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saltygilmores · 1 year

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Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, Season 2, Episode 14, "It Should Have Been Lorelai"

Oh thank god! There's a Breather episode before the next Shitshow Circus episode, Lost and Found, which I still don't know if I'll even bother watching. Sure this episode has Christopher in it but I can tolerate him and I can tolerate his shitty annoying relationship with Lorelai because it's utterly meaningless to me. Someone rescue me from the back half of Season 2, it's a fucking nightmare. I didn't finish A Tisket A Tasket, because my blood pressure rises with each and every passive aggressive comment that comes out of Lorelai Gilmore's mouth and I just could not take it anymore. So anyhow, dk how it ended exactly, but it looks like Lor and Ror have made up after their "Jess is Bad News" fight. Whee. Phones and doorbells seem to ring constantly in this episode so throughout today's insane rambling I'm going to make a game out of guessing who's butting in to the Gilly Girl's lives. Feel free to play along. Rory: Let's sit at the counter. Lorelai: Oooh, we could sit at opposite ends and play bagel hockey! Luke: Just sit at a table. Lorelai: You're awfully rude to someone who only has two paying customers. Are those two paying customers in the bathroom right now? They're not you and Rory that's for sure. #PayLukeForYourFood RINGING PHONE OR DOORBELL: #1. The phone rings at the diner and someone is asking for Rory which is weird. Is it Jess or Christopher? LOL, that's silly, Jess lives there. I bet it's Christopher.

Oop, swing and a miss for TWWGG.

Having not seen the ending of the last episode ,I must assume Lane has been grounded for 25 years for Talking To A Boy. And I was correct.

Lane: It's the mother of all groundings. I'm being home schooled for two weeks. I only have 5 minutes a day to talk on the phone. She's done everything but slap a Dr.Dre ankle bracelet on me. I know who Dr. Dre is but that was a topical reference that whoosed right over my head and I had to Google it. #DeepCut Lane: Give me some news. Rory: Dean's been working extra hours to save up for a new motorcycle so I hardly see him. She wants to you to tell her something interesting, not give her the Butthead News and Weather Report. Count your blessings that you're in a Dean drought. It's all a girl could ever ask for. To not see Dean Forrester for weeks.

I'm placing money on them bringing back this Dean Rides a Motorcycle nonsense that they haven't mentioned in a literal forever only because Christopher is coming back to town and also rides a motorcycle and the two clowns are going to bond over it like they did over softball (Dean never plays softball again after Christopher left). Then it will be promptly forgotten about again, and Dean will be back to having the personality of an amorphous blob, just blobbing about with no real hobbies, interests or passions besides stacking cans of string beans for mininimum wage and yelling at Rory. I've seen this show several times, but when an episode is this unmemorable* I can just while away my time making predictions about what's going to happen.

*unmemorable=Little to No DALA (dean and lorelai affair) or Jess Involvement Rory segues from "Butthead has been working overtime for weeks” straight into "Mom and I haven't done laundry in weeks" and doesn't explain why, which makes it sound like Dean had been doing their laundry until he started working overtime. He probably pockets Lorelai's panties. Time for a Where's Jess break? Where's Jess? (I think this is one of those episodes where they just stick him on at the end wiping down counters or something. PLEASE let it be on those episodes. PLEASE let it be a Counter WIping episode. I need a fucking break). RINGING PHONE OR DOORBELL #2 (doorbell this time) I bet it's Dean Dean Stacks The Stringbeans.

YAY! It's just Rory's lover, looking like a lost puppy dog. Oh, so I forgot to mention Rory and Paris are going to be in a debate at school and participating on the same team. *inhales deeply* Smell that? That's the smell of sweet, sweet, low stakes, No-Boy filler plot. How I missed ye. Paris shows up at the Gilly Girls house to see Rory under the guise of "we need more preparation before the debate/you need to learn to speak faster" in the same way that Dean shows up to "Change Lorelai's water bottle" or "Do her laundry".

Out Of Context Gilly GIrls Time for An Ancient Technology break! (ATB) Paris: I was making CD recordings from the cassettes I made of our mock debates... Say no more Paris, say no more. *basks in the gentle glow of Early 2000's Technology references* RINGING PHONE OR DOORBELL #3 (phone rings for Lorelai) Definitely has to be Christopher this time.

*deep shudder* Everytime Christopher says "Lor" and Logan says "Ace" an angel stubs their toe.

HOW CONVENIENT.

I really wish she would, my girl needs a break. Anyway Crusty is in town on business and so Lorelai invites Crustypher to Rory's debate and he accepts and my sweet summer child RoryGil is excited that her dad will be there (or so he says...) RINGING PHONE OR DOORBELL #4. Prediction: Dean. Second Place Prediction:Lane Again Third Place Prediction: Jess (Why do I keep assuming Jess is going to call Rory? That's so silly).

Lane wants Rory to pick up a new CD for her when she couldn't get Amazon to overnight it to her and again I'm just floored whenever this show reminds me that Amazon was around in 2002. Describe The Fathers on Gilmore Girls in 6 Words or Less. Go. Lorelai: Do you see Christopher anywhere? Sookie: Uhhh.no.

Brad is me slogging through Season 2 torture.

This looks like something straight out of the opening credits of a corny sitcom. "...Special Guest, Christopher Hayden as Sperm Donor/ Buttclown #2" *sitcom music plays*

Oh, Sherrie. Another innocent lamb lost to the clutches of a Gilmore World Man. Let us pray.

Another snapshot of my Season 2 torture. No Lorelai! Stop! it's okay! Please! I don't need to hear how Dean is tall and pretty again! I GET IT! Waaah. Rory and Paris win the debate. Rory to Christopher in an innocent, chipper, cheerful chipmunk voice that belies the deep seated trauma of being a child with an absent father: Dad, you came to see me! I'm not used to that! Christopher, not so much as blinking at his child calling him a deadbeat dad to his face, while smiling goofily: This is Sherry!

.....?!

Lorelai invites Crusty and poor Sherrie back to their house, and Christopher seems excited to see the house his daughter lives in since he never visits.

Out of context Gilly Girls My dear readers, I hope you one day find someone who looks at you the way Paris looks at Rory. Paris is crushed when Rory tells her she has plans with her deadbeat father and she won't be able to hang out with her post-debate and compare WPMs, braid each others hair, practice kissing...

My dear readers, I hope you one day find your person, the special person like Paris, someone who feels a deep, crushing sorrow n their heart when you tell them you have other plans even though you'll see them at school again in less than 24 hours, causing them to lash out at you like they're fooling anybody with their Oh Whatever That's Just Fine'ing. Ror and Lor rush home and Lorelai says there is no food in the house again except leftover cheese & crackers and Halloween candy. Lorelai does not feed her child or do laundry. In addition to every character on this show needing the services of a competent therapist and accountant, The Hollow needs a visit from Child Protective Services. For pennies a day, you can sponsor a starving child, a poor innocent soul forced to subsist on crackers, candy, coffee and greasy diner food. Your donation will also go towards the purchase of laundry detergent for this smelly unwashed family. Jess’ mother never cooked either so I guess that’s another argument for Literati Soulmates! That special bond over shared Child Neglect!

Sherry showers Rory with compliments and invites her shopping, but then isolates Lorelai and says this...weirdness: Sherrie: I just want you to know you shouldn't feel like you have to get to know me. At all. Just because Christopher and I are close doesn't mean we need to be close, or friends, or anything for that matter. But i desperately want to get to know Rory. Ummm..the audacity to say something like that to the mother of your boyfriend's child 30 minutes after you meet her after she invited you into her home and offered you apple juice? And you "desperately" want to get know his child? This is shady. Sherrie: You know, if we didn't meet unexpectedly today, we'd probably never meet. Because your boyfriend never visits his daughter, right. Sherrie: Rory is so important to him. He is obsessive about his "call dates" to her! No matter where we are what we're doing he has to call her every Wednesday at 7pm! I like that about him! To be so blissfully ignorant and delusional and actually believe what Christopher says! Oh honey. It's like she's got the soft outer shell of Rory but also hangs on to whatever bullshit spews forth from the piehole of an immature worthless manboy pissbaby like Lorelai does whenever Dean speaks. Sad that the best Rory can expect from Crusty is one "call date" per week and I absolutely don't believe even he's even doing that, Sherrie's been brainwashed, but hey! At least he's better than Jimmy Mariano. I guess? #BattleOfTheDeadbeats

Sherry after Crusty happily admits to her that he was (is) a deadbeat dad:

First Rule of Gilmore World: Never trust a Gilmore World man when he says he's trying to change. Never ever. Lorelai says "he's been doing very well with it" just to placate Sherry when honestly she should be shoving this Sherrie woman out the door already and telling her to never come within 100 miles of her or her child again.

She goes on to say that she needs Rory for something very important, she needs her tonight, there is something so pressing and urgent that Rory needs to be excused from FND for this yet unknown Extremely Pressing Urgent Event and she needs her ALONE. This is verging into very concerning territory. Lorelai should be highly concerned. Lorelai, I am concerned that you don't seem more concerned and you agreed to let your teenage daughter go to an unknown place alone with this woman you just met. RINGING PHONE/DOORBELL #5 This call is recieved at the Gilly Girl house while they're with Christopher and Sherry. Okay, I'm clueless for this one. I have to say Lane again, there's no one else. Emily? Dean just because he hasn't shown up to ruin this respectable Breather episode yet?

LOL! That was fun. I chuckled. Rory is going to this unknown thing with Sherrie which is a setup Christopher to go with Lorelai to FND by themselves. Okay, before I conclude part 1 of this commentary (which has already taken several hours and I still have 20 minutes left) I am DYING to see why this Sherrie wants to isolate Rory and I hope it's not gruesome. Rory Gil, we hardly knew ye.

RoryGIl's about to become the hostage here. Blink twice if you need help. My only guess for why Sherry needs to isolate Rory so badly, will be something about asking her for blessing to marry Crusty or something. I really don't know. Neither Lor nor Rory has asked Sherry or Christopher where Rory will be going. RING RING! #6 (as the Gily Girls are getting dressed for FND/ for Rory to be lead to a gruesome end by a child kidnapper) Well it has to be Crusty or Sherry this time. Who else? LANE AGAIN!!! LOL.

THIS IS SO MUCH FUN. I need the phone to ring a seventh time! Sherry and Christopher arrive and finally mention that Sherry will be taking Rory to a movie (then buttering her up with popcorn before she meets a gruesome fate at the hands of a child kidnapper). With Rory out the door, Christopher and Lorelai are alone and Crusty attemps to gastlight Lorelai, probably hoping it'll get him into her pants. L: Was Sherrie with you when I called you? Crusty: She's been with me the whole time. L: You gave me no indication she was with you. C: I must have. L: No, singular pronouns all the way. C: Now I don't remember what I said. L: I do. You said, "I'll be there." Just you. C: I guess I may have said that but I wasn't making a point of saying that. Okay, I am pulling my very, very, very rare and worthless Christopher Card because he just said something not enough people say to Lorelai and it delighted me.

Bahahahaha you're such a prick but it's so true! Lorelai is such a judgemental bitch! More people should say it to her face! Bahahaha! For this one fleeting moment in time you're not so Crusty after all. I'm out of space for screen shots but I MUST KNOW WHERE RORY WENT and I will not cease or yield until we get there. Lorelai attempts to gain some clarity from Crusty on why Sherrie was acting like a fucking weirdo to her in the kitchen. Lorelai: Oh good, you weren't trying to have me killed or anything. Crusty: I was just going over my People To Kill list and you weren't on it.

Ha...ha? Lorelai, I am once again concerned by your lack of concern over certain comments that are very concering, WHERE IS RORY!!! IS SHE OK?! Christopher has a lot of F U C K I N G A U D A C I T Y to try and guilt Lorelai into feeling bad that she didn't consider Christopher's role in Rorys life while she was dating Max, um I'm sorry which one of you is the deadbat here? I tried to write "Deadbeat" but dead-bat has certain charm as well. Crusty wonders why Max was able to get closer to Rory but he should be made to feel bad that he wants Sherry to spend time with her. Doofus, it could be because Rory LIVES with Lorelai and also Max was also her English teacher that she saw 5 days a week? And you're just a dead-bat. Every other male in Rory's life including Kirk and Paul Anka have been better father figures to Rory than you have. WHERE IS RORY!!! WHAT IS SHERRY DOING WITH HER? I'm skipping past Judgy and Doofus at a Looooong and surely pointless FND Dinner scene and going straight to the next scene with Rory.

I...uhhhhh...Um. Surely Lorelai will be very concerned over this very concerning statement which should concern her. SURELY, you can put aside your little quips for just a moment when your daughter tells you she just spent the evening with a touchy feely adult stranger. Right, Dog Sweater? RIGHT?

Ugh. In addition, Sherrie confided in Rory (still a total stranger to her and a child who she took out alone hours after meeting her) a concerning amount of details about her personal life, including the details of all of her past relationships. Sherry was acting way too weird to not have some kind of ulterior motive but Rory is just not being very helpful at all in regards to what it is yet, and I want to shake her I'm so frustrated. But my eyes are bleary and my hands are cramping up and I can't continue. In part 2, I'll unpack this highly disturbing conversation some more and hopefully get to the bottom of this Sherrie Weirdness.. Goo night!

