feel so–

So–

Something overtakes him, desperate beyond measure, utterly starved, and he rolls them. Much as he’d love to drag it out, he’s on the brink and he’s not going to come until–

“O-ooh fffuuuck!”

No sooner than his tip breeches Benjamin’s cunt is he blowing his load and–

Pathetic.

“Mm– oh, fuck– I’m sorry–”

At least I’d have actually gotten to fuck him.

“Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry–”

One pump chump, huh?

He buries his face against Ben's neck to hide as pleasure and shame mix like oil and water in his gut. His body is locked tight, hips jerking despite having slipped out in the midst of an exceptionally pathetic, desperate thrust.

You ruin everything you touch.

It’s only when he’s nudged out of his hiding spot that he realizes he’s still whispering apologies.

“Hey, what’s– are you okay?” Ben asks, concern replacing the bliss once etched so beautifully on his face.

Your fault.

“I…” Homelander starts, shaking his head when the words get stuck in his throat. “I didn’t mean to… finish so early…”

Ben’s hands cup his cheeks and cradle him, thumbs rubbing at his cheeks. “I don’t mind.” He says. “We can stop if you’re–”

“No!” He interrupts. “No, we– I can be ready again, I just–”

His face is burning red; he knows it.

“Shh, Johnny. Don’t stress. Just…” Ben pulls him down into a kiss, soft and slow. “Just kiss me for a bit, okay?”

Despite his racing heart and his mental roommate jabbing at his pride, he goes along. It starts easy, simple pecks and gentle glides of lips. A pace perfect to diminish his anxiety, an act sweet enough to dispel the shame. Simple touches meant to soothe, others meant to ground.

He pulls back and looks at Benjamin for a moment, appreciating his kiss-swollen lips and hazy eyes before going right back in with more fervor. Legs wrap around his waist and pull him into a grinding motion, milking a breathy moan directly into the kiss.

“That’s it…” Ben purrs between kisses.

His tongue joins the fray, eyes rolling back as the taste and sensations hit his mind all at once.

He’s hard again in no time, especially with those little words of praise in between. He stills when a hand slips between their bodies and grasps his cock, directing his tip to swipe between come-slicked folds still drenched for him.

Benjamin lines him up perfectly and he sinks in without thought. A strangled moan catches in his throat as he’s practically sucked in by that tight heat. Ben’s noises drive him insane– little gasps and whines as he adjusts, comments about how thick he is and oh–

His arms wrap under Ben’s back to pull him impossibly closer. He starts slow, steady and gentle just like Ben had been with him.

Good. Now ruin him.

He fights to keep his controlled pace, fights to be a perfect gentleman and not shatter this sweet boy.

“Johnny~”

And it’s so fucking hard not to.

His face is buried in Benjamin’s neck again and he picks up the pace, settling into a sloppy rut like an animal in heat– but god that’s exactly what he is. Desperate and instinctive, he drives himself into Ben over and over again, chasing that high, knowing each deep stroke is what pulls those sweet little whimpers from his precious Benjamin and by god he’ll do it again and again–

“Harder!” Gasps his little spider, and he’s all too happy to oblige. His back arches, arms brace, and he cuts loose. His mind snaps– all there is anymore is this. A lifetime of them and nothing else. It couldn’t possibly be anything else.

Breathy exclamations turn to noisy moans, all of them sung into the air for him in tandem with squelches and wet slaps of skin.

Hear how he sings for you? That’s it, keep going. Hand under his lower back– good. Help him arch into it. Attaboy.

Homelander nods in the crook of Ben’s neck, tongue falling free to lick a stripe into which he fully intends to leave his mark.

Feel how he quakes under you? Bite him. Claim him.

His teeth sink in, just enough not to break the skin but he will mark this sweet boy as his.

He’s yours now, tiger.

“G-Gonna come! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Ben exclaims under him, nails biting into Homelander’s back as he holds on for dear life. “Oh god– oh fuck!”

Make sure he never wants anyone else. Thumb on his clit, right now– rub hard.

Homelander does exactly that and with only one flick, he sends Benjamin mewling into an orgasm so strong his entire body convulses– perfectly milking another load from his cock.

They cling to each other for dear life, both hurtling through climaxes so intense they can do nothing more than gasp and whine and pray the other won’t let go.

It takes a few minutes for either to speak, but fingers run through Homelander’s hair and a hand smooths up and down his back until they do. Comforting, caring–

“Do you wanna stay?”

Not the question he was expecting. Not at all– and not something he’s ever been asked before by anyone. He hates knowing his eyes are watering when he looks up, but they do and he can’t make them stop. “D’you want me to?”

Stupid. Stupid voice crack, stupid–

Shut up and listen.

“Duh,” Ben says, hands coming up to pinch at his cheeks. “I always want you to stay.”

“You’re not… mad at me?”

This isn’t what he was expecting at all.

“Why would I be?” Ben asks.

