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eyesxxyou · 6 months

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Confessions pt.ii

♡ hobie brown x religious!reader

rating. m

word count. 5.1k

synopsis. after years of being missing, Hobie finally returns back to his hometown where his childhood crush still waits for him. but you're more dedicated to God than ever and he couldn't care less. he wants you and he intends show you all that you're missing out on

♡ °｡ ⋆⸜ warning: religious themes, criticism of Christianity, corruption kink, defiling kink, making out, fem masturbation, oral (f receiving), angst at the end

Part. i

You shouldn’t be here.

Hobie slipped a note into your palm during the next congregation and when you unfolded it, in his scribbly handwriting, it said, ‘meet me around the side of the church if ur coming’. If you didn’t show up, he’d know your answer and you wouldn’t be forced to say no to his face. You were a people pleaser, you’ve hardly ever said no in your entire life. He knew you, you were always a pushover. More often than not, he’d say no for you. He's had to more times than he can count on both hands. He thought he’d make it easy for you. It was a kindness.

After church, with your trusty rosary with it’s pearl beads against your pretty, brown skin, you stood with your parents. You curled a finger around the coiled ends of your braids much like Hobie would do during sermons. Was he still waiting for you or had he already left? Should you go and check? You didn't want him thinking you would actually go with him.

Your parents were wrapped up in conversation. They wouldn’t notice if you left just for a little bit. You wouldn’t run off with Hobie, you’d go just to tell him off. You were a dedicated child of God and you would not be consciously participating in any kind of sinful act with him. So you marched over with conviction, each step made with confidence. You weren’t a child anymore, you could say no to someone by yourself.

But rounding the corner and seeing Hobie standing there, leaning against his old motorcycle with his hands in the pockets of his spiked, leather vest, waiting just for you, made you falter. He was so devastatingly gorgeous, but Lucifer was beautiful as well and you can’t fall for his temptations.

Hobie perked up upon hearing your little mary jane shoes against the asphalt, you didn’t approach any further, dressed in your slip dress that reached your mid-thighs and light pink cardigan. His lips twitched. You twist your ring and nip at your bottom lip. You’ve spent your nights awake, tracing your lips with the tips of your fingers. You close your eyes and remember the weight of his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, exploring and claiming. That heat between your legs would slowly return, aching and pulsing and begging to be addressed.

In a moment of weakness, you’d slide your hand beneath your duvet and slip your fingers beneath the band of your panties. You’ve never touched yourself before, not in all your 20 years of life. Suddenly, you went from never touching yourself to reaching between your legs every night, experimenting with what you found pleasurable. On your first night, you stumbled upon wetness coming from your hole, a little up, you found a spot that, when you rubbed it, made your entire body shudder with pleasure. You played with it, rubbed it with your fingers, tugged on it, anything to make that feeling stay. And then this feeling would emerge in the pit of your stomach, an impending sense of doom building. The feeling terrified you and you would stop until the feeling receded before praying for forgiveness.

But you did it the night after that, and the night after that, muttering Hobie’s name under your breath, imagining his long fingers playing with that bud of pleasure you weren’t sure if it was just you who had. You were so thoroughly unaware of your own body, not knowing the names of things, of literal parts of your own body. But that bud was so sensitive. You could imagine Hobie on top of you, whispering in your ear those words and it would make you whimper. Whenever you’d reach that point, when the feeling would build on itself, you would stop out of fear of the unknown.

“I’m not going with you, Hobie.” Hobie, Hobie, Hobie, you’d moan his name under your breath, your hand over your mouth, rosary under your pillow, bible on your bedside table. Did he know? Did anyone know? Could they tell you’ve changed? Could they see the dark shadow casted over your once untainted light? Could the see the way you moved differently in the mornings when your mother would make breakfast? The way you trembled just a little more? If so, no one has said anything.

He only looked at you, tilting his head to the side, staring. You couldn’t handle the burn of his gaze against your skin. You felt inclined to say something more by his stare, like your refusal just wasn’t enough and didn’t deserve an answer.

“I don’t wanna be bad. I don’t wanna feel guilty after, Hobie. I don’t wanna feel shame.”

“Then why’d ya even come ovarhere?” Hobie finally spoke, turning his head back upright. The question caught you off guard. Why did you come over here? “I gave ya the opportunity not to even come but here ya are in front’a me, luv.” He stood up and walked slowly over to you. You made no motion to retreat from him which only confirmed his theory. You held your rosary tighter. "I– I–" You scrambled to come up with something quick. "I wanted to make sure you were gone."

"If you didn' care, you wouldn't've come over in the first place, so, once again, why'd'ya come ova?" He caught you again and was approaching so close now.

“Regret and guilt are two entirely different things, luv.” He reached and caressed your face with the pads of his fingers. He touched the pink ribbon in your hair tying it back into a ponytail and smirked at how cute it was. “You wanted t’ kiss me, you only feel bad ‘cause everyone ‘round you is tellin’ you you should. Why should ya feel bad f’feelin’ good?”

That’s why you got on his bike, Hobie had you sit in front of him as there was no seat in the back for you; with his arms one either side of your body and your back pressed into his chest. You were small compared to him, everyone was, but the way his body seemed to wrap around yours quite nicely.

But as he kicked up the kickstand and started up his bike it was something entirely different. The rumble of the motorcycle as it roared to life made you yelp, your hands on the gas tank to brace yourself. You looked behind you– your body firmly placed on top of his lap– with fear in those pretty eyes of yours. Your rosary was in his pocket, completely out of access to you if you didn't want it left somewhere on the road when it few out of your hands. Sor you only had him to comfort you.

"Jus' relax, doll. I got'chu."

That's why you're here how, at his place which was just a hotel on the outskirts of town. He never planned to stay longer than a week but you had caused a change of plans so now he's here indefinitely. It was fine as a place, not too shabby but certainly not the most well-kept either.