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seaworthee · 7 months

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open up the book to a Sam chapter, he’s doing the bravest shit while calling himself a coward. i fucking love that little porcupine

#SAM MY CHAMPION #she speaks #she reads #cr: a storm of swords #im back at it baby (finally)#obligatory randyll tarly has to kill himself #samwell tarly #him backing away from a wifht while yelling for gilly and the baby to run away WHILE CALLING HIMSELF A COWARD-#that boy is so precious im sorry bad things happened to him lets raise my guys self esteem #look in the mirror say you’re beautiful baby boy

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lcpmon · 5 months

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I want the slice of life Iavingo doujin so bad but I think op was only selling irl??!? Pain and suffering on planet earth

#one normal jp artist shows an interest in the dynamic lngo and Iaventon have and i cant even read the full thing #I'll buy it digitally if i can but id have loved a physical copy :(#gilly speaks

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neverbesokind · 2 years

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tragically “I wish that sex wasn’t considered such a be-all end-all in so many societal spaces and narratives but at the same time I acknowledge that sex is often stigmatized, especially between marginalized people, and therefore it is sometimes quite radical for sex to be portrayed as powerful and important” is an idea that cannot be condensed into a pithy little post for the internet

#I read a book today where the main character's magic gets strengthened when she has sex for the first time and I was like #ah yes #that stings a little #but it's the sort of thing you don't complain about in mixed company eh #shh gilly #in an attempt for allos to understand #it would be like if everyone treated baseball like this life altering thing and pretended you weren't a real person until you had played #and a whole contingent of fucking weirdos decided that it was wrong to play baseball except in Specific Circumstances #so there are all these progressive movements being like #everyone wants to play baseball!!#baseball is what makes us human!!!#and you personally don't care for baseball but you don't like hate it #and if people enjoy it that seems good and fine #but it's also fucking weird to have people be talking to you like you're desperate to play #ah hell I'm gonna delete this later probably

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oveliagirlhaditright · 2 years

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You know what else is so stupid about how Bangel was handled in "Buffy the Last Vampire Slayer" (or not handled--or not handled well, I mean)?

How there they completely contradict the "their love transcends everything" quote that J*oss Whedon said about them. (And if you're confused by what he meant by "transcends" think "overcomes" or "endures.")

And hate J*oss all you want, I know I do. But if you're completely contradicting something the creator of the series did with the couple, that was a fundamental aspect of it, you have writing problems.

There's just no way Angel would have ever left Buffy. At least not unless it was for a "you're better off from me or a this will somehow save you or the world" reason.

And I think we all thought that that was where the story was going, and they so could have easily done that: like, that for some strange reason for the sun to come back, Buffy and Angel couldn't be together or something (since maybe he got a prophecy that Spike and Buffy together figured out the problem, and he couldn't be in Buffy's life when that happened and those two needed to be together for it. I'm just spitballing here). But then they didn't even give us that!

Also, Angel totally would have shown up at the end to help in the Big Fight to save the world--regardless of his and Buffy's relationship, as he'd done time and time again in the series--because that's just who he is. He's a champion. (He and Buffy could have had a cute "No matter what, I always have your back." "I know. Me, too" moment, like Max and Logan's from Dark Angel.)

And I've said in other posts before, that you had other writers of the series saying how Angel, no matter what, would always show up to help Buffy. And then this was contradicted, too. Again: writing problems.

I know that Casey Gilly is a S*puffy shipper, and there was surely some bias there that led to things going down this way. But you can have that S*puffy ending without completely destroying A*ngel's character, B*angel, and everything that's been established in canon to do so.

#as it stands i'll forever be mad at what buffy the last vampire slayer did #and every time i think i've put it behind me it creeps up and annoys me again #this is all just so stupid imo. i thought writers had learned long ago that making one love interest look bad to prop up another is bad #writing #and it's actually better to make love interests great so you're even more moved when the person makes the choice that they did #like 'wow. this person had two GREAT choices and they still chose you. that says a lot and they must really love you'#like... it's not nearly bad as love never dies of course. and yet i'd be lying if i said this didn't give me love never die feelings and #make me think of the raoul character assassination there #and even outside of the angel and bangel stuff i actually have a lot of other issues with buffy the last vampire slayer too #like how i sort of felt like we were glorifying joyce way too much in the end. when. tbh. she was kind of a horrible mom #i also kind of thought that buffy's slayer essence going to heaven and her not (if i read that right) was kind of weird and maybe too easy?#and looking back on it... i feel like how mean buffy was to thessaly was actually ooc and kind of uncalled for #and jaded and in a shitty dystopia or not. i feel buffy would have never done that. yeah she didn't mean any of her witty remarks but it #still doesn't make it better for me. actually scratch that. late into the series she says she doesn't even like thessaly to anya #and there are even other things #i've said this in other posts... but i feel spike had no flaws in this maybe because casey gilly loves him so much and that colored her #writing of him. granted this series is short. so perhaps she didn't have time to get into them #but when you compare to how flawed she made buffy. that irks me #i also don't like how i feel she tried to say that all of buffy's relationships falling apart were her fault for not trying enough?#like looking back i don't know if i liked how she handled or characterized buffy at all #and i also like thessaly... but i don't get why she decided to write thessaly based on all of willow's worst qualities #those are casey gilly's exact words. that's a word choice/take to me #all of this is kind of why--again: like i've said in other posts--i might be done with the new buffy stuff the original writers haven't #touched #because they don't seem to Get It #joss whedon tw

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bealovesmarauders · 1 year

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paper rings // gilbert blythe

or,

the 4 times gilbert blythe fell in love with you, and the 1 time he knew he’d do it all over again

⋆ ࣪. ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖

gilbert blythe x fem!reader

wc: 5.7k

i like shiny things, but i’d marry you with paper rings

a/n: trying something new here! i’ve never used this format (five times // one time- i tweaked it to make it four and one since i’m exhausted) so i hope you all enjoy <3 also fair warning that this is not historically accurate. but i actually spend my summers in PEI (and have for my entire life) so i think my portrayal of the environment at least is good! also, this is rushed as per usual :)

⋆ ࣪. ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖

one. when he walked you home from school.

the late june air was sticky in the avonlea schoolhouse, clinging to skin, beads of sweat gathering by brows. sunlight spilled through the windows, and even billy andrews couldn’t muster enough enthusiasm to tease anyone in this heat. pinafores too heavy for this weather, the girls gathered in one corner, pretending to read the excerpt mr phillips had picked out for today, but in honesty, you were all just complaining about the summer heat.

“i can’t wait until i have my hair up,” ruby gillis sighed, casting a longing glance across the room towards the boys. “my ribbon does suit my complexion, of course- but it’s much too hot in summer to have my hair down.”

murmurs of agreement spread throughout your little group. “i tried it one time,” whispered anne dramatically, “when marilla was away. it was rather romantic, but the pins hurt a great deal.”

sitting in between jane andrews and tillie boulter, you tried not to zone out. gaze drifting across the classroom, you caught gilbert blythe’s eye from where he was sitting with the boys, and he shot you a quick smile. you gave him a shy one back, and looked away before you could blush. you’d known gilbert forever- his family was close to yours- but something had changed recently, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

mr. phillips finally dismissed the class, and in a rush of rowdiness, the boys all excused themselves from the schoolhouse, whooping and hollering about a potential skinny dip in the wild waves. in a flurry of giggles and secrets, your friends gathered their books and rushed outside (in a rather unladylike manner- but it was summer and the world was their oyster, so who cared). you knew diana was hosting a tea party over the weekend- complete with ice cream, she’d said!- but as far as you knew, there were no plans for tonight, save the beach trip the boys had talked about. trying your best to avoid the heat for as long as possible, you lingered in the coatroom, taking the time to adjust your hat into place. but you weren’t alone, and you startled as a familiar face appeared over your shoulder.

“gilbert,” you said, his name sweet on your tongue. “you’re not going to the beach with billy?”

he shook his head. “i’m not quite in the mood for that today. but i was wondering. do you want- can i- would you like some company on your walk home?”

heart in your throat, you looked at the boy you’d known your whole life. was gilbert blythe asking to walk you home? you nodded wordlessly, and his eyes immediately softened. there was a nervousness you’d never seen in him before, a cautiousness, as if he were treading on eggshells and was terrified to break them. “i- i’d love that, gilbert, thank you.” a smile slowly spread across his face, and you seemed to see him in a new light. noticing the things you hadn’t before. the softness of his dark eyes and the way they sparkled. the gentle curve of his jaw. the way he smelled like rosemary and mint soap and the blythe farm’s apple orchard, mixed with a hint of cinnamon. the way gilbert blythe was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

“great,” he said, finally breaking you out of your reverie. “i wouldn’t want you to get heatstroke, after all. it’d be ungentlemanly of me to let you go home without making sure you’re alright in this heat.”

your stomach erupted with butterflies, and you walked in silence with him as you left the schoolhouse. treading along the path, your footsteps settled into the same rhythm, and eventually gilbert spoke, his voice clear among the songbirds and crickets.

“how’s your family? i haven’t seen them in a fortnight.”

his tone was proper and gentlemanly, but curious and kind. you looked shyly up at him. gilbert was tall, taller than you, sturdy with broad shoulders and a grin that showed off a lopsided roguishness once in a while on his otherwise serious face. you gripped your books a little tighter, trying to focus your thoughts back to the conversation. “they’re good, thanks for asking. mother’s been wondering about you, though. she’s wanted to drop soup off for your father, but wasn’t sure if he’d appreciate it. it’s been a while since you were over, so she doesn’t know if he still likes biscuits or bone broth.”

gilbert scuffed the ground with his boot a little bit, looking down at you contemplatively. “that’s kind of her,” he said. “he’s barely been able to keep anything down, but he likes soup. i’m not sure about the biscuits, but i’d certainly like some. i wouldn’t mind some of your mother’s plum preserves either. i haven’t had much time to go into town for food lately.”

you’d noticed. there were shadows under his eyes, and he’d always been on the lanky side, but since gilbert had taken on more of the farm work you’d observed his cheeks grow more drawn. his muscles had grown, too- another result of all the wood chopping you knew he was doing- but he lacked energy, and your heart ached for the boy. cicadas chirped as you walked in unison through the path, minding the garden snakes slinking through the tall grass, and an idea sparked in your mind as you passed the field signaling close to home.

“gilbert,” you said thoughtfully, stopping in your tracks. “mother was going to make a layer cake today, with raspberry preserves and clotted cream. i’m sure it’s cooled by now. we can have a little picnic, you and i- we have lemonade at home too, that rachel lynde brought us, and father thinks it’s too tart, so he wants to get rid of it. you can bring some home for your father as well. mother wouldn’t mind, i promise- i can make us a picnic basket, and we can sit in that field.”

gilbert turned towards you, and you couldn’t quite decipher the expression on his face. “i don’t want you to pity me,” he said quietly. “much less drag your family into it.”

“no, no,” you said quickly, fearing he’d interpreted your invitation the wrong way. “just a picnic, to catch up, as friends. we haven’t talked in a while. i miss you.”

he bit his lip. you could almost see the gears turning in his head. “alright,” he said finally. “it’s almost summer, after all. i think- i think i’d like that.”

when you reached your house, your mother was more than happy to oblige, giving gilbert a big hug and fussing over how much taller he’d gotten since the last time she saw him. you cut two pieces of cake and put them on plates in the straw picnic basket along with the bottle of mrs. lynde’s infamous lemonade. your mother even let you bring the crystal glasses used for special occasions- she trusted the both of you well enough to know that you wouldn’t break them. covering up the basket with a red checkered tablecloth, you and gilbert set off again, waving goodbye to your mother and finding a spot in the field where there was a tree with enough shade to sit under. clover and goldenrod and cornstalk bloomed in the field, and the cool, sweet grass tickled the bottom of your dress. gilbert, beside you, leaned back against the tree, his broad shoulder touching yours, and spooned a large amount of cake into his mouth. it was the happiest you’d seen him in months. the thin layer of ruby jelly in between the vanilla layers coloured the cupid’s bow of your lips, and gilbert realized in that moment that he wanted very badly to take you into his arms and kiss you. but the moment was fleeting, and gilbert was left with the idea of love lingering on his mind.

that was the first time gilbert blythe realized he was falling for you.

two. when you showed up on his doorstep in the rain.

rain poured outside, streaking the windows and trickling down the roofs of avonlea’s houses. sorrow hung in the air, and black clothing had dominated the church the day prior. it was not often that avonlea had funerals, and when they were, they were a somber affair, impacting every one of its citizens. especially now. it seemed as though the whole world had watched mr. blythe’s casket descend into the soil, and now the rain was fertilizing it. perhaps flowers would bloom on top of his grave. the entirety of the little town hoped so- anything to bring comfort to the blythe’s only son.

you’d seen gilbert at the funeral, features etched with sorrow, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. but he’d looked resigned as well- putting on a strong face for those who could not. ruby had sobbed hysterically, as had rachel lynde, and even marilla cuthbert had shed a tear. normally, you would have talked to gilbert. you’d been over the day before mr. blythe had died, bringing with you a sweater you and your mother had knit together to help keep him warm. you’d known his health was declining, but it was even more heart wrenching seeing gilbert that way- expression unmoving, body stiff as he accepted the gift. you’d only had a moment with him before mr. blythe erupted into coughs again- a second in which gilbert’s mask slipped and you truly saw the fear plaguing his mind. you’d wished you could have said something to make it all better. but you hadn’t. you couldn’t.

and now you were on his porch, clutching a package of baking soda biscuits and a small posy of forget-me-nots in your hands. you were shivering from the cold rain, and you’d gotten soaked on the way over, but it was worth it. there seemed to be barely any movement in the gray house- you couldn’t spot any candles lit inside from the windows- and you were wondering if gilbert was even here when all of a sudden the door swung open and he appeared.

his expression was unreadable, brown eyes deep with emotion and seeded in sadness. “hi,” he said. “gil,” you breathed back.

after a moment of silence, the words came back to you. “these are for you,” you said, reaching out. your hands were shaking, and whether they were from nerves or the cold, gilbert couldn’t tell. he took the flowers and the parcel from your outstretched hands, almost unsure what to do with them. “they’re biscuits,” you said, mouth dry, trying to fill the quiet. “mother’s baking soda ones. you mentioned you liked them one time, and we were out of plum preserves, but i-”

“thank you,” gilbert said, and although it sounded slightly robotic, his words felt genuine. you looked at your shoes, unsure of what to say next. your parents had always taught you to say “i’m sorry for your loss” to someone grieving, but the phrase felt too unfamiliar. “i- i’ll leave you to it, then,” you stuttered, backing away from the door and turning to go. you didn’t want to intrude- even if he was your friend. because that’s what you were, right? friends. friends visited during difficult times. friends didn’t want to hug all the sadness out of him. but gilbert’s voice cracked when he spoke next, and you turned around.