He’s about to explain the obvious, but–

“I mean I wish we could’ve skipped the whole fiending-for-my-underwear thing and gotten straight into this, but I’m not mad. And I’m not mad about your brain bestie making an appearance either.” Ben smooths a hand through Homelander’s hair, scritching softly at the base of his neck. “It’s all good.”

I've got dibs on the next time.

“Mm, thank god.” John yawns. It’s all he knows to say, except– “So are we uh… a thing now?”

You sound like a fucking teenager.

What, you have a better idea of how to ask him?

“D’you wanna be?” Ben asks, a beaming smile spreading across his face. It must be contagious, because Homelander ends up with the same look.

“Yeah…” He breaths, chewing his lower lip to keep from looking any more dopey than he already does. “Yeah, let’s– I want that.”

“Good,” Ben says, hooking a leg around him. “So, uh… Boyfriend perks include unlimited underwear access.” His cheeks tinge a deep red as he says it, but that just makes Homelander’s lips curl into a devious smirk. “Among other things, y’know?”

“I can’t wait to find out,” John says. All this time as just friends has been nothing short of euphoric…

Whatever is next for them must be bliss itself.

#homelander #homelander x oc #homelander fanfiction #homelander smut #the boys #antony starr #the benlander agenda #posting this despite my better judgment #this has just been sitting finished and rotting in my drafts for a while tbh #I went through a nasty patch of feeling worth in my writing and other things but #yeaaahhhh #went. hahahahaaaaaa.... past tense was not the right tense

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unsentlettersforpalestine · 1 month

Text

Sunday, April 7, 2024

What a privilege it is to be able to eat sahur and iftar every single day because unlike Palestinians, we have more than enough of foods and drinks at our fingertips. Never in a moment did we ever experience what being starved to death feels like and yet some of us are still occasionally complaining how "boring" our meals are, that we feel unsatisfied with what's available on the table and desperately want to try out that newest restaurant, and that we hardly ever feel grateful for what we have. Palestinians are literally dying because as the direct result of forced starvation imposed by Israshit and here some of our dustbins are filled with wasted foods.

What a privilege it is to clean a classroom/house made dirty by healthy kids playing, because unlike Palestinians, we have no single clue what it feels like to see children being blown up into pieces after their house getting bombed by Israshit. We get frustrated hearing kids screaming and crying but those Palestinian mothers are wishing their kids were still alive so that they can hear their voices one more time. We yell at our kids for playing and making a mess 24/7 and those Palestinian mothers are weeping buckets of tears because they know their kids that have been killed can never go back and play together with them again.

What a privilege it is to do piles of laundry because we have a plethora of clean clothes to wear every day. Some Palestinians don't even have enough and proper clothes to protect them from winter and yet here, some of us feel unsatisfied and we wish we can buy some more clothes because of social media influence despite the fact that we have a wardrobe (or two or three) wardrobe filled with miscellaneous skirts, t-shirts, pants, dresses, veils and so forth. We never feel enough, we always want more and more and more.

What a privilege it is to be able to taste the sweetness of education. Our kids are able to school every single day and we can learn things on our own from the internet but what about Palestinians? Their schools and universities have been turned into dust by Israshit and they definitely can't pursue their formal education anymore. But you know what, irrespective of what all they've lost, they never give up. The other day I watched a video in which an old woman patiently teaching Gazan kids how to read in a fucking tent. If during the genocide Palestinians still have the spirit and determination to teach and study, then what excuse do we have to not keep trying to educate ourselves and other people about Palestinian cause?

What a privilege it is to have a cozy bed and sleep soundly in our safe home because unlike Palestinians, we don't have the fear of the freaking bombs being poured down from the sky and getting crushed by the rubble of our homes. We are safe, but Palestinians have to constantly live with the fear of being shot at, slaughtered, killed, bombed, kidnapped, tortured and any other atrocities you can think of. We are safe and we have all we need, but we haven't been able to be a good ally for Palestinians and be consistent in doing the things that need to be done for Palestinians.

Why? Why don't you try harder and harder to spread awareness? Why don't you want to ask more questions and learn more about Palestine? Why don't you want to be all in and support Palestinians in any shape or form? Why can't you spur yourself into doing more? You know you can be better than that but what's stopping you? Why can't you write things about Palestine regularly? Why are you afraid of speaking up? Why don't you put in the effort to try to reach and educate more people? You know in order to help Palestinians reach liberation we need to be united and do things collectively in a sustainable way, so tell me, why don't you try to braver and speak more and more and moreeee? Why can't you confront those people who remain silent and indifferent about a fucking genocide against your own people? Why after all this time you still get distracted easily? Why can't you be focused and give your all for this noble cause? Why? Why? Why?

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peaches2217 · 7 months

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Daisy is applying the final touches to Peach's eyeliner when a knock on the door interrupts them. "Come in," they both call, and with one final look-over, Daisy nods in approval and starts putting away her tools while Peach rises to greet their guest.

"So sorry to interrupt," she hears Toadsworth say a half-second before she sees him, the old Toad quietly closing the door behind himself, and her already high spirits soar even higher. "Just thought I'd drop in and check on the bride before the day swings into full gear!"