You shouldn't be here. But you can't say you don't want to be as Hobie unlocks his door and lets you in. He's right. Regret and guilt are two different things, you were coming to learn.

It's cleaner than you expected it to be, only a few stray articles of clothing tossed around which he picked up one by one while making his way to the kitchen. "Any water f'ya, doll?"

Your mouth felt dry, no matter how much you attempted to conjure up saliva. You twisted your ring, biting your lip as you shook your head no. The whole place smelt of him, like smoke and sin and musky cologne, and you loved it.

Being alone with him conjured up memories of being alone in your room in the still of night, your parents fast asleep. It weighed on you, the guilt, the shame. You had to get it out, had to tell someone. You thought of confessing your sin to the Father but the idea of anyone in the church knowing… you'd simply die of your shame.

"I have to tell you something." You blurted out as Hobie tossed his clothes into his room and out of the way. He came back, a brow raised, the piercing above it shifting with the muscle. He didn't say anything, just let you say what you needed to. If you were to confess it to anyone, it had to be him. He'd keep it, he had no one to gossip to. Catholics made terrible gossips and they'd eat up that the perfect little, model child they all adored wasn't so innocent after all.

"I…" you shifted your weight between your feet and found yourself staring at everything other than him. "I touched myself." You let it out in a breath you've been holding in for far too long. You were on the brink of tears, the guilt was eating away at your soul. You could already feel the heat of hellfire at your feet. "I didn't know what I was doing but I kept doing it and It felt good and I know I'm not supposed to give into Earthy pleasures but I couldn't help myself–" you began to babble as you always do when you're about to cry.

A smile crept across Hobie's lips, almost one of pride. "Atta girl." He leaned into you, his body all close to yours. How Hobie loved to be close, touching, intimate with another person, with you. "How was it?"

You brought your hands up over your face to cover your embarrassment and your tears. "You're not supposed to encourage this kind of behavior!" Your voice struggles to remain normal but you're so bad at hiding your crying, you always have been. "I did something bad, very bad. You should be reprimanding me. I'm going to hell!"

Hobie took one of your hands and peeled it away from your face to see your wet cheek and sighed, taking at you. "Tha' so?" You nodded with a whimper. He pulled you in gently and wrapped his arms around your small body. You placed your face in his chest while he pet your head and shushed you. "Then we goin' t' hell t'gether, crybaby." You pulled away from him and slapped his arm, pouting. "Stop it. That's not funny."

Hobie's deep chuckling sent ripples of heat to the place between your thighs. He pulled you back in close, his hands grasping at your slip and pulling it clad against your body. "There's nothin' wrong wit' wha'cha did. I's natural. You're no' goin' to hell, luv." His hands trail up the sides of your body and slip beneath your cardigan to slide it from your shoulders. "So…wha'cha think of?" He took your cardigan off as you turned your gaze away from him in shame. You couldn't bear to tell him that, admit such a thing to his face.

But your lack of words was all the answer he needed. "Me?" How cocky his voice got. You began to cry again, the shame too much to bear. "I won't do it again, I promise to God!"

Hobie was laughing at you, the whole situation unbearably funny to him. You couldn't believe him. How could he laugh at a time like this, when you were crying right in front of him? Why was this all so funny to him when you were crying in the middle of his makeshift home?

"Stop cryin', luv. I'm not mad at'cha." He grabbed your face and wiped your tears with the pads of his thumbs and the backs of his rough hands. "I'm jus' curious what i' was tha' got'cha all hot 'n bothered. That kiss in the grass, was i'?"

You nod sheepishly, nipping at your bottom lip at just the thought of it. "It was nice." You admitted between sniffles. Just nice was an understatement but it was the best you could come up with at the moment. You touched your lips again, thinking back to it and smiling to yourself. If not for your shame, you would have looked at it as a fond moment.

Hobie dipped down and took your lips with his. He had you up against the wall in seconds, his tongue prodding at your lips to coax them open. You bloomed for him like an innocent flower he planned to crush in his palm, all sweet and innocent as you timidly stroke his tongue with yours and wrapped your arms around his neck. No amount of practicing with your hand would prepare you for the real deal, the way he so intricately explored your mouth with his hot muscle, so expertly made you moan softly into him and melt against his body pinning you to the wall.

Hobie reached up and pulled at one end of your ribbon, your hair fell from its ponytail down your back with curled ends brushing against your behind. His fingers found themselves tangled up in your braids that faded into caramel as he held your face to his and kissed your feverishly.

He brought his knee up and nudged yours apart before slotting between your thighs. Your dress hiked up enough for his knee to press against your panties and your heated core. His hands were grasping your thighs, stroking the soft, plush flesh with his calloused fingertips like he wished he could be so soft, so untouched. Could he tell how wet you were, how much you wanted him?

You couldn't help yourself. Your body took control and grinded itself down against his knee, the folds you barely explored rubbing against his knee and thigh so as to satiate that aching you always felt around him, when you thought of him, when it came to anything involving him. It felt so good, rutting your hips against his leg while his tongue sought out yours.

"We can do so much better than jus' kissin', dove." He murmured against your lips, tongue still stroking before his teeth nibbled at your bottom lip. "Jus' lemme take you to Heaven." Before you made your descent into Hell. "You trust me?"

You nodded. 'With my life', you wanted to say. Hobie was your life for a time, your world. You loved him so much as a child, if anyone knew, they would have considered it idolatry, blasphemy, and would have separated the two of you. The echoes of it were still there just like the echoes of the Hobie you knew and loved so early were still there behind the exterior. He would have been your husband if he hadn't left, he was if your own quiet wedding behind the church house as children held any validity.

You shouldn't feel bad about any of this, you wouldn't if you told yourself you were already married "by law of child's imagination" like it carried more weight than law of the the Lord Himself.

Hobie carried you into his bedroom, his bed unmade, the sheets smelling so heavily of him you thought you might spend the rest of your day's wrapped up in them. He had an old Polaroid camera sitting on his bedside table that you paid little attention to but would become highly important later on.