“no,” he said clumsily. the words are rushed and jumbled from his mouth, and he stumbles over the next ones too. “please. you’re freezing, and soaking wet. come in.”

up until then, you’d hoped you didn’t look that bad. your straw hat had managed to protect the top of your head, but the rest of your hair was stringy and dripping over your shoulders. your cheeks were also flushed, and even in what should have been a moment focused on his own grief, gilbert found himself worrying that you’d catch pneumonia in this weather. he hadn’t expected anyone to visit today, especially not in a rainstorm.

seeing the concern in his eyes, you realized that walking all the way home in a thunderstorm was probably not such a good idea, so you stepped in cautiously per gilbert’s invitation. the house was warm, but everything seemed dim and gray. the door you knew led to mr. blythe’s bedroom was closed, and you could see gilbert’s eyes darting towards it as well, as if he were praying you wouldn’t say anything. gilbert set down the parcel of biscuits on the kitchen table and looked around for something.

“do you have a vase?” you asked quietly. “i can fill it up with water for you. i thought the forget-me-nots would bring a little light.”

gilbert nodded, but sucked in a breath. you turned to him with a questioning look. “the vase,” he said, voice dry. “it’s in his room. mrs. lynde brought some peonies over while he was still sick, and i didn’t take them out. he’s always hated peonies- he thinks they’re too big and bold. but he would’ve loved these.”

you lightly touched the small forget me not bouquet, felt the soft petals under your fingertips. “you don’t have to use a vase,” you replied softly. “a mug will do.” gilbert stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen, and you maneuvered around him, carefully filling up the pottery with water and placing the flowers in it.

he seemed rooted to the floor, even when he focused his gaze on the posy. your glance met his, and the sorrow was evident. gilbert hadn’t cried at the funeral- you’d never seen him cry. but now tears were brimming at the corners of his soft chocolate eyes, threatening to spill over, and in a moment your body overtook your mind and you had wrapped your arms around gilbert in a hug.

for a moment you regretted it. but then he was hugging you back, clutching your arms, holding onto you as if you were his lifeline. and in a way, you were. you could feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, hear his muffled cries. due to his height, your face was nestled in the crook of gilbert’s neck, and the two of you stayed like that, intertwined, for several long moments.

when gilbert finally pulled away, he knew that for better or for worse, you would be there for him until the day he died.

three. when you exchanged christmas presents in the snow.

to be honest, you hadn’t expected gilbert to come back from the steamer, or trinidad. you’d kept in close correspondence with him, saving the letters he sent you in a special drawer in your writing desk. you memorized his handwriting- the candid tone recalling his tales- the stamps on the envelope. but it still came as a surprise when he’d arrived back.

everything had been awkward at the start, but as soon as gilbert told you all the tales of his travels, you’d slowly slipped back into your old dynamic. there was still a line the both of you were toeing, trying to test out the boundaries between platonic and whatever the two of you were. when you’d met bash, he’d given you a quick wink and told you he’d heard all about you, but other than that, you were positive gilbert just wanted to stay friends. “he can’t love me,” you’d told the avonlea girls a few days prior. “the letters didn’t mean anything, he was just lonely.” but all of them agreed, even ruby- who had been zoning in on moody spurgeon ever since gilbert had left- that there was something more in his words, that it wasn’t all in your head.

and now it was christmas. gilbert, bash, and the shirley-cuthberts had all come for dinner (you’d grown close to anne the past year, and it had taken some convincing but since your father knew matthew so well, marilla had deemed it acceptable). the dinner had been lovely- your mother had brought out all the stops for gilbert and bash- roast goose, scalloped potatoes (island ones, of course), cranberry jelly, chicken pie, spiced gingerbread. flames crackled in the fireplace, biting gusts of wind rattled the windows, and blurred glittery ornaments adorned the pine tree in the center of your living room. dinner was over now, and the adults were gathered around the table and swapping stories of old. anne was there too, heavily engaged in a discussion with bash, but the social aspect was getting to be somewhat exhausting, so you quietly slipped out the back door to have a few moments alone.

in a rather unladylike fashion, you got up and sat on the fence by your house, snowflakes tickling your nose, watching the sun slowly begin to set. hues of pink and orange tinged the sky, and you were surprised you could even see it right now- the weather suggested a cloudy sky. the sound of snow crunching came from behind you, and to your surprise, gilbert was coming towards you. he had his brown cap and his red flannel on, and he looked so cozy that you somehow wished you were cuddled up in his arms. pushing the thought away, you greeted him as he came to sit on the fence beside you.

“enjoying the night so far?”

“quite,” gilbert replied. there was a sparkle in his eyes that danced, one that had been noticeably absent since his father died. you suspected it had something to do with bash’s uncle-like presence, and maybe anne’s too- it was well rumored that he’d fancied her for a while when they’d first met. gilbert looked off into the sunset, puffs of his breath materializing in the cold air, and you shivered involuntarily. he offered you his wool mittens wordlessly, and you gratefully put them on, although they were too big for you.

“oh,” you said, remembering something. he turned towards you, watching you intently as you pulled out a small package from your coat pocket. it was wrapped in festive paper, and you’d written his name on it in swooping calligraphy.

“for me?” gilbert asked. he carefully unfurled the wrapping paper to reveal a small leather bound book embossed with “the complete illustrated medical dictionary (pocket edition)” on the front. “i’ve had it since you left,” you said, breath catching in your throat. “i kept it for you. all this time.”

genuine joy shone in gilbert’s eyes. he flipped through the pages delightedly, marveling at the drawings inside. “thank you,” he grinned. “i actually have something for you too.”

breathlessly, you awaited your gift, snowflakes fluttering down and landing on you. they decorated your hair and its festive ribbon for one fleeting moment before melting, and you swore there was nothing as beautiful as this moment, exchanging gifts with gilbert in the snow, watching the sunset sweep across the dove-gray sky. finally, gilbert found what he was looking for in his pocket, and produced a tiny box.

“it doesn’t look like much,” he warned, “but i found it on my travels. i was waiting to give it to you. i wanted it to be the perfect moment.”

carefully opening the small box, you gasped as the lid revealed a necklace with a pendant. a small silver locket shaped like a heart, the kind one could put a photograph in. “gilbert,” you breathed. “this is- this is beautiful.”

and it was. the locket lay on a delicate chain, and it was engraved intricately, with elaborate designs. your mittened hands fumbled to take it out of the box and inspect it more, but gilbert took it from you with a small smile. “let me help you,” he murmured, and made to fasten it on you. you stood still, hyper aware of how close gilbert’s hands were to your face. his fingers brushed against the back of your neck, securing the necklace, and you caught yourself from flinching. you didn’t know what to say, except for thank you, so you repeated yourself again.

“a thing of beauty is a joy forever,” gilbert quoted, somewhat uncharacteristically. “keats,” he added after a moment, referencing the poet he’d read the phrase from. “i wanted you to have something to remember me by.”

“to remember you by?” you laughed. “what, are you going on the steamer again?”

he could tell the thought sobered you, so he shook his head, shrugging. “no. i just think…you’re a wonderful girl. the loveliest in avonlea.”

“i think you’re wonderful too,” you said shyly, which was about as many words as you could manage right now. the loveliest girl in avonlea? goodness.

the sun had almost set by now, and the sky was turning dark- a good cover for hiding the red tint spreading across your face. “we should go back inside,” you said hurriedly, and the two of you made your way over to the door. you stopped before opening it, basking in the glow of the oil lamp on the porch.

“gilbert, i-”

overcome by sudden anxiety, you handed back his warm mittens. “thank you,” you said, the words lingering on your tongue. “for everything.”

quickly, so fast you almost missed it, gilbert leaned down, brushed a stray wisp of hair away, and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “merry christmas,” he said simply. and then, the two of you went back inside, as if nothing had happened at all.

as soon as you entered, bash noticed the locket and smirked. gilbert shot him a warning look, lest he say anything. the two of you immersed yourself in separate conversations- you with anne, him with marilla and your mother, while matthew silently observed your father and bash discuss politics. but you kept stealing glances at each other as if you were speaking a secret language that only the two of you knew, and each time it filled you with comfort.

it was a cold christmas, but you felt the warmest you had been in a while– and, as luck would have it, so did gilbert.

four. when you climbed a tree.

and so summer rolled around again, fading into august. university loomed on the horizon. childhood was over- gone were the days of butterflies, bumblebees, and scraped knees. yet you could pretend, and so you did.

the soft salt breeze tickled your face, sending a pleasant feeling down your spine. you were with gilbert- on his farm, in the orchard. it was just the two of you- most of avonlea were in charlottetown for the island county fair, granting you the opportunity to do whatever you wanted, since no one was around to see.

so you took advantage of that. no more were the stolen glances, the sneaking around, your only physical touch with gilbert being brushed hands- and even then you’d both deemed it risky. neither of you wanted word to get around yet. sure, there had been rumors and some of your best friends knew (only the ones you were sure wouldn’t spread anything around). but here, now, the world was your oyster. and the two of you soaked it up blissfully.

you were lying on the grass with your head in gilbert’s lap, weaving a flower crown as he read a book- an old poetry collection ms stacy had lent him. the clouds were glorious fluffy shapes in the blue sky, and you pointed them out to gilbert every once in a while. your fingers deftly twined the daisies and their stems, finally tying them all together in a knot, creating a perfect circlet, and setting it teasingly on gilbert’s dark hair.

he smirked, leaving it on. “made it for me?”

“a pretty crown for a pretty boy,” you replied, smiling from your position in his lap. he was solid, sturdy, his hand resting securely on your waist. you felt safe with your body close to his, arms and legs intertwined. and he was pretty- “the prettiest boy in avonlea,” you said, mimicking his words to you from last christmas. he laughed and set the book down, taking the flower crown off and resting it gently on your hair. “it suits you,” gilbert said softly, and he was right.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, absorbing each other’s presence. you charted the rare freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose as if they were constellations, tracing them with the tip of your finger. it tickled him, and he smiled down at you. he finally returned to his book- “i want to read you something”- and blissfully, you obliged, settling down to listen.

“i almost wish we were butterflies and lived but three summer days- three such days with you i could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain,” gilbert read from the poetry collection in his lap, a break from the constant medical anatomy books he was usually seen carrying around. you recognized the fragment of poetry- “keats,” you said, “just like what you said to me last winter. when you gave me the necklace.”

a smile tugged at gilbert’s lips, and you pulled out the locket from under the neckline of your dress to show him. “i’ll never take it off,” you promised him, right then and there. “it’s like a little piece of you with me, all the time.”

“you better not,” he teased. “cost me a fortune, that one. even more than all of those romance books i’m always secretly buying you in town.”

you sat up and shoved him jokingly, tousling his dark curls to purposely peeve him. gilbert’s hair wasn’t tidy all that often, but he’d let it slip once that he always tried to make it look nice for you. struck by a sudden flash of inspiration, you jumped up. “let’s go pick some apples.”

the blythe orchard was infamous for their strawberry apples, the only place in avonlea where they were available. contrary to popular belief, this was simply a variant of apple, and not a strawberry hybrid. all too happy to appease you, gilbert took your hand and led you to the best tree on the land. most of the other boughs were still blooming with apple blossoms, but this tree was different.

he pointed to a low-hanging branch, one blessed with red fruit. “my father always picked the first apple on this tree in august,” he told you, tone contemplative and wistful. “he said this was the tree he kissed my mother under for the first time. he thought if the first apple of the season was picked here, at this tree, it brought the harvest luck.”

nostalgia flickered in gilbert’s eyes, and you knew he was missing his father more than usual. “let’s do it, then,” you said, finding your voice, fingers delicately intertwined with his- giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “we’ll each pick one. in honor of him. a new tradition.”

the words you’d spoken may have been simplistic, but to gilbert they meant the world. without his father, it had been so incredibly difficult at first to do anything- carry on old traditions, much less creating new ones. but here you were, by his side, looking up at him with adoring eyes, and giving him the opportunity to heal and grow. gilbert knew he could never put into words how much it truly meant to him.

you let him go first, watching him scamper up the tree like a squirrel. he seemed a boy again, plucking an apple from the highest bough and descending nimbly. when you started climbing, you found your footing easily, but doubt wracked your mind- imagine the horrors if mrs. lynde and her posse heard about this, climbing trees like a chimpanzee! - and so you opted for a lower branch, reaching it deftly. you reached for an apple and held it high victoriously. some hint of pride shone in gilbert’s eyes.

“to making new traditions,” he said- a toast with the notable absence of glasses brimming with champagne. “to making new traditions,” you repeated, and in that moment, you in the tree and him on the ground, you swore you could see hints of a future- one with new traditions and old traditions, little feet running around and everything in between. today was flawless.

and it would’ve been perfect, except for the sound of the branch cracking under your weight. you weren’t too high up in the tree, but inevitably, you landed on the ground, a crumpled heap of petticoats and ribbons, crying out softly upon impact.

you’d never seen gilbert this way, in ‘doctor mode’, simply put. he was immediately beside you, voice laced with concern, checking you over for scrapes and bruises. you were fine, mostly- just a little shaken up and scared, save for the red-hot throbbing in your wrist. the pain didn’t exactly warrant crying, but you weren’t used to the funny feeling, and tears welled in your waterline anyways. gilbert, telling you to take deep breaths, helped you sit up.

he’d noticed straightaway the way you held you wrist, cradling it slightly away from your body, and murmuring words of comfort, he started prodding your knuckles, gently examining the swollen area. you winced, but it wasn’t too bad. “i don’t think it’s broken,” gilbert said finally, deeming it a sprain after careful inspection. “but let’s get you back home. i have some bandages- i’ll wrap it just in case.”

tears threatened to spill over again as the two of you walked from the orchard to his home. gilbert noticed, and stopped. “hey,” he said softly. “it’s okay. i’ll make you some herbal tea. that should help with the pain a bit.”