Peach clasps her hands together, welcoming him in, then twirls so he can get a good look at her attire. The massive skirt of her pale pink dress billows with the movement, the sheer veil fastened to her crown flowing behind her. She's never felt so much like a princess as she does now. Not a ruling princess, a title she's held and known all too well for all too long, required to remain dignified even in the face of hardship and threat; no, she feels like a child's playtime ideal of a princess, wrapped in luxury and cheer with nary a care in the world. "How do I look, Toadsworth?"

Toadsworth chuckles at the display, his eyes creasing as he reaches up to take her hands. "You look beautiful, Your Highness," he says. "You look so much like your mother did on her wedding day! Perhaps even more radiant..."

He opens his mouth again, like there's more he wants to say, but the words stick in his throat. He takes in the sight of her in silence, and within seconds, there's big tears pooling in his eyes. It's not rare to see him cry, as he's a sensitive old soul, yet something about him crying now of all times strikes Peach like a dagger in the gut.

"Oh no," she whispers, already feeling tears of her own brimming at the corners of her eyes.

"Oh no," Daisy groans, because she just finished Peach's makeup.

"Oh," Toadsworth finally cries, "where has the time gone? Just yesterday you were so small I could hold you in my arms!"

"Toadsworth," Peach gasps, and her heart feels so full she's sure it's going to burst. She expected him to fall victim to sentiment. She didn't expect him to start reminiscing about the passage of time. She's entirely unprepared.

"And you would always call me 'grandpa,' you know," Toadsworth continues, tears already streaming down his cheeks and dripping from the tips of his mustache, "except you couldn't actually say 'grandpa' so you called me 'gempuh' instead but I knew what you meant, dear!"

"Toadsworth!" Peach sniffles and falls to her knees to pull him into an embrace. The fabric of her dress threatens to swallow his tiny frame whole, so she holds onto him tightly, and feeling her beloved mentor cry into her shoulder, she begins to cry as well.

She remembers, vaguely, those days when she was young and her birth father was some enigmatic figure shuffling about behind the scenes, while this Toad with a greying mustache tucked her in each night, roused her with promises of fresh pastries each morning, looked after her every need. In those days, she had indeed assumed he was her grandfather; she had a father, after all, however distant he might have been.

But Toadsworth was always more a father to her than her birth father was. He calls her Your Highness and she calls him by his name in pure formality, but even then, it's a formality he breaks regularly. She's just as often "Your Highness" as she is "my dear, my child, my little girl."

What was already supposed to be the happiest day of Peach's life is even happier now, because, hugging him and weeping with him and sharing all of these big emotions, she lets herself think of him as dad, papa, father. She's considered him such for most of her life, subconsciously, but only now has she let those thoughts consciously manifest.

She'd like to call him that out loud someday. Maybe she's not ready just yet, but until the day comes where she can call him her father just as boldly as he calls her his child, they both know.

Daisy turns her back to give them some privacy and huffs, re-gathering the brushes and powders and paints she'd foolishly put away. An artist's work is never done...

#'peaches this is sappy even for you' I certainly hope so~#super mario bros #smb #princess peach #toadsworth #princess daisy #peaches has opinions #peaches' fancy fics

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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yandere-avatar · 2 years

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Yandere! Asami Sato vs Yandere! Avatar Korra Headcanons

Honestly, this is one of my favorites, like I really enjoy this piece. Might do a Part 2

You were dating Asami before any of this Avatar stuff

Korra immediately gained a crush on you and was heartbroken when you told her you and Asami were dating

Asami had an assumption Korra liked you, but didn't have any proof

It was genuinely a fight for your attention, more so from Korra, because Korra had to compete with your girlfriend

When Ikki told Asami that Korra liked Y/n, Asami was losing on the inside

Ikki honestly was just instigating a fight, cause she was bored

Korra just covered it up, saying Ikki loves to just start fights, even if she's lying

Asami doesn't believe her, but doesn't push it, because she soon sees you running towards her

"Asami! I missed you!" You turned back to Jinora, who was glaring at you and you stuck your tongue out, "Jinora was training my ass off!" You looked back towards her, frowning, nearly crying, "She's like 10 and expects me to listen to her!" You stood up straight, wiping your shorts, "Just cause she's a 'better Airbender'" you air quoted, rolling your eyes, "But I'm so glad to see you," you hug her again

Asami's eyebrow raised, but Korra spoke up, "I thought Tenzin was training you?"

"Oh, Korra, I didn't see you there. He's out of town for a while. Just me and Jinora"

Then Korra got a great idea, "I'll train with you guys. I need to train anyway"

Asami looked back, but couldn't say anything, cause you were so quick to accept Korra's request

Asami gets jealous whenever you're with the avatar, cause you're her partner, not Korra's....