He placed you on his bed, his lips tracing along the unmarked skin of your throat. You were tense, unsure yet yielding to his touch, cautiously optimistic. "Jus' relax, dove. Can I take this off?" He tugged at the strap of your dress. He saw the way you hesitated, the way those pretty eyes of yours flickered with unsure emotions. He didn't want to completely turn you away, only to push on the borders of your comfort and show you that your pleasure will not be your end.

"I want to keep it on." You couldn't bear the idea of being completely exposed, especially to him. Maybe you feared that he might up and leave again and take with him your dignity. So you held on so tightly to it in order to protect yourself. What if he hops on his motorcycle the next morning with the taste of you on his tongue and you have nothing to show for it?

"Then we can keep it on." He didn't want you to become uncomfortable around him, thinking he was some vulture out to steal away something precious to you. No matter how much he believed what you held most precious was only created to keep you oppressed.

His hands kept lifting your dress, his palms and fingers groping your thighs more until his digits reached the edge of your underwear. He kissed down your silk-clad diaphragm and naval, your body reacting to every touch. Your back arched towards him, your muscles shuddered with every kiss, your nipples pebbled with arousal and rubbed against your bra. He pushed your dress just above your underwear and kissed the lace-lined waistband. He caught a glimpse of your bra when taking off your cardigan and noticed that the two sets were different. There was something oddly endearing about it, a genuine bit of innocence. Any other girl planning to meet with a boy she likes would have made the effort to make sure they match, but you had no intentions on doing anything nefarious coming into this.

His innocent girl.

"Can I take these off?" Hobie asked again, muttering into your lower stomach against your waistband. He loved the little pink bow on the front of your white panties that matched the ribbon that was once in your hair.

You paused, unsure as you looked down at him so desperately to find his own Heaven between your legs. His eyes asked you to trust him, that he wouldn't hurt you if you just placed yourself in his hands. So you nodded, slowly, and sat up to watch him. You weren't sure what he planned to do, but whatever it was, he'd make sure it felt good.

Hobie slipped his thumbs beneath the band of your underwear and began to pull them down. You lifted yourself up a bit to help him out before sitting back down and watched as he brought them to your quivering thighs. You shivered as he removed them and bit your lip as his hands reached between your knees and parted your legs.

You covered your face with your hands, uncomfortable with the idea of being laid completely bare in front of him. You attempted to close your legs once more but Hobie's head was already between your knees, kissing. He didn't leave marks anywhere else, knowing that you'd have to go home to your parents who would certainly lock you in a closet it they thought you were having sex, or embarrass you in front of the entire church by declaring your business. But he could leave his marks here, where only he would know, where only he could see.

His lips left red marks along your dark caramel thighs, marks that would eventually blossom into roses of blue and purple. Your thighs were sensitive, shivering as he made his way further and further down from your knee, closer to your aching core.

You were so pretty, full lips already slick with arousal, your hole clenching around nothing at all, aching to be filled yet so untouched it didn't yet know what. There was hair, not that he minded, it was the mark of a woman. Hobie glanced up at you, your covered face desperate for some reprieve from the embarrassment of the situation. "You look so pretty, luv." He spoke, his lips so close that you could feel his warm breath against your nether lips. "Stop hiding from me. I want you to watch."

You lowered your hands cautiously, lowering your guard as well. Hobie was looking up at you, waiting with his lips right next to yours. "Atta girl." He murmured before leaning in to kiss your pussy lips. You moaned breathlessly, placing your legs over his shoulders and pulling him in, your eyes fluttering.

"Lay back, doll. Jus’ relax." You worship at an altar all day but who worships you? "Lemme worship ya." His voice so soothing that you fell back against his pillows without a care, his scent in your nose only adding to your pleasure. Hobie parted your legs further, had them spread as far as they could go to reveal you to the cool, open air. Your pussy ached, clit swollen, wet all over. He didn't know where he should start.

"Can ya be such'a good girl 'n ask f'me?" He wanted to hear you beg for it, needed it from those shy, plump lips of yours.

He watched the way you almost dripped with arousal as you let out a small, meek, "please" of humiliation. His teeth nipped at your joints, just beside where you needed him the most, a punishment. "Tha's no' wha' I mean, luv. Ya gotta ask fa i'"

"Please, just touch me!" You couldn't take it anymore, you cried out your words with a desperation you've never before had in your life. "I'll do anything, Hobes, anythin' you wan', bu' please, I need you right here." Your fingers stroked your clit for a moment, words blurring and babbling out of you. You played with yourself the way you would if he wasn't watching, messily, awkwardly, without a real understanding of what you were doing, only that it made you feel good.

"Ah, ah now, don't touch." He tugged your hand from your clit even more swollen now. "Tha's all y'had t' say, lovie."

You whimpered as he licked a long strip from your entrance to your clit before flicking his tongue against your swollen, aching bud. His fingers slid between you legs and circled your trembling cunt. His digits quickly grew slick with your creamy juices.

You never knew pleasure like this could exist and you never knew you could make noises like these. Your back curved away from the bed and you let out something of a choking moan. His tongue lavished over your virgin clit, his fingers teasing a hole never used, everything was so much more sensitive and you were so much more reactionary.

“Mmh~ Hobie, right…there.” You whined out for him, hips trembling and jolting. Hobie kept his free hand on the junction where your hip met your thigh and pinned you down. The pleasure was making your eyes go cross, your hand reaching down to hold Hobie’s head and keep him right where you needed him. “Hobie, Hobie, Hobie, please! Oh God!” His name was a prayer on your lips and for a moment, he was your god. God of pleasure, of sex, of sin.

If only you knew how he worshiped you, how his tongue on your clit, lips sucking, fingers threatening to enter your tight cunt but knowing you’re not ready for it yet, was his altar to you. Giving pleasure could be his religion, tongueing at your hole could be what he dedicates his life to.