“it’s not that,” you made out, a small pout forming on your lips. “we were having such a wonderful day, gil, and i ruined it all. i’m sorry.”

“whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, his brow furrowing. “you didn’t ruin anything. you got hurt, it happens. and we have the rest of the afternoon to be together- i’ll tell you what, how about once we get back to the farmhouse, we’ll make the most of it, okay? we can still have some fun.”

a wobbly smile formed on your lips, and you nodded. gilbert cupped your face gently, and looked into your eyes. “i love you,” he said, voice nervous but firm. “just let me take care of you.”

your heart caught in your throat. he’d never said that before. contrary to the rumors, he hadn’t even kissed you properly yet. “i love you too,” you whispered, voice hoarse. and before you could think about it too much, you went up on your tiptoes and pressed a small kiss to gilbert’s lips.

they were soft and sweet and filled with promise and hope, and he leaned into it, your bodies closer than they’d ever been. his hands ghosted the small of your back, your hips, your shoulders, and it felt like home. when you finally pulled apart, there was a twinkle in his eye you’d never seen before. a twinkle of something called joy.

when you got back to the farmhouse, he finally settled you on the couch, comfortably sipping a cup of tea and trying wholeheartedly to braid your hair. he’d always wanted to learn, and since you were currently unable to do it yourself, he deemed it the perfect opportunity. it made you laugh- his fingers, usually nimble and clever, were clumsy in your locks, and the braid you ended up with was slightly sloppy, but filled with adoration. a realization fluttered through your mind, and set its claws into your future. you loved gilbert- gilbert loved you- and though you wouldn’t say it out loud, at least not for several years, he would make a wonderful husband.

five. when you said “i do”.

the spring skies were blue today- flowers were blooming- grass was green. “a lovely day for a wedding,” mrs. lynde had told marilla that morning, and all of avonlea agreed.

you were walking down the aisle in a few minutes, getting ready in reverence. a delicate white veil lay on your hair, the one passed down through your family for almost a century. the lace dress fit you perfectly, intricate embroidery accentuating your waist. your mother’s simple pearl earrings adorned your ears, glowing in the morning light. in your hands were a bouquet- a single spray of forget-me-nots, periwinkle blue, an ode to gilbert’s father, who had loved them so. and at the same time, a tribute to your past together, that awful rainy day after the funeral filled with grief and tears and emotion, yet what had brought you closer together. something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. all was well. you were ready.

the springtime realm of gilbert’s yard was immersed in devotion. petals decorated the grass down the aisle. your dearest friends and family observed, and the wedding itself passed in the blink of an eye. there was not a dry eye during the vows, and gilbert’s words were even more poetic than you had ever hoped. he promised to love you- to care for you- in sickness and in health, to be your rock. it was not the fanciest wedding- there were no messes of tulle and satin and roses- but it was yours, and you couldn’t be happier.

you were husband and wife. the dawn had come anew. and that night, when gilbert fell asleep watching you breathe, finding solace in the rise and fall of your chest, he knew without a doubt that he would do it all over again.

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embroid-away · 1 year

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What If: Captain America Were Revived Today? #44 (April 1983) by Peter B. Gillis and Sal Buscema; Original Image by John Romita Sr.

In this What If? Marvel tale, Captain America is unfrozen in 1983 rather than the 1960s. Without the leadership of Steve Rogers, The Avengers disband. Meanwhile, a Captain America imposter, who calls himself a "real American," has decided to use his newfound influential media status to publicly support a National Identity Card to "deal with illegal aliens,” to suggest that members of civil rights groups "ought to think seriously as to whether or not their actions contribute to the strengthening of communist enemies," and declare that if those groups tear the country apart with protests, martial law is justified "for the peace to find a solution.”

Neighborhoods with large black populations (e.g., Harlem) are walled off and forced into poverty, and one character even mentions that Jewish people are being “put back into camps.” The right-wing politicians make sure that things like this aren’t shown on television, keeping the majority of the American public ignorant of the horrors committed with their indifferent support. The public are simultaneously told that with some sacrifices, America can be free once again. The fake Captain America confronts a group of peaceful protestors, and he is shot by a sniper (in what reads like an inside job), allowing the police to have “reason” to attack the protestors. The imposter does not die and instead uses the attack to provide more reason for the violent crackdown against protesting groups.

When the true Captain America is unfrozen, he is horrified to see what America has become, especially with his emblem stamped all over it. He immediately seeks out the resistance forces (who clearly represent the Black Panther Party) and joins their cause, stating that "the wrongs [he's] seen will take much more than one man to right -- but [he's] got a name to clear, a costume to unsoil-- and a country to die for!!"

By the time Steve joins them, the resistance only has one chance left to stop the American downfall: a political convention where the "America First" party will be able to secure its support to sweep the national elections and allow them "to return America to the pure and great nation [the] forefathers envisioned."

The resistance strikes just as the convention begins. The Captain America imposter is no match in a fight against the true Captain America -- especially against a Steve Rogers who's fucking pissed. ("Get up so I can knock you down!!")

With the imposter knocked unconscious, Captain America addresses the convention crowd, warning that an America that does not represent all its people does not deserve to exist at all; that liberty can be "as easily snuffed out [in America] as in Nazi Germany" and "as a people, we are no different from them."

The crowd realizes that the man speaking before them is the true Captain America and cheers. Captain America holds his hand up and silences them, stating that he will not allow them the chance to simply replace one idol with another. He alone can’t undo the horrible damage, and he pleads that there’s still a chance for the people to “find America once again.”

Fascism doesn’t change its tune, just its singers.

A 2021 Marvel Trumps Hate ( @marveltrumpshate ) commission, completed on 22-count aida cloth with embroidery floss and watercolors on a 9" diameter bamboo hoop.

#captain america #Steve Rogers #hand embroidery #fuck fascism #if you don't think cap says 'trans rights' then you're a fascist #i reread the issue to write the summary and it is a powerful stand-alone story #40 years later and still relevant #a part of me was worried that it wouldn't translate well to current events and.... welp #the commissioner asked that i make one minor change of 'freedom of all men' to 'freedom of all people'#i think that is a very appropriate update and i think 2023 cap (and good cap writer) would support the change #i know this is a super long post with a lot of image text -- if someone wrote Image ID text for me I'd be super grateful and i'll reblog it!#embroidery art #textile arts #embroidery #needlework #needlecraft #comics #mixed media #my work #also just let it be known that the first thing steve rogers says when he wakes up is:#'all right nazis! what have you done with Bucky?!'#(the Bucky in the issue is a fake too)#(the real Bucky will still be dead for another 20 years :(((((( )

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derangedangel · 9 months

Text

Forgive and Forget - Elijah Mikaelson

Summary: Elijah compels you to forget him then you run into him in New Orleans

Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Word Count: 5,331

Author’s Note: This has been in my drafts since 2020 lol. I only thought about it because I’m going to a TVD Con this month and I’m seeing Daniel Gillies again so I started re-reading Elijah fics and remembered this bad boy. Also this is my first Elijah fic! Reblogs and comments are appreciated. Dividers are from @firefly-graphics

Elijah knew what he had to do and he hated himself for it. He always wanted to give you a choice. For you to make your own decisions. But for this, he had to take things into his own hands.

“What’s wrong, Elijah,” you asked staring into his brown eyes instantly knowing something wasn’t right. You reached up, running your hands through his hair.

“I- I’m sorry,” he replied, his eyes glossing over with unshed tears.

You shook your head confused. “Sorry about what?”

Elijah’s eyes dilated before he spoke. “You are going to forget me.”

“No,” you said in disbelief as you shook your head. “No, Elijah, don’t do this.”

Elijah ignored your pleas and held your head firmly in his hands so you couldn’t look away. “You will have no memory of us, or the times we have shared. You won’t remember that vampires exist, or who Elijah Mikaleson is.” He paused as he stared into your eyes slowly forgetting your whole relationship with him. “You will make new friends, and find love.”

Elijah constantly thought of you. Even now in New Orleans while Klaus was plotting against the witches, he wondered how you were doing. After he compelled you to forget him, he would occasionally check on you. One day he went back to the town you lived in and you were gone. No trace of where you went. He thought it was for the best. It felt like torture every time he went back and wasn’t able to speak to you. Plus with Klaus regularly making a new enemy, he didn’t need anyone finding out about you and using you against him.

New Orleans was packed for Mardi Gras. Tourist and locals made there way through the streets and Elijah was over it. All he wanted to do was was go home, but he had to keep an eye out on the witches. He made his way down Bourbon to check on one of the voodoo shops. That’s when he saw you... well he thinks it’s you. Although it had only been a few years and it could have very well been you, he was in denial. New Orleans was a popular vacation destination, especially during Mardi Gras, but for some reason he felt like he saw a ghost.

Elijah quickly changed course and followed the person he thought was you. Of all the bars you could have went into, you choose Rousseau’s. He followed the back of your head and the small group of women you were with. Weaving in and out of people you found a table and he finally caught a glimpse of your profile. Elijah’s breath hitched and he felt as the whole bar went silent. It was you.

You were just as beautiful as ever. Besides your hair being slightly different, you looked exactly as you did the day he compelled you.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” a voice said next to Elijah but he didn’t take his eyes off you.

“Good evening, Camille.”

Camille glanced at you then back at Elijah. She would have told him to just go over and talk to you, but she knew the trouble the Mikaelsons caused, and didn’t want to put a stranger through that.

“The tourist are starting to get worried about a creepy man in a suit staring at some woman plotting on how he can kidnap her.”

Elijah finally stopped gaping at you and looked at Camille. “I just came in for a drink.”

“Mmhmm... right,” Camille said then went over to the bar to pour Elijah’s usual drink.

Elijah sat at the bar much longer than he should have. He watched you laugh with your friends. He noticed small quirks that you used to have years ago. How you would twirl your necklace in between your fingers as you told a story. How your lips would quiver when you tried to hold in a laugh before you would burst out giggling as you tossed your head back.

Everything was find until a man approached your table. His eyes were set on you and Elijah hated it. He wanted so badly not to listen in on your conversation. He had no right. Then he saw you get up and he just had to hear what you were saying.

“Let’s step outside.”

Elijah was on his feet in an instant. He tossed down some cash to pay for his drink and tip Camille, then he followed you outside. The streets were still crowded, but no one seemed to notice you walking the man into the alley.

You pushed the man against the wall and a flash of excitement with a mix of nervousness grew in the man’s eyes. Elijah watched you whisper something to the man as he stepped closer. Then suddenly you turned around and shoved Elijah against the wall on the other side of the alley.

“Why are you- Elijah,” you said totally confused.

“Y/N,” Elijah said at the same time you spoke, equally as lost as you were.

“What are you...,” you said in a low voice.

“What’s happening,” the man you were about to feed from asked. His voice shaky and scared.

You rolled your eyes then turned around to compel him.

“You will forget meeting me and this little encounter in the alley. Go back to your friends and find some other woman to flirt with.”

You watched the man walk away, sighing before turning back towards Elijah.

“Y/N... what happened to you?”

“Isn’t it obvious,” you said shrugging. “Super speed. The ability to compel.”

Elijah huffed. “I know you’re a vampire, Y/N. But the last time I saw you, you were human and living a happy life.”

You crossed your arms over your chest giving Elijah a slightly annoyed look. “And the last time I saw you, you compelled me to forget about you and our relationship.”

Elijah looked down, guilt filling his eyes as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “It’s not my proudest moment, but I assure you I had my reasons.”

“Please do enlighten me.”

He licked his lips before he spoke, taking time with his words. “An alley doesn’t seem like the best place to have this conversation.”

You sighed annoyed at the original. “Fine. Let me go tell my friends I’m leaving first.”

Elijah followed you back into the bar and waited for you at the door while you told your friends you were heading out early. He watched you say something to the women around the small table, then they all turned towards the door to look at him. Elijah was normally a very composed man, but seeing four sets of eyes land on him after his ex told them she was going with him to talk had him a little nervous.

“Lead the way,” you said after you walked back to Elijah.

The walk was awkward and quiet, neither of you wanting to speak first. You weren’t sure where he was taking you, or if he wanted to wait until you got there to talk. After a few minutes, you made it to Jackson Square. Since it was late in the evening, all the street performers were gone and the tourist with them. There were just a few people roaming the streets. Elijah walked over to a bench and you took that as your queue to sit.

“I’m not quite sure where to start,” Elijah said as he unbuttoned his suit jacket to sit down next to you.

“How about why you compelled me to forget about you... about us,” you replied, hurt dripping from your words. Although it happened years ago, and you thought you already dealt with it, seeing Elijah hurt more than you wanted to lead on.

“There’s so much you don’t know, Y/N,” Elijah said fiddling with his collar now.

“Then tell me,” you said making him make eye contact with him. “I’m not some naïve little girl. Don’t beat around the bush, just tell me.”

“Do you remember me ever speaking of my brother Niklaus?”

“Yeah, you didn’t talk much about any of your family. I could tell there was something wrong, but I didn’t want to push. You would tell me when you were ready.”

“Well, Niklaus is my half brother. His biological father was a werewolf. So while the rest of my siblings and I were vampires, he was a hybrid. But our mother hid that from him. She put a curse on him to make his werewolf side dormant. For centuries my brother tried to break the curse, but he needed the doppelganger.”

“Doppelganger,” you asked completely confused as to what that was and why he was telling you all of this.

“A double of the woman my mother used to suppress his werewolf abilities. They are apart of the same bloodline, so her blood could be used to reverse the curse.”

“Okay... so what does this have to do with us?”