Korra will help you with your form, getting behind you, extremely close

You just think it's normal but Asami knows

You can't avoid Korra, I mean, she's the Avatar

When she's in her closed off era, you are the only one she writes to, regularly, about everything, she trust you with everything

You don't even tell Asami that you've been writing Korra

You visit Korra, even though she asked you not to, in fear of you thinking less of her, but you couldn't handle knowing Korra was alone

"Everyone's worried about you Korra.... I'm worried about you-"

"I know.... As the Avatar-"

"NO!" You stand up, your fist balling up. Your back towards her, you could feel tears building up in your eyes, "You don't get it, do you Korra? It's not about you being the Avatar, it never was. You're Korra and everyone's worried about Korra, not Avatar Korra. I wish you could see how important you are Korra, and not just because you're the Avatar."

She doesn't look at you... She can't. She can hear you weeping and she knows she would break if she saw the tears fall down your face. Though, she knew you were looking at her now

"I appreciate you coming here. For writing me, looking after me.... Just you. You're always there, even when I push you away"

"That's what friends are for, Korra"

Now it was Korra's turn to yell at you, "No!"

You flinched, surprise she got up to grab your elbow. She wasn't looking at you, looking down

"Y/n... I love you"

You were ataken aback... How could you?

You and Asami were still together, but you had always liked Korra

"Oh Korra. Why do you do this to me?"

She sat back on her bed, but now she was looking at you, your eyes, oh your beautiful e/c eyes

"I'm sorry Y/n"

#asami sato #asami #yandere avatar x reader #yandere tlok #yandere korra x reader #korra #korra x reader #yandere korra #yandere asami sato #yandere asami sato x reader #yandere asami x reader #the legend of korra #the legend of korra x reader #avatar the legend of korra #lok #tlok #avatar korra x reader #avatar korra #atla

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imdoingaokay · 2 years

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Okay hear me out

Hero of Ferelden dies defeating the archdemon, everyone grieves, and then 10 years later, they walk out of the fade with a mark on their hand. How they came back to life, I leave it up to you. Are they just a lyrium ghost? Did Andraste actually choose them? Is it just lazy writing? And of course, how do people respond? More specifically, the people the HoF was closest to.

Alistair

Platonic: If he’s a warden, he’s a wee bit skeptical. He’d ask Leliana, but he’s technically in hiding, so he just lets his questions fester in his mind. But once Hawke brings them over, he nearly drops his sword. The two catch up once they travel to Skyhold, and when they return to the fade, Alistair is more adamant that he wants to stay behind. Claiming that the HoF “had their turn.” Of course, if this doesn’t work, and Hawke stays behind instead, he’s upset but relents when his friend explains that they didn’t want to lose them again. Alistair writes letters regularly from Weisshaupt. One explained that the HoF’s urn was unearthed and discovered to be empty.

Now, if he’s king, his first reaction is to get Leliana to get confirmation. Honestly, he could use the good news. So many things have gone wrong over the years, the mage rebellion and Divine Conclave blowing up, he thinks the messengers are fucking with him when they claim that the warden-inquisitor has returned from the dead. If the HoF chooses to side with the Templars, he doesn’t get to meet the inquisitor face to face until a while later, and until then, he doesn’t truly believe that his friend is really alive. If the HoF chooses the mages, his curiosity is peaked when he marches into Redcliffe Castle and locks eyes with his late friend. He freezes, and his little speech dies on his tongue. After regaining his senses, he tells the mages to hit the road. He knows he has to leave. But he doesn’t, instead he stays with his friend for a while, the two agreeing to meet up later. He will almost immediately wrap his friend in a warm hug and claim how much he missed them. As an added bonus: Teagan will be less of a jackass in Trespasser!

Romanced: It’s hard for him, honestly. If he’s a warden, he honestly contemplated running to Skyhold, just to see his lover again, but he knows he can’t. He doesn’t hold a sword to them when they enter his hideout, instead, he slowly walks out from the shadows and looks forward to his lover. He feels a decade younger like he’s meeting her all over again. He nearly trips over himself as they talk about Corypheus, and once they get back to Skyhold, he’s always nearby. If the HoF wants, they can start a relationship again. And honestly, Alistair really wants to. He missed them terribly, and he wants to be by their side again. When they reach the Fade with Hawke, he secretly wants Hawke to stay behind. He knows it’s selfish and against what it means to be a Grey Warden, and he will stay behind if asked, but there is a part of him that just wants to stay with his love. After he goes to Weisshaupt, he writes far more letters to his love, a few ask when they think they’ll come to visit him.

If he’s king, it changes a bit. After 10 years, he still hasn’t gotten married (if he’s the sole ruler.) And he has yet to take another lover. Most people think the same way, that the poor king is still in love with the HoF. When he hears that said hero has returned from the dead, he’s confused about why the Maker must torment him. Like with the platonic version, if the warden-inquisitor sides with the Templars, he doesn’t see them until much later, and their reunion is pretty much the same as it would be if the HoF chooses the mages, just less tension.