“Grab the camera, take a picture. Jus’ f’you, dove.” He murmured against your desperate pussy, his mouth and his fingers trading places. He rolled your clit between his fingers, rubbing and circling while his tongue lapped at your cunt, sending shivers with each stroke of his tongue.

You palmed around for the camera on his bedside table and grabbed it once you found it. You looked through the viewfinder through bleary eyes and snapped a picture and he licked broad strokes of your tongue each one marked by a kiss against your clit.

That tongue of his was ungodly, with his piercing touching and catching on all the right places. You snapped another picture as he spat on your aching clit and let it dribble down your wet pussy. Both printed out on your stomach, the moment immortalized in image.

Hobie momentarily used the pad of his middle finger to flick your clit. “Keep those…so ya have some’ betta to touch yaself to.” He smirked and returned to his task at hand. His tongue was back on your pussy.

Your body rolled with each stroke of his tongue. You’ve never felt like this, never moved like this, never spoken God’s name in vain. You’d die if he stopped and you know you wouldn’t be going to Heaven but at least you got just a taste of it on your tongue before you went.

There was something building within you, that familiar feeling of unknown nature that terrified you. It was approaching quick, what you believed might be death itself coming for you. It stacked in the pit of your stomach and terrified you.

“Hobie, Hobie please– stop!”

He pulled away from you swiftly. “What, what’s wrong?” You scared the shit out of him. Did he do something wrong?

You sat up, pulling down your dress to protect your modesty. The feeling quickly subsided and you sighed in relief. “It’s nothing you did. It’s me.” You wrapped your arms around yourself and cast your gaze away. “Everytime I…touch myself–” even now it’s hard to pry from your lips, “there’s this feeling that I get in my lower stomach. I don’t know what it is, but it terrifies me.”

Hobie stared at you for a long moment then slowly began to laugh. “Dove,” he choked out, “tha’s an orgasm.” He sighed, “Lemme finish, I promise, you’ll enjoy i’, luv.” He pushed you back down against his pillows and set the discarded images down on the other side of the bed. He slid your dress back up over your hips and parted your legs once more.

You nibbled at your bottom lip as his tongue piercing touched your clit. He sucked your rosebud and swirled his tongue in a way that immediately brought back your building tension in your lower abdomen. He wanted to taste you when you came, his tongue searched for your entrance while his fingers played with your pretty little bundle of nerves

“Hobie– Hobie!” You cried out for him. It was taking you, seizing you like the heat of hellfire. Hobie moaned against your cunt. “‘S okay, luv. Go ‘head ‘n cum f’me.” he needed to taste you, to have you, to know he’s the only one in this entire world to have you. His tongue coaxed you to your first orgasm and it seemed to ravish you like never before. Your muscles tensed, toes pointing then curling.

“Oh– oh my…God.” Your entire body shook with your pleasure, your vision going white and your ears filled with ringing. Were you seeing Heaven? The warmth that enveloped your body felt like paradise, like perfection. You grabbed Hobie’s hair and tugged lightly as his tongue drank in your creamy juices tainted with the stain of the fruits that you eat.

Hobie licked you clean, ate like more of a starved dog than any human. He had you shuddering through the last flashes of you orgasm.

“You feel tha, luv? Tha’s what Heaven feels like.” He kissed your inner thigh and watched as you came down from your high, shuddering. You shivered, your eyes still closed with the aftershock of your very first orgasm. Who knew something sin could feel so good, that something so wrong could feel so right.

Hobie let you close your legs and delicately pulled your slip back down to cover you up. He came and laid on the bed beside you. "How was 't, dove." His fingers pushed your tousled hair out of your face and tucked it delicately behind your ear.

You finally opened you eyes and let out a breath you had been holding for what felt like years now. So this is what pleasure felt like, what real, true, bodily pleasure felt like. It was something otherworldly.

"Like-" you could only describe it in this one way, "Heaven." You whispered with stars in your eyes as you looked at him. "Does it always feel that way?"

"If ya wit' me, it will." He laughed that pretty laugh of his and held your waist. He was just so pretty, so likable despite his aversion to Christ. That smile of his, the sly way he spoke, tempting you further into debauchery, his way of carrying himself like he was higher than God himself. You couldn't imagine a world where you did anything like this with anyone else. You wanted just him, only him, between your legs in every version of the word.

You didn't say that. Saying things like that scared boys like him, the idea of real commitment, especially for Hobie, who could leave on a dime once again.

Hobie leaned in to kiss you again, his hand holding your face between your jaw and your neck. You let him kiss you, tenderly kissing him back but your mind was far elsewhere. He could tell you weren't here with him, hear the way the gears in your head churned with worry. He pulled away from you. "Wha's wrong?"

You stopped and thought of the words you wanted to say and the best way to put them as to not scare him away. After a while, you decided to just say what you meant, whether is scared him or not. "You won't leave me again. Will you, Hobie?"

You had to ask. You had to know before you invested yourself in anything with him, before you committed yourself to sin. You didn't want to ruin your life over nothing, just for him to pack his things and leave you again.

He was taken aback by such a question at a time like this. But as he looked into your eyes, he found them pleading for reassurance before you'd let him do anything more with you. They asked him a simple question. 'Will you be here by next Sunday?'

If only he could tell you that he only came back for you, that after all these years, he never forgot about you. If only he could tell you how much he's missed you over the years, how one day, he just hopped on his motorcycle and drove hours on a whim, on the slim chance that you were still here in this small town where everyone knew each other. Maybe you had tired of the brainwashing as well and left soon after him. But you were still here, as dedicated to the Lord as ever. If he had waited any longer, you might have become a nun.

Here you were, still waiting for him he liked to think– in your pretty little dresses and skirts and your mary janes. All guiltless and untouched, waiting for him to show you the pleasures of the outside world. Would you still have those big, blameless eyes after he's had you in every way he could? Would your body still shudder at his very touch? Would you still be you after he's so thoroughly taken you?