“I received word that a new doppelganger was in Mystic Falls. I needed to get to her before Klaus did because I planned to use her against my brother.”

Elijah paused for a moment giving you time to interrupt. “Use her against him? Why? That’s your brother.”

“My brother has done a lot of harm in his thousand years of living. Most to others who stood in his way, but also to our family. Because of his hybrid nature, he is able to dagger our family. He told me he through our siblings' coffins into the sea. I wanted revenge.”

“Your brother sounds like an ass,” you said. Now you were facing Elijah more on the bench. You head was propped up on your head as you leaned against the bench, with you legs curled underneath you.

Elijah chuckled under his breath. “That he is. But I knew I couldn’t seek the revenge I wanted with you in my life. Niklaus would use you against me and I could not have you be put at risk because me.”

“So you made me forget,” you said slowly gazing up at him.

“I made you forget,” Elijah said looking off into the distance. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and loosened his tie. Although the two of you were outside, the air felt thick to him.

“Look, Elijah, I’m not trying to rekindle an old flame or anything. I just need closure. Why couldn’t you have just told me all this then? Let me remember you, or our relationship, or vampires at the least. Maybe I wouldn’t be what I am now.”

“Y/N, I know you,” Elijah said looking at you now. “You wouldn’t have accepted that it was just over. I couldn’t have you come looking for me and get pulled into my mayhem.”

“Maybe,” you muttered.

“Now that we’ve discussed that, can you inform me on how you-”

“Became a vampire,” you interrupted and he nodded. You sighed pulling your legs from underneath you, leaning forward onto your knees. “There was a guy. We had gone out a few times and I decided he wasn’t that great. He was possessive and spiteful. He didn’t like that I was ending things. So he forced his blood into my mouth then snapped my neck and left.”

“I am so sorry, Y/N,” Elijah said somberly. He felt like he should have been there to stop it.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“Like you said, maybe if I didn’t compel you to forget about-”

“Elijah...,” you sighed closing your eyes for a moment. “You’ll drive yourself crazy wondering about the what if’s.” Neither one of you spoke for a moment, but the silence wasn’t awkward like it was before.

“You’re a thousand years old, so I don’t know if you remember what it’s like when you first turn. Everything is loud and bright. It’s all too much. Thank goodness I had Melissa, or I would have been completely lost. But after I had blood and I completed the transition, my memories started to come back. The compulsion wore off and I was so confused. At first I remembered you compelling me, then everything came back like lightening. I was a wreak. I didn’t understand why you did it. A year of my life was back and I didn’t even realize it was missing.”

Although you tried not to, your eyes began to glaze over with tears. Elijah wanted nothing more than to comfort you in that moment. But he knew he couldn’t, because although you said it wasn’t his fault, he knew it was.

You let out a long breath trying to compose yourself. You refused to cry. “You hurt me, Elijah. And having my emotions heightened made things so much worse.”

“Y/N, I am so sorry for the pain that I caused you. My intention was only to protect you. People tend to get hurt around me and I thought I was doing the right thing.”

You reached up, placing your hand on Elijah’s cheek, stroking his face with your thumb. “Thank you,” you said sighing. “And I know you would never intentionally hurt me.”

“I wish I could go back and do things differently,” Elijah said somberly leaning into your hand.

You pulled you hand away and placed it on your lap. “We can’t though. I’ve learned you can’t change the pass a long time ago.” The two of you were quiet again. Both of you lost in thought of what could have been. “So... whatever happened with your brother?”

Elijah ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. “I stopped seeking my revenge once he told me he still had our siblings' coffins. I had to work with him in order to get them back.”

“And did you get them back?”

“I did. Also, my brother Niklaus is here in New Orleans.”

“So you forgave him,” you asked shocked that his brother was still in his life.

“Our relationship is complicated. I want nothing more than for my brother to return to the man he used to be. To enjoy life. Not paranoid everyone and thing is against him.”

“That’s a lot for one person to take on. You can’t be solely responsible for your brother’s redemption.”

“I am not-”

“You are, Elijah. I don’t even know the full story and I can already tell your burdening yourself with this.”

“My brother is not a burden.”

You turned your head glaring at him. “Your brother told you he through your siblings into the ocean. You planned to get revenge, but he had them all along. Then even after you got your siblings back, you’re still around him. He sounds toxic.”

“I was not there for him when he needed me when we were human. I feel responsible for his pain.”

“You can’t keep living with this guilt,” you said placing your hand on his knee. “I wish you would have felt comfortable enough to tell me this when we were dating.”

“I didn’t want to concern you with my problems.”

“We were in a relationship. We were supposed to be able to confide in each other. I would have understood.”

There was a brief pause before Elijah spoke up. “Like you said... we can’t change the past. There’s no use in rehashing what happened.”

You nodded agreeing with your ex. “You’re right.”

You and Elijah stared at each other for a moment. The silence wasn’t awkward. There was an understanding between the two of you now.

Elijah broke the silence first. “I suppose I should get you back to your friends.”

You sighed, breaking eye contact, “Uh, yeah. I told them I would meet them at the hotel.”

“Which hotel are you staying at,” Elijah asked as he adjusted his suit so he was pristine again. “I’ll walk you.”

“I can walk myself back to my hotel, Elijah,” you said looking up at him. “I’m a big scary vampire now. I can take care of myself.”

“You’ve always been able to take care of yourself, Y/N,” he replied. A small smile graced his lips, but it was just enough to make your heart flutter. “I would just prefer to walk you to make sure you make it back safe.”

“Still the gentleman I see,” you said beginning to walk, Elijah stepping in time with you.

“For you? Always.” He held out his arm for you to take. You looked at him hesitantly, not wanting to confuse what was going on here. Then you wrapped your arm around his and he led you to your hotel.

After the run in with your ex, your friends and you decided you would spend the day sightseeing. Hopefully, you wouldn’t run into Elijah doing the cliché touristy attractions. You ended up running into a local vampire. He was cute, so your friends said you should keep him around. You didn’t have any problems with it. He was handsome and he knew the ends and outs of New Orleans. He even told you all about a party with a fresh blood supply you could crash the next night.

Elijah was lurking on the balcony when he saw you. You were dancing with two of your friends and... Marcel. Elijah set his bourbon down while he stared at you intently. It was bad enough you were at the party his brother insisted on throwing to make the local vampires happy, but you were with Marcel, too.

“The party seems to be going well. The vampires are more than happy and it seems a new young vampire in town has caught your eye.”

“I am just keeping an eye on everyone. The last thing we need besides the witches plotting against us, are the vampires wreaking havoc as well.”

“If you say so...,” Klaus said lingering by the stairs before he went down to the party. “But your eyes haven’t left her since you noticed her. Lying does not become you, Elijah.”

Elijah watched you for a while longer. He watched as your friends left you and Marcel alone. It mad him furious. He waited until Marcel finally left your side before he came down stairs and approached you.

“Elijah, what are you doing here,” you asked surprised. You thought the last time you saw him was going to be it for your trip, but you should have known better.

“This is my home. My brother Klaus is throwing the party.”

“Right...,” you said sighing. This was just your luck.

“Here’s your drink, Y/N,” Marcel said coming from behind you with your glass in his hand.

“Elijah,” Marcel said acknowledging the Original in the room.

“Marcel,” Elijah greeted as he placed his hand in his pocket.

“Of course you know each other,” you mumbled under your breath but you knew they both could hear you.

“Marcellus is an old family friend,” Elijah replied.

“Friend is being nice,” Marcel said more to Elijah than to you. “You know Elijah,” Marcel turned to you and asked.

“He’s my ex,” you huffed out.

“Ex,” Marcel repeated questioningly.

“It was before I was a vampire, so it feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Marcel,” a new voice who you didn’t recognize said. “I see you’re having a good time. Made a new friend as well. Enjoying the party, love?”

“I was... and who might you be?”

Elijah spoke up before the stranger could answer. “This is my brother, Niklaus.”

“My brother is being too formal,” Niklaus said with an unsettling grin. “Call me Klaus.”

“So you’re the great Klaus Mikaelson I’ve heard so much about.” You looked at him up and down. “I pictured you taller.”

“It appears you have me at a disadvantage. You seem to know about me, yet I know nothing of you,” Klaus said curiously.

You glanced at Elijah before looking back at Klaus. “I guess your brother failed to mention his ex-girlfriend was in town. I’m Y/N,” you said reaching your hand out to Klaus.

Klaus gladly accepted your hand with a surprised look on his face as he shook. “Ex-girlfriend? Must have slipped my dear brother’s mind.”

“Must have,” you smirked.

“Well, now that we’ve all become acquainted, I should get Y/N back over to her friends,” Marcel said trying to end this whole awkward encounter.

“What’s the rush,” Klaus said a little to intrigued by the whole situation.

“Don’t you have some witches to go check on,” Elijah asked trying to get his brother’s attention else where.

“Now why would I do that when the entertainment is right here? Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems, Y/N, right,” Klaus asked pointing to you and you squinted at him. “Y/N, came here with my former protégé with no knowledge that it was actually her old flame’s party they were attending.”

“Niklaus,” Elijah said tight lipped.

“Now what are the odds of that happening? I for one, would love to hear more about the woman that captured my brother’s heart and the eye of my sire.”

“She is none of your concern, brother.”

Klaus raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine by me. I know when I’m not wanted,” Klaus said smirking before he walked away.

“Y/N, I think it’s best that you-,” Elijah began to say but you cut him off.

“I don’t really care what you think is best for me, Elijah.” You shook your head completely over this night. “Marcel, can you please take me anywhere else in New Orleans that isn’t here?”

“I’d be delighted too,” Marcel said then held out his arm for you to take which you gladly did.

The two of you found your friends then quickly left the party. A hurt Elijah left behind you.

It had been three months since your girls trip to New Orleans and you hadn’t stopped thinking of Elijah since. You hated it. You told your friends you wanted nothing to do with the original who erased your memories of him.

Honestly, you were fine with Elijah before you ran into him. You never thought much of him. But now, he was constantly in the back of your mind like gum stuck on the bottom of your shoe. How was he doing? Was he thinking of you like you were of him?

The overthinking wouldn’t stop. Which is why you were in New Orleans searching for Elijah.

You were planning on going straight to the place you saw him last, his home, but your nerves got the best of you so you went to a bar for a drink first. The tequila stung the back of your throat as it went down, but it helped ease your anxiety, so you didn’t mind it.

“Long time no see,” a voice said from behind you. You turned around smiling at the familiar face.

“Marcel.”

“Y/N,” he said smiling that thousand watt smiled that you knew would pull any girl in a hundred mile radius. “I didn’t think I would be seeing you again.”

“I didn’t think I’d be back in New Orleans anytime soon,” you replied. You held up your empty glass to the bartender so she would refill it. Marcel sat down on the stool next to you.

“What brings you back?”

You sighed before taking a sip of your refreshed drink and Marcel immediately knew the answer.

“Elijah?”

“Elijah,” you answered.

“From the way you were at the party, I didn’t think you wanted anything to do him.”

“I didn’t either.”

“So what happened,” Marcel asked curious.

You shook your head slowly trying to gather your thoughts. “He was in my head,” you said softly. “I missed him.”

“The Mikaelsons have a way of doing that to you,” Marcel replied not making eye contact with you.

You looked at him slightly confused before he spoke again. “Rebekah.”

“Oh yeah... Elijah did mention a sister. What happened with her?”

“Klaus,” Marcel answered, an annoyed tone to his voice.

“Ah, same boat I see. Elijah ended things with me because he thought Klaus would use me against him.”

“No man was good enough for Klaus Mikaelson’s little sister. Not even his own sire that he raised.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah,” Marcel replied then held up his hand so the bartender would pour him his usual.

You sighed. “Well, maybe it’ll work out one day. We’re vampires. We’ve got the time.”

“Only if Klaus allows it,” Marcel said somberly as he watched the bartender fill his glass.

“He’s bound to find someone for himself eventually and stop worrying about his siblings so much. We just gotta have hope,” you said patting him on the back.

“Well, here’s to hope,” Marcel replied, holding his glass up to clink to yours.

After your run in with Marcel and some liquid ammunition, you finally made it to Elijah’s home. You went to the front door, but your least favorite Mikaelson answered. Which said a lot because you had only met two of them.

“Is Elijah here,” you asked looking behind Klaus.

“He’s not, but I can entertain you until he arrives,” Klaus replied with a mischievous smirk on his face.

You grimaced making eye contact with the hybrid. “I think I’ll pass. Can you tell him I stopped by please?”

Klaus crossed his arms over his chest. “Now why should I do that, love? From what I was told, you left New Orleans months ago on bad terms with him. And before that, he compelled you to forget him. I’m not sure if my brother should be troubled with your return.”

You rolled your eyes as you sighed. “I’m not about to get into it with you, Niklaus,” you said putting too much emphasis on his name. His demeanor quickly changed to annoyance. “I’m positive all you know is that I’m Elijah’s ex and he’s told you nothing else about me. And I’m not about to through him under the bus, but you’re the reason why he compelled me to forget him. He thought once you found out about me, I would be in danger. So all this is your fault.”

“I would watch your tone if I were you,” Klaus said as he took a step closer to you. He was obviously trying to intimidate you.

“Look, I’m not here to start trouble between you and your brother. And I’m not trying to cause any stress in Elijah’s life. I just need him to know how I feel.” Your tone softened before you spoke the last part. “I care about him.”

Klaus huffed, holding eye contact with you. You obviously cared deeply about his brother if you were standing your ground with him. Or you were incredibly stupid. “I’ll let him know you stopped by,” Klaus said reluctantly.

“Thank you,” you said.

You turned around and left the compound. You were so worried about what you would say to Elijah when you saw him, you didn’t consider what would happen if he wasn’t home. What would he think when Klaus told him you were in New Orleans?

As you mind was running a mile a minute, you were turning the corner and bumped into a strong chest.