Alistair walks into Redcliffe Castle and locks eyes with the woman he loved more than anything else. He does his little speech, and he all but begs his Warden to stay a bit longer. If he broke up with her after the Landsmeet, I refuse to believe he doesn’t beg for forgiveness. If the two were supposed to get married, he nearly weeps, seeing his fiancée after years apart. The two need some time together, honestly. If they want, they can start a relationship again, as Alistair never really moved on. Even if they aren’t a human noble, Alistair might actually ask them to marry him. If the Warden-Inquisitor says yes, once Corypheus is dealt with, an actual wedding will occur. There are rumors of how it’s some grand scheme to give the Inquisition more power, but most people agree that this marriage is one of love rather than power. But it does have some nice benefits.

Leliana:

Platonic: When she hears about a sole survivor that just walked out of the fade, she’s curious, when she recognizes one of her closest friends she ever had… she thinks that the Maker is playing a trick on her. Leliana intends to treat the “newcomer” as a stranger at first. But when she can’t find any sort of information regarding their whereabouts, how they just appeared at the conclave (or what was left of it,) she slowly begins to panic. When the HoF wakes up and recognizes her, she panics way more. Of course, she keeps her outwardly appearance looking unfazed.

After the first attempt to close the breach, she takes the HoF aside and asks a few questions. When their friend reaffirms who they are, Leliana decides to test them. Before the attack on Haven, there is one long evening of quizzing the future Inquisitor. The questions range, starting fairly easy, but then they get harder. Questions start like: “Where am I from? Where did we meet?” and then move to questions like “What exactly happened when we met? How did I get my first nug? What was the last thing you said to me before the battle at Denerim?” Of course, as much as the HoF knows Leliana, they won’t get every question right, which actually comforts Leliana more. She still doesn’t truly accept her friend until she almost loses them again. In fact, she doesn’t leave their side until they wake up. Leliana still can’t travel with the new Inquisitor, but when the two are at Skyhold together, they are nearly inseparable. Leliana slips into a version of her older self that she had hardened many years ago.

Romanced: Honestly, a lot of it is the same. The only real difference is the intensity of her feelings. She knows that her warden had to do what they had to do, but that doesn’t ease the pain. She is more guarded towards the Warden, and hopefully, the Warden doesn’t go asking too much about it.

Once Leliana starts to quiz the HoF, the questions get far more personal. And eventually, Leliana asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?” While holding back tears. It takes some time, but Leliana is willing to start a relationship again. And if they do, Leliana finds herself smiling more often, after all, she has her Warden back. That’s all that matters.

Morrigan:

Platonic: When Morrigan offered the Dark Ritual as a way for her friend to survive, she didn’t expect them to say no. Who wants to die some horrific and painful way when they can just have sex/get someone else to have sex and have a baby? Morrigan has considered the HoF their friend, one of the only ones she had. She didn’t want to lose them. Regardless of why they did it, she leaves. And regrets it terribly. Years later, once the Divine Conclave has gone horrifically bad, she is extremely surprised when she hears about the Hero of Ferelden returning from the dead. She’s even more surprised when she gets a letter from Leliana claiming that it is all true.

At the Winter Palace, she finds herself staring at her former friend, and for a while, she’s afraid to face them. Depending on what type of person the HoF was, she responds differently to how they greet her when they inevitably see each other. She doesn’t admit it, but she prefers the angrier version of her friend, mainly because it hurts way more when her friend says nothing and merely wraps their arms around her and claims that they forgave her a long time ago. She finds herself holding back tears she didn’t know she had. Once at Skyhold, the two spend plenty of time together.

When they get to the Well of Sorrows, Morrigan has far more respect for the Warden Inquisitor than if they claim that they’ll drink from the Well, she complains very little. Of course, when she figures out that Flemeth and Mythal are the same, she’s even more thankful for her friend (especially if they killed Flemeth in Origins.) She says something about how the Warden has saved her again, and she won’t forget this. In fact, she finds herself more pressed to stay after the defeat of Corypheus. Of course, she does eventually, this time, properly saying goodbye.

Romanced: It hurts when she hears of the undead warden-inquisitor, she finds it hard to believe until she sees him at The Winter Palace. She can tell that it is her lover, however, so she doesn’t need to have someone else confirm it for her. She knows.

Of course, she has Kieran to worry about. But she’s rather shocked when Kieran takes a shine to the Warden. And it takes all the self-control she has to not start sobbing when she tells the Warden that he, in fact, does have a son. The two may start a relationship once more, but after the defeat of Corypheus, she finds herself wondering whether she will stay or not. But, seeing how happy Kieran is with his father is enough for her to extend her tenure in Skyhold indefinitely.

Zevran:

Platonic: Something in him just knew. He knew that it was really them. Zevran takes time to visit Skyhold (he is busy, after all,) but when he does, all hell breaks loose. I mean, depending on your choices in Origins, you might have the original gang back together (for the most part.)

Zevran is excited to see his friend again, but nothing truly prepares him for seeing them after years apart. He freezes, honestly surprised that his friend is actually alive. So when the Warden-Inquisitor welcomes them back with open arms, he sort of just… melts? He’s so happy it hurts.