He hoped so.

Hobie stroked your cheek. "I'll leave when ya get sick an' tired 'f me, doll."

taglist: @eldrichhorrornyaa , @coffeeandtealol , @ravieaesthetic

bottom divider credit to @v6que .

#across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv #hobie brown #spiderman #spider punk #hobie brown fic #hobie brown smut #hobie x black reader #hobie brown x black!reader #hobie brown x religious!reader #confessions!hobie #confessions!reader #hobie smut #atsv hobie #hobie spiderverse

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writin-with-the-blues · 2 months

Note

Hi hi! I was wondering if I could request TF2 mercs falling for a male S/O who is the enemy medic. Like S/O is nice to them never killing and is just the opposite of Red Medic? Cheerful and very optimistic, one day they notice during a match that S/O is missing. Only to find them clonked out behind a crate just dead asleep they look completely exhausted, not even an explosion going off would wake them

A/N: Alright Anon, I’ll see what I can do for you! I am going with headcannons with this request. Sorry If the Mercs are out of character especially Pyro, heavy, and Demo. Also I am so tired

TF2 Mercs falling for a Male!Blue medic!S/O

Scout:

He at first hates you the most but once he falls in love, he falls hard.

My god was he suspicious of your every move. Not really because you were an enemy, he couldn’t give less of a shit but because something in his mind couldn’t wrap around the idea of a nice medic. However, he starts to see you a lot more on the battlefield, and you just grew on him.

The way your eyes crinkle, the way your eyes shimmered when taking care of your patients, that smile, even the tiny stubble, god you were a masterpiece that he’d try to draw often.

He thought today on the battlefield would be no different, the usual banter, bullets, explosions, but no sign of his favorite doc. Until he found you asleep behind a crate.

He tried to wake you up normally, then tried dragging you but both weren’t effective. So he tried something really reckless.

He lifted your head, letting your head rest on arm as he used his cap to cover your face from the sunlight. He gently twirl your hair around his finger. He thought he was really charming at that moment.

Soldier:

God bless your heart because Jane is a handful.

He thinks you are very unpatriotic and untrustworthy. Not really because you are cheery, but because you aren’t killing people. He sees it almost as a sign of disrespect to your side no matter how much he doesn’t like them.

So when he starts falling in love, he just gets louder and more aggressive. Quite literally trying to get those voices to get out of his head. Because obviously he couldn’t love a traitor.

No matter how every time you talked about your patients, you give them the upmost respect and support. No matter how much your smile can just pierce through his thoughts.

It was a usual day for Soldier, the sounds of explosions, bombs, gunfire. When he saw you sleeping on the ground behind a crate.

He of course tried yelling you awake, shaking your body so much like his life depended on it. But of course it was no use.

So for the first time, in a while, he took a deep breath. He decided to stand by you and do the only thing he could think to do. Protect you with the same passion that you cared for others.

Pyro:

Out of everyone, they’d fall in love the fastest.

Pyro, in some sense, is fully aware of the violence they have inflicted onto others. Just refuses to think about it.

So seeing your smiling face, was just such a sight for sore eyes. Especially considering everything they have done.

Whenever they see you, they just can’t help but somehow give some sort of affection, it makes them just smile.

So not seeing you out on the battlefield, you know, helping people, is jarring. So jarring in fact they go looking for you.

So seeing you completely wiped behind a crate makes them basically jump and try to find solutions. One of the first and the one they acted on first is picking you up and taking you to a place they’d think you’d be safe.

Safe to say you are surprised when you wake up next to a bonfire with them.

Demoman:

Probably straight up finds you hot.

Despite being drunk, all of the time when he sees, he can see why not only your team likes you, but also himself.

It’s the sweat that falls down your face from the moving and the heat of explosions, that passion you have for taking care of people, still being a pacifist? In this hell scape? Yeah hot.

However that does not stop him from doing his job, he still has to occasionally kill you, always in front of people. However, what truly shows people how he feels about you is when all eyes are turned away and just tipsy instead of fully drunk.

Today, happens to be that day. He feels the nice warmth of the explosions, the tiny ringing of his ears, though it takes a bit to find you.

He finds you, of course, passed out behind the crate. He tried to help you wake up, however, even his ear piercing screams couldn’t wake you. So he figured that, he’d do his best.

Waking up to your head on his shoulders with the smell of Alcohol and gunpowder was not apart of your schedule.

Heavy:

Didn’t really care, of course there was a bias for you as a medic but other than that, generally didn’t care.

He saw you in battle and like anyone else, he’d mow you down. Watching you fall like a domino. Though, as time spread on, he’d slow down and hesitate.

It’s the way that you almost skip around helping others. The way you stood as if you were the sun is what made him fall in love.

So, he tries to communicate, but in your perspective, you think he just hates you more. With the dead on stares, the grunts, just generally not a talkative compared to how he was before.

It was a usual day, mainly made up of his mini gun firing off every bullet it had. It took a bit to realize you were gone, but once he did, god it was a man hunt.

Finding you behind a crate, passed out, was not what he was expecting, but not really surprised considering your eyebags. So he picked you up completely and tried to find a comfortable place to sleep.

Waking up in a very comfortable bed was not what you were expecting today. Especially seeing the guy that you thought hated you relaxing in a chair nearby.

Engineer:

Another neutral person, but my god you grew on him faster than he really expected.

Usually you ended up being mowed down by the machinery he makes, so ends up seeing you a lot more than other Mercs do. So he can end up learning more about you.

It’s your voice that does it for him. The way you always sounded so happy when taking care of others just completely struck a chord in him and he can’t tell you why.

When he does, he does eventually fall in love he talks to you a lot more often and on a lot better terms. You two sometimes end up in chats about machines.