“Oh my God, I’m so-,” you started to say until you looked up and saw the man you came all the way to New Orleans for. “Elijah, hi.”

“Good afternoon, Y/N,” Elijah said as poised as ever. It was like he wasn’t even surprised to see you.

“How’ve you been,” you asked fidgeting in your spot.

“I’ve been well. And you?”

“I can’t complain,” you replied. You paused looking around. Why was this so awkward? “Um, do you think we could go somewhere and talk? Get a drink maybe?”

“Are you sure Marcel wouldn’t mind?”

“Marcel,” you repeated the name confused. “Why would Marcel care?”

“I assume you are in New Orleans for him,” Elijah said while he adjusted his suit, not making any eye contact with you.

“What,” you asked completely baffled. “No, I came to New Orleans for you.”

Elijah’s eyes went wide looking back at you. “For me? Forgive me, but I saw you and Marcel earlier, so I assumed-”

You chuckled interrupting him. “You should know better than to assume anything, Elijah. I ran into Marcel at the bar when I was getting some liquid courage to come talk to you.”

Elijah titled his head to the side. “Why did you need courage to talk to me?”

“Uhh,” you began then started rubbing the back of your neck. “Because I needed to tell you how I felt.”

He took a small step towards you. “And how do you feel?”

You shuffled on your feet nervously looking into Elijah’s brown eyes as they bore into your own. “I missed you. I got the closure that I wanted, but then I realized I didn’t want closure... I wanted you.”

Elijah’s mouth opened slightly in surprise. You blinked waiting for him to say something, anything at all, but it didn’t come quick enough. You looked away, avoiding Elijah’s death stare. Your stomach turning every millisecond.

“Can you say something,” you asked quietly.

“I’m sorry... I just-”

“God, I’m so stupid,” you interrupted him talking to yourself. “Just ignore me and pretend this didn’t happen,” you said to him and quickly turned on your feet to get as far away from Elijah and New Orleans as possible.

Elijah grabbed your hand and pulled you back to face him. “Wait, Y/N, you didn’t let me finish.”

You were only inches from Elijah’s face and on the verge of tears. Maybe you should have taken another shot to make this easier.

“I was going to say,” Elijah continued as he let go of your hand and slowly placed it on your waist, “that I wasn’t expecting you to feel the same way.��

Your breath caught in your throat as you blinked up at him confused.

“I want you, too,” Elijah said with a small smile on his face.

Your eyes grew as you felt a weight lift off your chest. You chuckled in disbelief. “You do,” you asked softly.

“More than anything,” Elijah said wrapping his other hand around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

Your chest filled with joy at his words. A big smile forming on your face. You placed your hands on his chest, the two of you moving in closer. Your lips were centimeters apart when you suddenly stepped back, pushing Elijah away.

“Wait,” you said, Elijah looking down at you worried. “You have to promise me, you won’t do anything like that again. If things get hard or trouble is coming, and you think I can’t handle it, you come to me. Talk to me. You can’t make decisions about us without me being involved.”

Elijah’s brows knitted into a frown. “I will never do that again,” Elijah said seriously. He reached up and cupped your cheek into his hand. “You have my word.”

You nuzzled you face into his hand, looking up at him with doe eyes. “You have to say promise.”

Elijah chuckled, looking down at you lovingly. You missed having him look at you like that. “I promise.”

You stood up straight, taking your hand off his chest and held it out to him with your pinky sticking out. “Pinky promise.”

Elijah’s smile grew so wide, his eyes crinkled. The hand that was holding your face was now extended, his pinky hooking with yours. “Pinky promise.”

“Good,” you said relieved. You unhooked your pinkies and reached up, wrapping your hand around the back of Elijah’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

Elijah was caught off guard for a moment at how quickly you moved, but your lips were on his and he easily returned your kiss.

His lips were soft against yours but the kiss was rough. His breath was minty while yours had a hint of leftover tequila. Elijah’s hands tightened on your waist, trying to pull you closer even though it was impossible. He had lost you once, and he’d be damned if it happened again.

#Elijah Mikaelson x reader #TVD #the vampire diaries #the originals #the originals fanfiction #tvd fanfiction #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikealson imagine

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rosielou94 · 6 months

Text

Special Someone - Gilly Lopez - Reader

A/N: I think Gilly is such an underrated character and there aren't many fics about him, so here's the start a new series I've got planned.

Warnings: Angst, friends to lovers (kind of), Reader is full of self-doubt, Reader cheated on by ex.

Words: 2,017

Your eyes were red from crying, your mouth numb from the pint of ice cream you’d forced down yourself in an attempt to cheer yourself up, and the episode of Friends where Ross drinks all the margaritas was playing on your TV. Usually, this episode had you laughing out loud, but today you weren’t finding much funny.

The call had come about 2 hours earlier, your ex telling you he was ending things. You felt so stupid, you’d seen this coming from a mile away when he started pulling away, dropping out of dates last minute and being extra secretive with his phone. “Who is she?” you’d asked her, your throat tight with tears you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of shedding. “You don’t know her,” he said, the smile on his face visible in his voice. He was enjoying this, the sick fuck. Everyone had warned you about him, but you were so tired of being alone, you forced yourself to believe he was a good man. He didn't even have the decency to break up with you face to face! You heard the laughter of a woman in the background, the sound of lips against skin. This son of a bitch! You ended the call there and then, not needing to hear what happened next.

You blamed yourself, really. You knew what he was like, but all your friends from high school were getting married and starting families, and you were still renting a tiny apartment owned by an old college roommate’s uncle, approaching your 30’s and painfully aware your biological clock was ticking. Your ex had been handsome, and charismatic, and he’d promised you the world, and you stupidly believed him. Maybe you’d just get a couple of cats, resign yourself to the life of a spinster and take up knitting. This failed relationship was the last in a very long line and you were tired of being taken advantage of.

Just as you were hauling yourself off the sofa for more ice cream, your phone lit up, and Gilly’s name popped up. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you saw the goofy picture of him that you’d set as his profile picture flash across your phone screen. You could do with hearing a friendly voice. “Hey Gilly” you said, you voice hoarse from crying. “What’s up? Has something happened?” Gilly’s concerned tone was evidence of how well this man knew you. Certainly, better than you knew yourself. “Nothin’,” you lied, “I was just napping. How’re you?” “You’re a liar, but sure,” Gilly could read you like a fucking book. “You still coming to the party tonight?” Shit! You’d completely forgotten about the cook-out at the Club House tonight. You’d told Gilly you’d go weeks ago, but now as you sat in your ice-cream stained pyjamas, your face red and puffy from crying, you didn’t feel like partying. “Oh, umm…” you racked your brain, thinking of an excuse to use. “Great!” Gilly didn’t give you time to bail out, sensing you needed this night as much as the MC did. “I’ll pick you up at 7.” The line went dead, and you let out a loud sigh. Guess I’m going to a party.

At 7pm on the dot, Gilly turned up at your apartment. This man was impeccable with his time keeping. You were still running around your apartment with one Doc Marten on, trying desperately to find the other. Your green satin dress already had a stain on from the glass of wine you’d poured yourself while you were getting ready, and God knows where your leather jacket was. Gilly watched you with amusement from the doorway. He’d already spotted your Doc Marten half sticking out from underneath your sofa, and your leather jacket was crumpled underneath the dozen scatter cushions you had stacked on your armchair. Stepping forward, he grabbed the shoe and jacket, pressing them gently into your hands. “Just breathe,” he smiled, taking in your flushed appearance. You thought you looked a mess, but to Gilly, you looked beautiful. Hell, you could be wearing a potato sack and he’d still think you were the most beautiful woman. He could tell from the empty ice-cream pots, and the fact that Friends was playing on the TV that something had happened, and he would bet money that it had to do with that dickhead of a boyfriend. You were too good for that waste of space, and Gilly wanted nothing more than to take the piece of shit far out into the desert where no one would find him. But he cared about you too much to do anything like that. He’d peacefully said his part when you first got together with the sleazebag, but he knew that saying or doing anything more would just push you away. Your shoe on and your jacket slung over your shoulders, you puffed out a breath of air and smiled. “Ready. Sorry for the delay.” “You look amazing. It’s gonna be a good night, ok?” Gilly affectionately kissed the top of your head and handed you a spare bike helmet. “Let’s go.”

As you rode through the streets of Santo Padre, the warm summer air blowing your hair in tendrils behind you, your arms gripped round Gilly’s waist, you couldn’t help but notice the strength of this man. He smelled of cologne, leather and fresh laundry and you relaxed against his broad frame, feeling content. Pulling into the Club House, the party was already in full flow, the smell of BBQ wafting through the warm evening air. Your stomach grumbled, despite the 400 pints of ice-cream you’d consumed that afternoon, and you were already eyeing up the burgers Riz was flipping. Gilly pressed a beer into your hand and held out a chair for you. He sat down next to you, his hulking frame barely fitting in the camping chair. “You wanna talk about it?” He asked quietly, taking a swig of beer. “We broke up,” you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. “I knew it was coming.” A choking sob escaped you and quickly took a gulp of your beer, refusing to cry again. “I was an idiot,” you mumbled, picking at a loose thread on your dress. “No.” Gilly shook his head firmly. “The only idiot is that asshole. You’re funny, and smart, and kind, and so beautiful. You were way too good for that guy.” “You think so?” You smiled, looking up at your friend. His eyes were so kind, his smile so broad and genuine. He pulled you in close, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head. “I know so.” Gilly laughed as your stomach let out an all-mighty rumble again. “Come on, let’s grab you some food before you die of starvation.”

A few hours later, Gilly watched you and Letty chatting around the fire pit. You were laughing hard, your cheeks flushed from the heat of the fire and the beers you’d been drinking. You looked so happy, so carefree, and Gilly wished you could always be this way. You had demons; hell, everyone at this fucking party did, but Gilly so badly wanted to take them away. You didn’t deserve any of the shit that had happened to you over the years and seeing you smile was the sweetest thing. “Close your mouth and quit staring. You look like a fucking predator.” Bishop clipped Gilly round the ear, knocking him from his trance. “Nah man-,” Gilly started, embarrassed he’d been caught out. “Just go talk to her,” Bishop said, his arm around the waist of a girl who’d been trying to get Gilly’s attention for most of the night. After numerous failed attempts to seduce him, she’d moved on to Bishop, who’d only been too happy to pick up the pieces. Spurred on by the many drinks he’d had that night, and a good hard shove in the back from Bishop, Gilly headed over to you.

“Hey, you having a good night?” Gilly approached you, his palms sweaty, feeling like a nervous teenager. He aways felt like this around you; giddy, but scared shitless in case he made a fool of himself. “Hey,” you stood up and pulled him into a hug, “thank you for making me come tonight. It’s been really great, and I feel so much better.” Gilly’s heart swelled as you spoke, pulling you in for an even tighter hug. You squealed as he span you around, your feet lifting off the floor in the process. He set you back down, the both of you breathless and laughing. “Can I talk to you for a second?” he said, resisting the urge to move the strand of hair that had that had stuck itself to your lip gloss. “Sure, is everything ok?” You looked at him quizzically as you headed to a quiet spot away from the party. Gilly grabbed you both another beer, cracking the top off one and handing it to you. You stood under one of the street lights, the fluorescent bulb basking your hair and face in an orange hue. Gilly took in your full lips, the way that satin dress hugged your perfect curves and knew he had to say something, to tell you how he felt before the moment had gone. He couldn’t risk losing you again. But he also knew that you needed time to find yourself, to figure out who you were and what you wanted. Gilly would never pressure you into anything you weren’t 100% comfortable with, but he’d spent years loving you from a distance and tonight he needed to tell you. Thank God the shot of tequila he’d done earlier was starting to take effect.

“Listen, I gotta tell you something.” Gilly rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at the star filled sky, wondering where to begin. You were looking at him questioningly, but you stayed silent as he searched for the right words. “Gilly,” you laughed nervously when he still didn't speak, “you’re freaking me out.” “When you told me you’d broken up with that dickhead, I was so happy, I can’t put it in to words,” Gilly said, “he was such an asshole, and that fire that you have in your eyes, it was gone when he was around. I was happy that he couldn’t hurt you anymore, that he couldn’t make you feel worthless anymore, but I was happy too because…” he paused, searching for the right words. “I was happy because every moment I spend around you is so incredible, I never want it to end. You’re amazing, you’re so special and you deserve to find someone just as special.” “Gilly,” you whispered, your eyes bright with tears. You gently squeezed his arm and when he spoke next, his voice was thick with emotion. “I care about you, a lot. I’ve spent so many years watching you fight your way through whatever shit is thrown at you. You’re so strong, you’re stronger than you know, and I admire the hell out of you. I think you should take time, get to know yourself again, and heal from what that asshole did to you. But when you feel up to it, I’d love to take you out on a date.” Gilly was breathless, from nerves and adrenaline, trying to get a read on your face. You were usually like an open book, but right now he couldn’t tell what the fuck you were thinking. Your eyes searched his, a single tear running down your cheek. You wiped it away and held your hand against this cheek, his beard scratchy under your soft palm. “I’d like that,” you smiled, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it. Gilly, your gentle giant. He’d been in front of you all along. You were both smiling at each other, neither wanting the moment to end, but not sure what to do next.

Eventually, Gilly slung his arms around your shoulder, leading you back to the party. He took one last look up at the night sky with its millions of shining stars and hoped that one day, maybe, he could be your Special Someone.

#gilly lopez #gilly lopez x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction

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ravennaortiz · 21 days

Note

Okay I'm back again. This time I'm going with Guero. Let's go with prompts 2,11,40, and 30.

Welcome back lovely! You want my sweetie pie Guero and with those prompts? I can work some magic for ya! As always my stories are 18+!