Romanced: Unlike the platonic version of Zevran, romanced Zevran doesn’t wait. The second he hears of the undead HoF, he’s on a boat to Ferelden, to Skyhold. Once he gets there, he quietly watches from afar, observing his lover for a while. And only Leliana notices. When she does, she asks him why he isn’t going up to them, and for Zevran, it’s fear. He missed them terribly, he hasn’t loved another the way he loved them. It feels strange because he had intended on keeping it that way. Also, is it technically cheating if your lover comes back to life after death and while they were dead you fucked a lot? (My answer is no, I think it’s a grace period, but hey, to each his own.)

Eventually, he does muster up the courage to speak to them, but it isn’t at Skyhold. It’s when they travel to somewhere like the Hitherlands, that Zevran finds himself fighting a large bear alongside his lover. He’s all cloak and daggers (no pun intended) for a while, keeping a hood on to prevent the Warden from noticing his tattoo. Once the battle is over, the Warden asks their savior to reveal themselves. Zevran hesitates, but once the two see each other for the first time in a decade, it’s hard to keep them separated. Zevran keeps his suave personality, spouting some smooth lines about how he couldn’t let his Warden have all the fun, but he’s secretly sobbing inside. His Warden looks just as perfect as they did when they met. And all he wants to do is just stare at them for hours and hours, indulging himself in their presence. And they get the opportunity to do that. Just… don’t mind the loud noises coming from the Inquisitor’s room… Zevran and them, they’re… catching up.

Bonus:

Cullen finally being able to apologize to Amell/Surana

Iron Bull figuring out that the current Arishok literally loved the Hero of Ferelden.

Harding lowkey fangirling over the HoF

Sera recognizes Tabris and depending on what type of city elf they were, they go out to kill some nobles.

Fergus personally travels to visit Cousland and literally weeps at the sight of them.

Brosca/Aeducan visiting their family in Orzammar, receiving a warm welcome from Bhelen if he’s king. Rica’s ecstatic. Brosca/Aeducan meets their nephew too.

(Sorry for this post, I know it’s bad, I just can’t stop thinking about it lol)

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soleil-in-retrograde · 2 years

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I posted The Thing

For the eventual lesterpollo memoryfuck fic, consider:

I can have Apollo forget he's a god and slowly remember and the constant question in the back of his mind of does he even WANT to be Apollo the more he remembers?

We can have, from Percy's perspective, a mortal with no memories who just remembers hearing about a Jackson and an Artemis and a demigod gremlin (because Meg was clearly positioned by Nero to become Apollo's master) who desperately needs to get to camp. And just.... Percy remembers that. He remembers knowing nothing and clearly this kid has it terrible.

Percy being absolutely *torn* about Lester being left at camp, but it's for the best right?

Lester subconsciously bonding with the Apollo kids. Just gravitating to them and he's such a natural at music and archery everyone assumes Apollo will claim him. Say what you will about Apollo, he was always consistent about claiming his kids.

Then Nero comes and there's Meg's BETRAYAL and that's a horrifying way to find out you are really a god trapped in mortal flesh.

And Percy being so ANGRY when he finds out Lester is Apollo. AND SO CONFLICTED. Because he wants to help Lester but Lester is a god and this was manipulation and soooo much bigger wasn't it?

Lester has a sister out there, somewhere. He only knows her in stories now and prays to her regularly. Artemis is weeping at this boy so much like Apollo when they were children on Delos, long limbed and lanky and barely touching their newborn divinity. And he prays to her about his travels even though he doesn't remember a dam thing about her.

(He still absolutely insists she's the LITTLE sibling, though)

(Him remembering more as the trials go on is all the more painful as he grows to hate himself)

But consider, too, the other option for memoryfuckery.

Apollo at the end of his trials was fixed, just barely. Consider it a band aid, not a cure all. He is stable, but slowly crumbling.

It starts as not being able to divide himself as much as he used to. It starts as forgetting Adamentus's face and Commodus's laugh before the Throne. It starts with a bone deep exhaustion when he shouldn't have any bones.

It starts with actually NEEDING to sleep. It starts with ambrosia tasting a bit too spicy instead of like his mother's cooking.

Then it's mixing up time. He's the God of Prophecy and time tended to get away from him so easily (and heart breakingly) before.

Artemis is the first to realize something is wrong when Apollo can't quite remember the name of the flowers on his balcony.

(He used to go on and on about how Hyacinthus would have LOVED them, and movies, and raves, and space flight, and how despite everything the mortals had somehow made the world kinder and better than the gods ever did, and how he wished Hyacinthus could have met Naomi and Darrin and Lucrezia and--)

The tipping point is Mother's Day.

Apollo may have been a terrible father, but he is a good son. When Leto doesn't hear a thing from him she frantically calls for Artemis to look for him.

She finds him, as Lester. Confused and trying so hard to get to his mother in Florida but not even in the right country. Artemis takes him to their mother and they realize --

Apollo is going to die.

Not quickly, no. He'll grow and grow old, but the bits that made him divine just couldn't hold and soon the divinity fades enough the Mist takes a hold of him.