It was the usual day of setting up his sentry gun, dispensers, Teleporters, maybe shooting a guy in the face. Though, he knew something was off immediately about the day, and it clicked that you weren’t there.

He found you behind a crate, asleep. It was the most painfully relatable thing he has seen in a while. He was also tired and wanted to fall asleep after working on everything the night before. So he decided to kill two birds with one stone.

Waking up to a sentry gun and a completely passed out engie snoring away was not on your bingo card.

Medic:

He doesn’t like you and it’ll take a while for him to do so.

He doesn’t like you mainly because you act like such a goody two shoes. All high and mighty and for what? Why would you do that when you could be using your patients to advance the medical field. (No wonder why you still have your license.)

Though he fell in love for you for your intelligence. The way you somehow streamline your care, use your equipment effectively, and generally how you think.

Of course he’d never tell you. Much less show you not only the respect he has, but also his feelings. So he just hides them all away doing anything but thinking about you.

He almost knew immediately something was awry when the match began and you weren’t there. He began searching for you immediately and it wasn’t hard to find you.

Right behind a crate. Asleep. He of course assumed the worst, but ended up realizing you weren’t suffering from some condition and ended up just relaxing next to you.

You awoke to the sounds of him adjusting his medigun right next to you. Pushing up his glasses as he stares down to it.

Sniper:

He hated you.

He just absolutely didn’t like the whole cheery thing you brought to the table. He found the whole thing condescending to be in an active war zone with a smile on your face.

Though what made him fall in love, was the way your hands worked. Something about the way you stitched your teammates together has him absolutely mesmerized. He couldn’t tell you why.

So what does he do? Try to go back to normal. Try key word. It is always so hard for him to take a shot at you, he’d always get shaky hands even thinking about it.

So he had mixed feelings when you were gone, like completely out of the picture for a match. Like, he has never been able to pick off so many enemies in a while but also, where were you?

So he ended up finding you after going to get some ammo to reload. Just completely passed out behind a crate. His first reaction was quiet swearing at the situation he ended up in, but then having to drag you somewhere that wasn’t a hot spot for his team to come back and forth from.

Waking up in a sniper’s nest is a unique way to wake up. The silence coming from sniper as he just focused on the enemy team, with no worries in his head.

Spy:

He distrusted you but he does fall in love eventually.

He had many remarks and criticisms of the way you lived your life, especially with the whole pacifism thing? Yeah that he really didn’t like.

Though what he fell for in you was your eyes. He knows from experience there is a lot you can gather about a person from just the way the look at stuff. So the way your pupil expands when you hear that your patients are doing better touches him.

So you are so confused when this man’s snarky remarks, general attitude, and making fun of you turns into flirting. Or you think it’s flirting, but it’s really hard to tell.

It was supposed to be a usual day, but like the medic, he knew immediately that something way wrong. As he sleuthed his was through lines upon lines, he found you.

You were asleep behind a crate. Though spy did try to awake you with the usual shaking, you didn’t wake up. So he decided to do what he felt was the best course of action.

You don’t know how, but you woke up in your own bed.

Masterlist

#tf2 x reader #tf2 #scout x reader #soldier x reader #pyro x reader #demoman x reader #heavy x reader #engineer x reader #medic x reader #sniper x reader #spy x reader

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jamiesfootball · 9 months

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After careful consideration and a lot of angry tags, I think I have pinpointed for me where Ted Lasso, especially season three, fails to succeed all the way at the themes it explores.

The narrative uses the deconstruction of toxic masculinity to paint their characters as being stronger for having let go of their preconceived notions of acceptable behavior - but the narrative also never lets their characters be weak or fragile without having toxic masculinity to blame. And there are a lot of situations in this show where you would expect someone to go ‘hey man, are you okay? Are you doing alright? because that was a shit thing that happened. it’s okay if you’re not okay.’

And it never does.

There’s an undercurrent in how scenes play out that suggests that the male characters should be strong enough to deal with hand they’ve been dealt. The narrative suggests that they’re the ones who need corrected. They can act better, but they can not be treated better themselves as a result. The male characters are allowed to express themselves, but they are not allowed to ask for anything back from the situation.

Which is why you can have a fight with your assistant coach, but when he comes back to apologize you don’t articulate how it made you feel. You don’t tell your friend how he hurt your feelings. You just accept it and move on.

The Diamond Dogs give advice on how to handle external problems with emotional roots. They never discuss how they feel internally on its own merit.

The closest we got to a male character just having a bad one and expressing it without a clear source of external conflict? Jamie in the boot room. And that was played for laughs.

Which is why you could be in a deep depression over losing your career of twenty years and part of your mobility, I guess. But also maybe that’s a problem of you not being able to let go, and maybe you should apologize for not moving on sooner? We should pity Roy for getting so stuck in his own shit all the time. Not because the man has lived an incredibly stressful and emotionally isolated life in a high pressure environment for so long he doesn’t have the tools to deal with it, but because the narrative would like us to know if he just stopped getting in his own way all the time, this wouldn’t be a problem.

Is your ex-wife seeing someone else, who happens to also be the person who was your marriage counselor? I don’t know man, relationships are hard. Don’t worry about how hard that must have shaken your trust in a profession that already made you feel skittish. Maybe you should stop obsessing over her and move on.

Your girlfriend can tell all your friends and coworkers how you’re too smothering. Yes, this is the ‘learn how to communicate better’ show, but that was on you, really. Good on you for apologizing for smothering her.

The women may have worrying relationships with people who love bomb them or turn out to be controlling, but Jane and Beard are just a bit weird. Don’t worry about it, Higgins.

You can take accountability for your actions, but if it was your email who was hacked - who cares? You apologized, and everyone is very proud of you. We won’t ever bring up how incredibly mortifying that must have been for you to realize, because something more mortifying happened to someone else.

You can show your emotions, but not the angry ones, not the bad ones - those you should get a hold on, no matter how warranted they are. The stronger you are, the more divorced from toxic masculinity you are, the less those things should matter.