Prompts:

2. I'm not the right man for you

11. I'm not enough for you

40.That hurt/Hurts

30. I need you

Tag List: @keyweegirlie

Mistake

Guero couldn't take his eyes off you as you played pool with Coco, Gilly and Angel. His grip on his beer tightening as he saw Angel's hand brush your hip in passing. His growing anger and jealousy had his vision darkening. I did this to myself he thought as he tried to rationalize and talk himself through this. He had been the one to break up with you. Through text to add insult to injury. Telling you he was not the right man for you and that he wasn't enough for you and never would be.

He had declined your call like a coward not once but all ten times. He knew if he heard the pain in your voice that he would take it back. He knew he needed to protect you and that in order to do that you two could not be together. When you texted asking if he was breaking up with you he had doubled down on being Santo Padres biggest asshole. - Thought you were a smart girl? Basic English to hard? I can do Spanish if you want.- You had left him on read. That had been two months ago.

What Guero had failed to consider was you had been a regular visitor to the clubhouse your whole life. You had been around longer than he had and the guys in the club were your friends first. So for the last sixty days he had seen and or heard you. Your presence was everywhere. Including his house where your stuff was still strewn around. He slept holding a pillow with your hoodie on it because it still smelled like you. He sometimes used your body wash in the shower and he burned your favorite scented candles sometimes to pretend like things were still normal.

Your laugh broke through his thoughts and he glanced up to see Angel with his arm wrapped around your waist and his face buried in your neck. The two of you leaning into the pool table. His voice of reason was trying to tell him he had no right to be mad or jealous. He had been a fool and fools do not get rewarded.

Unfortunately you had always been his voice of reason. The urge to beat pretty boy Angels face to a bloody pulp had him standing up and starting to stalk over to where you all were. He could care less if this got him kicked from the club. He had no right to touch you like that. Before he could swing he made a split second decision to grab your arm.

"That hurts" you yelped as you felt a sharp pain shoot up your arm as Guero pulled you off balance and away from Angel. Guero kicked himself mentally as he loosened his grip but pulling you closer. Ignoring Angel and the others. I need you" he stated his voice urgent as he let his hands travel your curves.

Why the sharp sting and resonating smack that traveled through the clubhouse surprised him he was not sure. Rubbing his burning cheek he turned and met your angry gaze. "I'm not a club whore" you growled before shoving past him, grabbing your jacket and making your way out the door.

"I think you should have said sorry first" stated Gilly as he sipped his beer before going back to the pool table. "Yeah, feeling her up and saying I need you gave the wrong impression" agreed Coco. "She still loves you. I'm annoyed you broke her heart. We don't take to kindly to her being fucked with but I can see if she will give you another chance. This was my fault after all" stated Angel as he used his boot to scuff at the floor looking guilty.

*A little while later*

"Well get to it. My stupid girl brain will get distracted soon" you snapped as you stood across from Guero. Arms crossed and right foot tapping the ground impatiently. Guero grimaced as you through his words back at him.

"I'm so sorry for hurting you and making you feel small. I love you more than you know. I made a mistake. I wanted to protect you and I thought breaking up would do that." confessed Guero as he stepped closer to you clasping his hands together. "Please give me another chance. I am begging you" he pleaded as he dropped to his knees in front of you."I cannot do this life without. I need you" he murmured as he felt tears slip down his cheeks as he reached for your hand.

You took a deep breath as you felt your own tears start to travel down your face. "One mistake is all you get" you stated after a few minutes.

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#ravennasmasterlist #ravennasrequest #guero x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #guero fanfic #guero mayans #guero mayans fanfiction #guero mayans mc #guero mayans mc fanfiction #fanfiction #imagines

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the-kcm-muggleborn · 27 days

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Probably another unpopular opinion but that being said....

Mary Linton (Gillis)......

I'm aware she's (for some reason) beloved by fans. I, on the other hand, can't stand the woman.

I understand Arthur still has feelings for her. After (supposedly) years, out of all the people she might know, she asks ARTHUR for saving her family, not helping simply doing it all together.

I won't even comment on the ridiculousness of the mission ,,Fatherhood and Other Dreams II" If chosen to agree to help Mary walk around Saint Denis behind her drunken father big waste of time if I might say.

We are given many informations about Arthur's past, one of them being, feeling looked down by an unhonourable drunk and a careless father that Mary's father was.

You can say many bad things about Arthur all together, but being an unhonorable, careless man was NOT it

I always turn her down because it feels as if Arthur shouldn't be wasting his time on a favour for old girlfriend that hasn't even shown an ounce of gratitude for doing said favour.

The reason I find her so unpleasant is because she asks Arthur to help Jamie and then she leaves for train with a snarky little comment and no meaningful conversation, explanation, nor an apology, nothing.(I) Mary dear Linton also acts like she has the moral highground and then proceeds to ask Arthur for a fresh start with her. This woman is so confusing

I've always had a bad feeling about her...

Anyway, that'd be all about my dislike of that shadow of a woman. I hope you enjoyed my little Ted Talk. Thank you for reading, Follow me for more random gaming talks.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #mary linton #rdr2 #unpopular opinion #rdr2 imagine

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ashintheairlikesnow · 7 months

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Fire Down Below

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below |

CW: Dehumanizing language, prolonged repeated choking, nonhuman whumpee, angry whumper, restrained, hanged (no death), captivity

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Gilly leaned forward, the wooden chair he sat on creaking alarmingly under the shift in weight, rocking slightly forward onto the one leg that was shorter than the other three for no discernable or understandable reason.

It’d been a free chair, though, so… there was that.

He held up one hand, thumb curled over a bent forefinger, middle, ring, and pinkie fingers straight up in the air.

The siren stared back at him, only its eyes, nose, and wet curls above the washtub’s water line. He could just barely see the strap of the gag curving around the back of its head, the barest hint of the wood visible through the increasingly dirtied water. It made no movement, no sound.

Honestly, if he hadn’t known what it was, he might have felt some sense of guilt or a prickling at his conscience. It looked so human. As if he’d found a beautiful youth and abducted him for nefarious purposes, like in the scandalous penny awfuls he sometimes bought during times in port and read on lonely nights on the ship. He might imagine himself the villain of such a tale, if the creature had been a person.

“How many?” He repeated.

The thing did not respond. It only blinked, once.

Gilly sighed. “Must you make this as difficult as possible, thing?”

No answer. But he could see the curve of its plush top lip over the bit between its teeth, the way it wanted to sneer and snarl at him, and he would not bear that disrespect.

“Fine. Have it your way.” Gilly wrapped the rope around his hand again and again that led up to the ceiling where his rough-hewn pulley-system had been rigged, leading back down to the rough, coarse rope knotted tight around the stupid creature’s throat.

This it understood, and only this. It did not learn without violence. Not that Gilly had tried too many other options.

As soon as he pulled hard enough to tighten the loop a fraction around its neck, the creature shot further up to give itself slack, but Gilly only followed its movements with his own, pulling with one hand and then another to ensure that once it stood it could not hide itself again.

It was dripping, well-formed body naked as a newborn babe, and Gilly once again mourned that he had had the piss-poor luck to catch a male one and not a female. The monster croaked around its gag, in a cracking voice, “Th-eeee.”

“Good,” Gilly said, voice short and sharp.

He let the rope go slack again.

The creature dropped right back down as far as he would let it go, until it was only bared to him from the ribcage up. It hid itself, always, whenever it could. As if it felt his eyes, as if it cared a single bit about modesty. Sirens were simply animals mimicking a human shape, everyone knew that. The intelligence he saw in those dark eyes was a false one, a trick. Only madmen thought sirens were thinking beings, madmen who sailed off to the islands the sirens were known to stay on, wanting to communicate or connect with their so-called ‘communities’.

Those madmen never returned, or the ones who did claimed to have found nothing at all, simply bare rock and empty bushes.

“Again,” Gilly said, and held up all the fingers on one hand this time. He kept his other hand tight around the rope, in a subtle, wordless threat.

The creature swallowed - with difficulty, the noose was still too tight for comfort even as the rope slackened - and managed, “F-eye-fff.”

“Close enough,” Gilly muttered, but he was secretly pleased. The longer it was trapped in the washtub, a mere speck of water compared to the vast oceans it had known before, the more it cooperated, the more it gave in to Gilly’s demands.

Eventually, it would need to understand him well enough to do his bidding, but until then… until then, they had to move slowly. He couldn’t do anything anyway until the magic had been laid to make the creature more fully his to command.

Outside, there was a creaky, high-pitched voice, the old woman calling in baby-speak to her infernal little dog with its yapping ankle-bites and ridiculous smushed-in face. The siren’s eyes flickered to the window, its head turning with a simple, open curiosity and wonder.

It was a deeply human expression, and Gilly felt a thrill of fury and something he refused to feel as guilt for what he’d done in bringing it here. So he yanked so hard on the rope the siren choked.

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at its aborted, hoarse cry of pain. Its attention certainly left the window and the sounds outside, didn’t it? And the cries of pain it made were nearly as beautiful as its wicked, tempting songs at sea.

His smile widened as he pulled, stalwart and resolute, with one hand and then another. First its navel was bared to the air, then the mimickry of a man between its legs, those long muscled thighs, water running in rivers down shapely calves and finally to its feet. Gilly’s arms shook despite the years of work on ships he’d done to build his strength, but he kept pulling, and the creature kept rising.

Its cries became shorter, whistling and airless, and then turned to nothing more than gasps. The rope was tight just under its jaw, one strong jerk from broken, like a convict hung on the gallows before a crowd.

But Gilly was the only audience to the show.

The siren’s arms jerked, hands twisting its wrists still bound behind its back. They were already rubbed raw to bleeding and yet still it kept struggling, legs moving uselessly, fighting to breathe when its throat was nearly closed entirely.

“Don’t worry about her,” Gilly said, in a tone of utmost genial friendliness. “She can’t hear you, and she doesn’t care about you anyway. None of them do, they just don’t care. Even if she did know what I’ve got here, what could she really do, hm? Make me leave my home here, to be sure, but what else? What would happen to you?”

The siren’s face was going dark, blood rushing into its cheeks as Gilly stood and braced his feet shoulder width apart for a better, stronger grip. He didn’t need to do this - he should stop, he would never have treated any dog, cat, or horse with such cruelty - but somehow he couldn’t.

He couldn’t stop watching its eyes go wide and frightened, then hazy as the world began to darken for it. As it stared into the death that he could give it, so easily, just by staying put like this, just by letting it dangle until there was nothing left in it but its pretty, pointless skin.

Gilly felt nearly as breathless himself, although with excitement, not with fear. He had never had power of any creature, not this sort of power. Not the power to simply take a life with no rhyme or reason, only his own desires.

He let go, abruptly, and the rope slid hot through his hands as the creature crashed back into the washing-tub, dirty water splashing up over the sides from the violence of its landing.

Its legs crumpled and it disappeared entirely at first, before it pushed itself back up, sucking in gulps of air and coughing, over and over in a vicious cycle. His ribcage swelled and pulled so tight the bones were visible, again and again. Its face was still red, its neck was dark as sin itself with blood running down where the rope had rubbed right through its skin.

When Gilly moved closer, the creature flinched backwards until it smacked into the other side of the washing-tub, hunched over itself protectively, looking up at him with its dark curls over its eyes.

It was finally truly terrified of him, after days of this.

Exactly how it should be.

He pointed to the washing-tub, the dirtied water inside it. “The water is dirty,” He said, over-emphasizing each word as if he spoke to an idiot child or a very dumb puppy. “It needs to be cleaned.”

It swallowed, wincing at the pain even such a simple involuntary motion caused. There was no sign it understood, beyond the way its eyes flickered to one side, where he had forced it to stand in the past in the corner while he emptied the tub out and refilled it clean.

“Yes,” Gilly said, pointing now into the same corner. “Go there.” When it didn’t immediately move, he snapped, “Now!”

The siren hurriedly half-fell over the side of the tub, landing without dignity with a thump on its side, making Gilly laugh at the sight of it wiggling to get back on its feet with its hands still tied behind its back. It skittered away from him, more bug than humanoid thing, until it was in the shadowy corner where he had pointed it to.

“Good. Now stay there.”

He took the rope, changing it so it hung from a different hook, pulling it tight enough that the siren was forced to dance on its tiptoes to keep breathing, and tied it off. Now it couldn’t move. Stupid monster couldn’t even think well enough around its fight for air to try anything.

Which was good, because changing the water was a chore he did not enjoy, and his mood was already dark today. He didn’t need it to get any worse. He’d put way too much time and effort into training the creature to accidentally kill it or something if it upset him too much.

“I know you don’t like that,” He said, almost conversationally, as he moved to open the window. “And if you want to make it stop…”

Its voice was barely a hiss as it echoed, “May-... t-ah-p,” unable to pronounce the sss or k sound around the bit gag.

“Right. Well, you’ll have to start learning faster and start listening to me, won’t you? I wouldn’t have to do any of this if you would just understand me and obey the first time, instead of making it a fight.”

It blinked again.

Gilly had to fight the resurgence of his fury at its simple refusal to listen and learn, reminding himself that he had work to do, and he couldn’t have a nap until he had finished cleaning out its water.

There was a slight downhill slope outside, and so he simply took a bucket and began to bail the washing-tub out, tossing each bucket of dirty water outside to let it run down into the widow’s garden below. The bits of fish parts would help the plants to grow, he supposed. Although in this hot climate, it didn’t help the place smell any better. Not that you couldn’t smell the manure from the animals that lived in the barn, anyway…

He lost himself in the work, as always, simply drifted into a place of contentment even as sweat beaded up on his skin and trickled down his neck and his back. Sometimes, he paused just to watch the siren where it stood, making hoarse little guttural noises, moving from one set of toes to the other, tears trickling from the corners of its eyes down over its beautifully wrought cheekbones, its jawline, and to the floor below.

“I suppose you need a name,” He said, thoughtfully, once he had emptied the tub, scrubbed it out, and then worked to dry it with a towel. In a moment he’d have to head down to the water pump to start the refilling process, but he allowed himself a break to wipe away his sweat and push up his glasses, watching the suffering siren. It watched him back, even though the rope kept its chin tipped up trying to escape the constriction. It whined, like a whipped dog, and Gilly shook his head.