As far as Lester Papadopalous is concerned, he's seventeen years old and lives at home with his elderly mother in her condo. He has a(n older? younger? twin?) sister who visits regularly and a baby sister(?) in California who calls him her dummy and 'cousins' who go to a camp up north he cares for very much and wishes he could so more for. He likes music and poetry and is thinking about going to medical school. Maybe.

He doesn't understand why his family is always so sad.

#i have work in the morning #memory-horror #trials of apollo #this is gonna evolve into at least two full blown fics #maybe nano?#i need to reread the series and take notes first #screaming into the void #meg realizing he forgot about the arrow of dodona is gonna be fun to write #lester papadopoulos

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alicenttully · 11 months

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four letter word

“Princess, is there anything I can fetch you?” Alysanne Strong asked.

“No. You return to morning prayers.” Bad enough she must suffer this disappointment, once again, she had no desire to subject herself to pity. Pity was useless to her.

Could she use pity to make her willful womb welcome a child?

“Vey well, Princess.” Lady Alysanne curtsied deeply, before exiting Rhaenyra’s chambers to return to the sept where the rest of the princess’s ladies remained, singing hymns.

Lady Jeyne Hunter was the most thoughtful of Rhaenyra’s women, Lady Jeyne Templeton the most proper, and Lady Elinda Massey the most sensitive, but it was Lady Alysanne Strong who was the most efficient. It was a trait the Riverlander took advantage of, as she used her position as the daughter of the Hand to take precedence among the future queen’s circle. Oh, Rhaenyra was fond of her ladies and would do well by them. But it was hard not to feel oddly lonely sometimes.

Rhaenyra had wondered whenever Alicent Hightower sometimes fell prey to the same feeling, among her own ladies-in-waiting.

Sometimes this loneliness would ease whenever she invited Lady Alysanne to read to her. To the girl’s credit, she had a voice made for reading out loud, both clear and rich. It reminded Rhaenyra of whiling away lazy afternoons in the gardens of the Red Keep, listening to another girl….

But that was another time, and Rhaenyra was here.

Even once alone, she could not weep.

She had been such a fool, to raise her hopes. But she hoped, she prayed, that she would have something to show for her efforts.

But then half an hour ago, when Rhaenyra went to relieve herself before departing for the sept, she was confronted by the blood there. Mocking her.

II.

Over the past two years, Rhaenyra had endured the indignity of several examinations. Growing up, Rhaenyra was regularly checked by Grand Maester Mellos, at her mother’s behest. Queen Aemma was solicitous about her only daughter’s health, and ready to guard it against any foes. She need not have worried. Rhaenyra had always been a hale child.

Just as she was a hale woman, said Maester Tommen. Her courses were regular. There was no need to fear that she would never give her husband children. She was young still, and better yet- not too young that childbed would be even more of a danger.

Rhaenyra bit her tongue at this. The maester no doubt was trying to soothe what he saw as some anxious woman, but why must she be the only one whose fertility was in doubt in the first place? It took both a man and a woman. Who was to say that Ser Laenor wasn’t afflicted in some manner, and thus that prevented his seed from quickening? Rhaenyra knew her husband’s ways. Perhaps her troubles would not have troubled them otherwise if her husband had been made like other men. Like Harwin Strong, or…

“It does not always happen on the first try, or even the thousandth.” Maester Tommen told her when Rhaenyra asked how long she should expect to fall with child. That was after six moons of Rhaenyra and Laenor chasing an heir, and six moons he had been in Rhaenyra’s service. As soon as the idea took hold of her, Rhaenyra requested from Father to permit the use of her own private maester.

“So, I do not distract Grand Maester Orwyle from his attentions to you, Father.” Rhaenyra lied when asked for her reason. Father accepted it readily enough, but Queen Alicent raised an eyebrow. Well, let Alicent have her suspicions. Rhaenyra would not have a maester that attended to the queen as well.

Still, sometimes Rhaenyra felt like she would have gotten more help from a woods witch.

III.

Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor were wed three years Corlys Velayron was presumptuous enough to write to his son and remind him that he and Rhaenyra must not neglect their duty.

Duty, of course, meant silver-haired sons. One for the Iron Throne, and one for the Driftmark Throne. Rhaenyra wanted so badly at that moment to mount her beloved Syrax, fly from the Red Keep, and demand Ser Corlys defend his words while atop her dragon. Corlys had forgotten himself because he’d forgotten that while the Velayrons could boast Valyrian descent and he could boast dragon riders for children, he was not one himself.

Rhaenyra and Laenor had done their duty. They wed, just as their fathers commanded. Rhaenyra could not control the timing in which the gods gave her children.

Still, Rhaenyra knew she was not entirely faultless. Laenor and she drunkenly consummated their marriage weeks after their disastrous wedding night and Laenor wept afterward.

Rhaenyra hadn’t known how to react. “It is normal for women to weep on their wedding nights, not knights.” She blurted out. Laenor stared at her, before throwing off the covers and pulling on his trousers. He left the room, leaving Rhaenyra feeling ashamed and guilty. That was not worthy of her.