Struggling with your abusive dad and how his relationship with you has literally scared you so badly that you keep looking over your shoulder, afraid he’ll be there? That is clearly the anger talking. This is definitely not a situation that calls for your pseudo-father figure to put his hand on your shoulder, look you in the eye, and say, “i’m really sorry to hear that, son, but you know we got your back. Ain’t nothing bad gonna happen to you while we’re here.”

No no, this is a you problem and you can correct it by forgiving that man who hurt you. In fact, you thank him for motivating you. It was the anger that got you this far. It wasn’t getting up at 4am every morning for extra training. It wasn’t your mentor, the one invested all his time in helping you. It wasn’t the coach who gave you a second chance when you blew your whole life up to get away from that man. It wasn’t your own drive and passion and love for the sport that pushed you towards succeeding in a career you only had a one-in-a-million chance of ever getting. No, it was the anger that carried you. You should let that go. And hey - what if hypothetically speaking, he might try to be better too one day? You can’t hold it against him. You should let that go too.

Breakdowns and displays of crying are fine, but expecting people to care or show concern afterwards? The narrative doesn’t know her. The narrative will not validate that. We don’t see what happened after Wembley. We don’t see what happened when Isaac came back to the locker room after blowing up. What the show will validate, however, is moving on. Just be a goldfish, or forgive and forget.

And finally-

Embrace your feelings, but not too hard - you can’t be trusted with them, actually.

Can you imagine that we actually got a scene of Roy telling Jamie that he was worried if either of them pursued Keeley it might ruin their friendship? Can you imagine? From the beginning they have butted heads. From the beginning, Roy has struggled to actually articulate his feelings, especially to the people they involve. And here is Roy doing exactly what the narrative has been teaching him to do - he voiced a feeling that was bothering him to the person who was involved in the problem. Unprompted. He did that on his own. After three seasons of being told that is what he should do when he has a problem, that should have been the moment of narrative reward. That would have been the audience’s release of tension: they’re still at odds, they’re still the same bull-headed people they’ve always been, but they’ve learned to talk about it. No matter what happens next, at least, they’ve gotten this far.

Instead the narrative rewarded him, and us, by having them fight it out in a back alley. Because they’re idiots, and they can’t be trusted to handle their feelings without someone else in the narrative (Keeley) setting them straight.

Yes, people backslide in real life all the time. But when the narrative backslides at the very end of the story - that’s just nihilism. That’s what this felt like - all that progress and promise that you can be better, and two of the people who struggled the most tripped at the finish line. The audience don’t even get to see them pick back up. I mean they’re fine now, I guess. They went for kebabs. I have to assume it worked out. I guess after that they found a way to be happy, but I would have preferred to see them find a way to be happy by way of their own actions. Not in a fanfic. Not by way of imagining how it went afterwards. Not by what’s implied in a montage. By the story actually showing me they could get there on their own.

And the worst part about all of this is that when the show gets it right? It fucking sings. The team coming together to repair Ola’s? That sings. Ted’s ‘ain’t nobody in this room alone’ speech? Wonderful. Trent telling Colin that ‘some people need time to adjust; it’s not fair, but they do’? So delicately wielded, so painful. Beard’s speech to Nate about stealing a loaf of meth? Chef’s kiss. Ted forgiving Rebecca when he learns why she brought him to coach Richmond? The tears in his eyes when he tells her ‘divorce is hard’?

The hug at Wembley.

That’s what I wanted, from start to finale. When the show knew how to wield its empathy, it wielded it like a knife, cutting into the deepest parts of your heart.

Which is why when it does mess up, it hurts so much worse. Because by season three, the show has sunk so far into the deconstruction of things that it’s forgotten that what it fixed were not the only problems those characters ever faced. The show zoomed in too close on the themes. It forgot that at its roots, the its biggest strength has been its empathy. And that to me is where the show failed.

#i am upsetti spaghetti #and this has been rolling around in my noggin since the finale so- here #ted lasso meta #people don't care when bad shows mess up #they care because the show was good #oh and because i can't say this enough #fuck jamie's dad #i'm all for forgiveness and fuck jamie's dad are two sentiments that can should and do coexist

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jimmy-johns-was-taken · 9 months

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Howdy, howdy, howdy!! I’m too shy to interact non-anon, but I’d still love to tell ya your writing always brings a smile to my face. I love hearing others ideas and thoughts on the creeps. The varied interweaving of stories and personalities is absolutely fascinating. Thanks for sharing your lovely ideas on here!!

LITERALLY CRYING THANK U SO MUCH I LOVE YOU ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Here, have some general Headcanons becuz you’re just so amazing

General Creepypasta Headcanons

Jeff can’t cry at all, like physically cannot do it

Toby cannot stand Jeff, they think he’s too much and annoying

Toby and Tim get along great (a father-son relationship) but Toby and Masky would kill each other if they could

Hoodie does nothing to moderate them

Slenderman and the Operator are 2 different things

An idea that I’d like to explore but haven’t yet so don’t come at me is that Slender offered Tim and Brian refuge from the Operator in exchange for their service and work

Nina and Toby get along very well, oddly enough

Jane and Tim hold weekly gossip sessions, to which Tim goes and tells Brian and Jane goes to tell Nina and Clockwork

Speaking of, Clockwork is a highly respected creep when it comes to hand to hand combat and chasing down people, she’s really fast

BEN lowkey fears Clockwork and Jane, both of them could kick his ass and he knows it

BEN has the biggest idgaf attitude and in some ways he couldn’t care less about anything

Sally curses a lot, it’s hilarious

Sally is the only pasta who is able to see Candle Cove (I think that’s what it’s called? It’s that TV with the pirate and skeleton) since she’s a child

I love the idea that LJ has no insides, so if he wanted he could just flop around like a ragdoll