It was even trying to mimic other animals, now, to get him to be kinder.

“I was thinking… the people here before the colony was founded, they had a dance called areyto. I think that’s what I’ll call you… Areyto, because once you’re strung up like this, you dance.”

He laughed.

“We’ll work on teaching you your name tomorrow, I think.”

He headed out to start working on bringing in fresh water. It took nearly as long as cleaning the damn thing out had taken, and each time he left and came back the siren’s movements were slower, more exhausted, the fight to breathe taking more and more out of it. Blood began to dry where the ropes had rubbed, and so did its tears.

By the time the water was clean, it had to move on its knees, hunched over, inch by tired inch until it made it to the metal sides of the tub. Gilly kept the rope in hand, ready to punish, but it had no fight left, not now. He watched those powerful leg muscles shake as it pushed itself clumsily to its feet, and then simply allowed itself to fall over the side and into the water.

It did not resurface.

Gilly tied the rope back off in its usual place, cleaned the splashed-out water with the still-damp towel, and walked out whistling cheerfully, closing the door and locking it behind him.

They were definitely making progress.

Once Atabei came from the northern colonies, her magic would make sure he didn’t have to worry about the monster trying to hurt him, and he could finally start laying his plans out for a gilded, influential future.

Taglist: @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam

Note: Although I am not planning any specific @whumptober this year, this piece ended up covering the first three prompts!

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whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell · 11 months

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Vatic - Prologue "Portrait"

Series Description : The youngest daughter of Alicent Hightower and Viserys Targaryen lives her life to her mother's will, treading lightly to always please her. Y/n lives to her mother's rules, and when she chooses to make her own decisions, that she knows go against her mother, they have disastrous consequences.

Chapter Description : The queen discovers a portrait of a long forgotten Targaryen princess.

A/n : This prologue is related to an old fic I wrote back in 2018/2020 that is available on Ao3. You do not have to read that entire fic in order to enjoy this one. You could even skip the prologue if you wanted. This chapter was super self indulgent lol. There will be a different version of this pic on Ao3 that has many more illusions to my old fic ( but it will be an original character rather than an x reader )

Warnings : None in this one I don't think.

Pairing : eventual Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 2.4k

“Beautiful portrait,” Y/n commented, stepping up beside Samwell, his toddler son also admiring the portrait, while little Samwell was likely off with his mother, Gilly.

Samwell jumped a bit at her sudden appearance. “Apologies, your Grace, I didn’t know you were here.”

Y/n shrugged and shook her head, resting a hand on her swollen stomach. “Don’t apologize. it is the middle of the night, everyone has gone to bed, I wouldn’t suspect anyone to be awake either. Especially the queen, but it seems I am carrying a restless prince.” she joked, examining the portrait in front of her. a gold-painted frame protecting it. even in the low lighting with only two lanterns to light the corridor, you could see the cracks in the varnish of the painting. It was old.

“Which of the noble houses sent this one? We have dozens in storage. I’ve tried to tell their lords and ladies to stop sending them until the keep was fully rebuilt.”

She could feel Samwell turn his head to look at her, the same way Jon usually did whenever he knew something that she didn’t. One of them certainly had picked it up from the other during the years at the northern wall.

“Queen Sansa sent it. It only just arrived today.”

That brought a smile to Y/n’s lips. Just hearing the name of her beloved friend would always warm her heart. Knowing she was safe in her ancestral home, which she had longed to return to for many years. “Then I shall make an exception, I won’t return this one.” As she said it she reached out and with delicate fingers, touched the ornate carvings in the frame, noticing the entanglement of what seemed to be a direwolf and what, in the dull lighting, appeared to be a bat’s wing within the carving.

“Your Grace?” Y/n turned her head now to look at the maester.

“Yes, Samwell?”

“Do you know who this is?” Y/n looked toward the portrait once more, examining the woman’s face. Pale skin clashed with the dark fabric she wore for her portrait, a slim silver coronet, encrusted with sapphires adorning her head with what, at some point, must’ve clearly been a sheer veil covering her hair. The work in the portrait was beautiful, perfectly encapturing the woman’s resentful expression. That resentment could have once been any number of things. Love, sorrow, happiness. . . It reminded her of a portrait of her mother she’d seen once while she’d been at Casterly Rock as a child.

“I can’t say that I do.” She admitted, stepping back from it. “It seems she’s a stranger to me.”

There was a moment of silence until Samwell’s son yawned and leaned into his father’s embrace, bringing a small smile to her face once more.

“The portrait is of Y/n Targaryen.”

“That’s not a Targaryen name. That’s a Lannister name.” Y/n spoke, continuing to admire the woman’s expression.

“A Lannister once married into Hightower. . . many centuries ago. The name went with her. And it would appear that Queen Alicent was able to name her daughter after her own mother”

The thought seemed silly to the queen. She and a Targaryen Princess sharing a name.

“I know most people in Westeros do not know of her, but I would have assumed that someone who was brought up as a princess, and offered the best education would practically know the entire Targaryen family tree.”

Y/n chuckled a bit while the babe that had decided to grow in her belly chose to kick. “I learned most of what Grand Maester Pycell was supposed to teach me and my brother on my own. There’s not much you can learn from an old man who smells like a dead cat and speaks at the same pace that a tortoise walks, all the while Joffrey was trying to stab me with his quill. Forgive me if I missed a few lessons about Targaryen royalty that was not an heir, nor involved in any war.”

Samwell took in a sharp breath.

“Y/n was born not even a full year after her older brother, Aemond, we know that it wasn’t any more than a year, but we don’t know exactly how long, the dates are fuzzy. Maesters wrote that they were shocked when Queen Alicent had a child after Y/n. They were convinced that having two children so close together would prevent her from ever being with child again. It was said that Y/n’s birth was the most painful Alicent Hightower ever had. The bloodiest and longest. Her screams were heard throughout the entire Red Keep. Her brothers and sister crying up a storm from it. Princess Rhaenyra tried to seek out solitude in the gardens, but she could still hear the Queen from there. . . And then nothing. Not a cry, or scream. King Viserys, with all the strength he had at that time, rushed to Alicent’s childbed when he noticed silence had taken over the keep. When he’d burst into the room. Alicent was sitting on the ground blood underneath her, on the sheets, the maester, the midwives, and on the septa. . . In Alicents arms was Y/n.”

Samwell grew quiet.

“And?” Y/n inquired, looking at the maester with intrigue.

Samwell looked at Y/n, yet his eyes refused to fully meet hers, darting around her face and hair instead before he took a steep intake of air and looked back at the portrait. “Y/n looked like a Targaryen. She had pale skin, the silver hair. . . but unlike her siblings when they were born, she was quiet, looking around the room until she was given to her mother. It’s said that Alicent had begun to cry when she looked at Y/n. Because instead of having the Targaryen eyes, she had Alerie Hightower’s eyes. Alicent’s mother’s eyes, mostly anyway.”

Y/n looked back at the portrait once more, stepping closer to the portrait and grabbing the lantern hanging from the wall, clumsily crouching down, her stomach throwing her balance off. Holding the lantern close to the portrait, she was able to make out the color of richly saturated green eyes,a sector of what was Y/n’s left iris having a portion of lilac, in the same shape as a slice of pie.

“I’ve never heard of this princess, Samwell.”

“Most people don’t speak of her now. But she was a force back then. After her and her husband’s deaths, and after her second-oldest son became the lord, his wife got rid of almost every painting, piece of jewelry, or clothing that Y/n hadn’t given to her daughters before her death. She tried to erase her existence. She almost succeeded. We wouldn’t even truly know what she looked like had one of her own sons not snuck this portrait away and hid it with his sister at Karhold. She’s hardly ever spoken about when maesters write their histories on the dance of dragons, a brief mention. And it would seem people who are descended from her, hardly know it.”

Y/n continued to look at the portrait, admiring the detail. the silver coronet likely ornately engraved and bejewled to fit a Targaryen princess, or perhaps, in real life, it was as understated as it was in the portrait. “Why would Sansa send this to us? If it was in the north then it should remain where she’s been kept all this time, should it not?”

Silence overtook them again. This time however, Y/n was so absorbed in staring at the woman in the painting, feeling as though she recognized her eyes, yet at the same time knowing she’d never seen this painting before, nor had she ever heard of Y/n Targaryen.

“Your Grace. . . Is it alright if I take you to my library? There’s a book that an Archmaester from the citadel sent me recently. . . It’s about Y/n.”

“Samwell, I’m the queen and a mother to three young girls who know no such thing as peace, I’d never eat if it wasn’t for my husband practically holding me down and forcing me to, I doubt I’d have the time to read installments about a strangers life.”

“Y/n. . .”

Y/n looked up at Samwell once more, his son passed out in his arms, a pleading look in his eyes, practically begging her to just go with him to the library. “your uncle will soon have to fill in for you after you’ve had the babe. And you’re the queen, you can do as you’d like. And I’m sure Jon will have you confined to your bed fairly soon.” Y/n gave a bitter chuckle. It seemed it was clear to everyone in the castle that the Queen’s husband had grown extremely protective of her as she’d entered the late stages of her third pregnancy. The only one he’d been there for its entirety. It wasn’t his fault, just the fault of their circumstances when they’d first come together, and the circumstances of the end of the war.

“He’ll be doting on the babe so much you’ll have more than enough time to get through the book. It’s not as long as most I have.”

“Alright,” Y/n spoke as she stood up bracing one hand against the wall as she did, taking one look at the portrait again as she followed Samwell to his library, where he’d pulled out what looked to be an ancient book, bound in black leather, with red metallic paint in the indents to spell out the name of the book. ‘The Forgotten Princess, Y/n Targaryen.’

“Giving me a book to answer a simple question is something Tyrion would do.” Y/n joked, taking the heavy book from the maester. “Get your son to bed. I’m sure Gilly won’t be pleased come tomorrow if her youngest son fusses all day.”

Samwell nodded, and with that, Y/n left his library, carrying the book and the lantern as she made her way back to her chambers, as she approached the door, she saw Jon speaking with the guard outside their door, Brienne.

A grin crept onto her face as Jon’s head turned, and he spotted her making her way down the hall. “Y/n!” he scolded, making quick strides to meet her where she was. “I woke up and you were gone, Brienne said she didn’t see you leave.” As Jon reached her, he quickly pulled her into his embrace, kissing the crown of her head, one of his hands resting on the side of her bump.

“I went for a walk.” She explained, looking over to Brienne.

“Your Grace, you had us worried.”

“I thank every god, old, new, the drowned god, whatever gods the Targaryens believed in that the Targaryen put secret passageways into the castle.” Y/n said, leaning up to kiss her husband’s cheek with reassurance.

“You shouldn’t be using the passageways.” He scoffed, worry clearly written into his face, his fingers getting a tight grip on her lower back. “We don’t know which ones are safe or not.”

It had been a discussion before, how Daenerys’s attack on King’s Landing, and on the Red Keep destroyed some of the passageways, and made the others structurally unsound. It was why Y/n and Jon had ensured that Lucia hadn’t been given a room with any passageways, or at least not any that were easy to access. It was why the twins slept in their nursery with a nursemaid still.

“I needed solitude,” Y/n said quietly, resting her head on his chest, taking in the sound of his beating heart. It was going faster than it usually did. She’d worried him. “I apologize, my love.” she added, pulling her head away from his chest, bringing a hand to hold the side of his face. “You’ve slept so peacefully these last few months, I did not think I’d wake you. Come,” she ushered, grabbing his hand with her own, stepping towards the open bed-chamber door. “Let us go back to bed.”

“Your Grace, for your safety please do not use the passageways,” Brienne spoke as Y/n made it through the threshold of the doorway, Jon closing it not long after. She didn’t even have a second to sit down before he wrapped his arms around her again.

It had taken her off guard. She didn’t know what to make of his current state. She hadn’t seen him like this in nearly two years.

“It terrified me.” he confided. “I used to have these dreams. . . when I was at the wall. That I would wake up next to you, That we’d lived entire lives with one another, and whenever I was about to wake up, the dream would have me waking up to an empty bed.” His voice was shaking. “I thought it was a dream. That any second I would wake up and find myself back at the wall.”

Y/n wrapped her free arm around his torso, holding him as close to her as she could, given the obstruction of her bump between them. What words could she have possibly come up with to give him any comfort? He was scared to lose her. And she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t had similar dreams.

After a moment’s silence, she pulled away, once again, resting her hand against the side of his face. “You will never awake at the wall again. Because If you do, I’m back here again. . . scheming young girl being used as a political pawn. But neither of us will be back to those states. . . we’re here. You are my husband, the war is over, we have three beautiful daughters, and a handsome son on the way-”

“Daughter.” Jon interrupted, the ghost of a grin playing at the corners of his lips.

“Don’t say that.” Y/n shook her head. “I want a son this time. If you haven't given me a boy I’m going to be very upset with you.”

The two stared at one another. Eyes that had both seen so much, that had searched for each other across dinners and court events from opposite ends of the hall.

“You made me forget what I was going to say, I was trying to be sweet!” Y/n withdrew her hand from his cheek, playfully hitting his chest. An eruption of laughter bubbled up from his throat, throwing his head back and grabbing hold of the hand that had hit him.

Y/n scowled at him, watching as his laughter died down and he looked down at her once more. “I knew what you were going to say, my love.” Jon put both hands on her hips. “I know that this is what is real, But sometimes I believe my mind likes to play tricks on me.”

Jon looked down to Y/n’s side, noticing the book in her hands. “What is that?” He inquired.

Y/n lifted it up for him to see. “A book about Y/n Targaryen. Samwell loaned it to me after Sansa sent a portrait of her”

“I’ve never heard of the name before.”

“Nor have I.” Y/n agreed.

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