Laenor was gracious enough when accepting her apologies. She knew he had forgiven her after they returned together laughing, from an afternoon flying their dragons. It was a good thing Laenor had claimed his Seasmoke. Rhaenyra could not discount any fools who might think her lord husband weak if he had mastered no dragon. Bad enough in their eyes that it was she who was heir to the Iron Throne, and not Laenor Velayron.

Or better than both, Aegon Targaryen. The king’s first and trueborn son.

Rhaenyra scowled, before turning over. Aegon was a boy of eight. Helaena was six, and Aemond- the boy born seven moons after Rhaenyra’s own wedding, was almost five. No doubt Alicent Hightower would pop out another little son for Father.

Well, it would not help her. Rhaenyra was to inherit her father’s seat, and if she ascended the throne tomorrow while still childless, Rhaenyra would still refuse to bestow the title of Dragonstone upon her half-brother. As the maester said, she was young and healthy. She would not condemn herself just yet.

IV.

Five years pass, and Rhaenyra is not yet a mother.

Because of their situation, Corlys’ relationship with Laenor has soured. The Sea Snake feels cheated of the throne, once again. Rhaenyra thinks him a fool. He has spent so much time apart from one child, must he poison things with another?

Rhaenyra’s father finds contentment in faith. Faith that Rhaenyra will be blessed with sons.

It frustrates Rhaenyra. She wonders if it frustrates Alicent more. If Rhaenyra ascends the throne childless, then by rights Aegon is her heir, with Aemond and Daeron after them. Oh, and Helaena she supposed. But it was not Helaena’s claim that concerned Rhaenyra.

The longer Rhaenyra remained childless, the higher the chance it would be Aegon himself or one of his sons who would rule when she was dead.

Or simply hurry her death along if need be.

The lords were well aware of this, as they brought their pretty daughters to court. Aegon and Aemond would dance with these blushing girls at feasts, with Aemond being the better dancer of the two. Aemond had seemed surer of himself lately, after taking to the skies with Vhagar at Driftmark. He found joy, while Rhaenyra tried to find some in Daemon’s arms.

Afterward, Daemon boasted about how things would change. “One night is all we need to make a son together.”

Rhaenyra gritted her teeth. She had not been thinking of that at all. Evidently, that was not the case for her uncle.

When they departed Driftmark, Baela was to remain behind, as a ward of her Velayron grandparents. This would be her place, one day. Her younger sister Rhaena would have an honourable place among Rhaenyra’s ladies in Kingslanding, where she could look forward to a worthy match one day. Daemon could find his own place, far away from Rhaenyra.

“Princess Rhaenyra. Thank you for joining me.” Alicent smiled warmly at her, as Rhaenyra settled herself within a chair beside the queen. It was the second-best chair in the room, of course.

The courses, on the other hand, were all equally excellent.

Good thing too, for conversation, was awkward at first. It was certainly not as though Rhaenyra and Alicent had never spent time together at all over the past ten years, but they rarely spent it together. Alicent was busy with her children, with Rhaenyra’s father, with her alms-houses, with her ladies. Rhaenyra found comfort in Syrax, in Laenor’s friendship, in the sweet memory of Harwin, in dear Rhaena, and in her father’s promise.

And of course, there was that other matter.

“Rhaena is a delightful girl,” Alicent was saying. “She has been very good for my Helaena.” It was true. Rhaenyra knew enough to know Helaena had liked her own company better than that of other girls, but with Rhaena- Helaena had taken her for a flight with Dreamfyre.

“Even if my egg never hatches,” Rhaena’s eyes shone. “It will have been enough to be on a dragon, just the once.”

“She is,” Rhaenyra agreed. “Perhaps I would wed to my son if I had any.”

Alicent did not pause while eating, but Rhaenyra could sense her keenly listening.

“When I wed, I had hoped that I would have a better time than my lady mother when it came to this. It seems that I was wrong. It seems that Aemma Arryn had a better time than me. At least she had a daughter to show for her marriage. All I have is disappointment and several miscarriages.”

Rhaenyra did not care if she was sounding weak in front of Alicent. She has already looked weak in front of the court for some time. She just wished her father understood this.

Alicent’s eyes were soft. “My great-grandmother was forty when she had her son. Everybody thought she was barren, and when she missed her moonblood they thought the change had come upon her… and then to everyone’s great joy, the maester found her to be expecting. She never lived to see her grandchildren, but the gods were good, and they gave her the blessing of holding her child in her arms.”

Rhaenyra’s lip trembled. “A child at forty. Gods spare me.”

“Spare you?” Alicent smiled. “Spare that poor child, you mean.”

For a moment, Rhaenyra only stared at Alicent, and the queen looked uneasy. Then Rhaenyra threw her head back and laughed. Soon, Alicent was laughing as well, and for a moment they were girls again.

#house of the dragon #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenicent #i mean not really but its sure as hell aint a uncle groomer fic #anti daemon targaryen #team green #hotd

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