EJ cannot stand stomping, it hurts his ears

EJ is mostly nocturnal and he’s silent, everyone is bound to run into him in the middle of the night

Most of the pastas operate at night, but they’re all able to go days without sleep

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby #ben drowned #eyeless jack #jane the killer #jeff the killer #nina the killer #ben drowned headcanons #eyeless jack headcanon #meow meow

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fantasy-mixtapes · 2 months

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Gorgug Thistlespring Junior Year Playlist: Side A

Heres Gorgug's playlist! Literally the sweetest ever, deserves the world and more. Spoilers for Episodes 1-10

Genres Include: Alt Rock, Anti-Folk, Punk, Metal

1. Dashboard, Modest Mouse

Well, it would've been, could've been worse than you would ever know Oh, the dashboard melted but we still have the radio Oh, it should've been, could've been worse than you would ever know Well, you told me about nowhere Well, it sounds like someplace I'd like to go

Ok nothing made me laugh harder than the image of the Hangvan beat to shit and Gorgug still having to drive it back for two days straight. TWO DAYS STRAIGHT. Despicable. Deplorable. Hilarious.

2. The Best Ever Death Metal Band in Denton, Laura Jane Grace

When you punish a person for dreaming their dream Don't expect 'em to thank or forgive you The best ever death metal band out of Denton Will, in time, both outpace and outlive you Hail Satan, Hail Satan, tonight Hail Satan, hail, hail

This song is less of a 1 to 1 representation of Gorgug's situation and more like a song that, if he heard it at this specific time in his life, would utterly destroy him. I am really never gonna forgive Porter for the way he treated Gorgug, and as an educator, I never ever want to make anyone feel the way these fake people felt in their fake game. While this song is originally (and famously) by The Mountain Goats I really like the Laura Jane Grace cover. And I love it for Gorgug as a kind of wink to @rabdoidal 's transfem Gorgug hc, which is another thing I absolutely love.

3. Overbite, Sincere Engineer

Could have been a doctor if I really cared enough But I didn't have it in me I got distracted by a bunch of stuff I'm so stupid and empty My mind just wasn't in it And neither was my heart ... I'm not basing my intelligence on some fucking letters And now that it's over I did what I was told I had to do But I still feel just about as dumb as I used to I still feel just about as dumb as I used to

Gorgug Thistlespring took FOUR YEARS of classes. He did that. He did it and he fucking crit. He fucking got straight As on Artificer and didn't flunk Barbarian, which is basically a genius-level thing to do. Fuck Porter, and honestly? fuck Henry Hopclap for letting a 17-year-old do this to himself when he could have just confronted Porter himself LIKE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO LIKE AN ADULT

4. Dragged Across the Finish Line, Sincere Engineer

I'm not trying to win I'm just trying to finish I don't know when it ends But I'm counting the minutes And I'm counting on you Yeah, I'm counting on you I remember when I knew it 'cause I saw it in your eyes And I did what I had to, I dragged you across the finish line It would be so nice If you could do that for me this time

Is this the second song in a row by Sincere Engineer on this 6 song playlist? Yes, it is, and I am not apologizing for it because it's perfect. Also, Sincere Engineer sounds like a band name that Gorgug would think of because that's what he is. Also I really like the way this kind of makes a parallel to Gorgug helping his friends (it's gorgug keep going) and them helping him do well in his classes with studying and everything.

5. Terrifyer, AJJ

Then it got personal, I saw my rage I just wanted to rage, but all I got was tired I tried to walk to the building, but the beauty it brittled me I tried to talk to the waiter, but the beauty gentled me I ran away from the security guard Because security guards dishearten me I said goodbye to my dignity Said goodbye to my dignity

I know that the structure of an adventuring school is different than something in the real world, and if we were to apply the current utilitarian models of education towards a system that prioritizes people who freak out and fight stuff and not just people who can churn out content and do services, it would make sense that teachers in this system can freak out on students and that's like normal, but I'm gonna say the most lukewarm take ever and say it's fucked up that Porter kept bending the rules for Fig and didn't do fucking anything for Gorgug, just to say that it was to "make him embrace his rage"

Like if we're gonna prioritize class excellence, then Porter should have been more than happy to help Gorgug find a class in which he felt more comfortable, even if, at the end of the day, Porter thought Gorgug should ultimately drop Barbarian.

6. St. Anger, Metallica

And I want my anger to be healthy And I want my anger just for me And I need my anger not to control And I want my anger to be me And I need to set my anger free And I need to set my anger free And I need to set my anger free Set it free

I have mixed feelings about the way Gorgug finally got his MCAT signed, because, like - yes, anger and rage aren't necessarily bad, and while Gorgug initially was repressing his anger in season 1, I really think that isn't the case anymore. And yet we have Porter pushing rage so hard in the "corrupting rage" season.

I truly believe that anger can be a beautiful and natural thing, that it keeps you safe in certain situations, that it shows you when you are being mistreated and lets you advocate for yourself. And I think that that is a lesson that a lot of the bad kids need to learn, specifically Kristin, Riz, and even Adaine (with the transition to using a sword and also the whole deal with Adaine's furious fists). But Gorgug already learned that lesson. Sometimes you don't have to be angry????

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #d20 #d20 fhsy #spotify #fantasy mixtapes #gorgug fantasy high #gorgug thistlespring #d20 spoilers #fhjy spoilers #Spotify

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serpercival · 11 months

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The Third Doctor is so they/them coded to me so here's how I think the UNIT crew would react to them explaining singular they pronouns:

Sergeant Benton: He literally could not care any less. He's already dealing with a person who's way smarter than him, is an alien, and has never told him their name. He does not have the strength to give a shit or question anything the Doctor says anymore. Punches a guy who insults the Doctor's dress sense in a pub a few weeks later.

Captain Yates: Has a gender crisis for about two weeks and is ridiculously proud of himself when he comes out the other side of it with a good grasp on what it means that he's comfortable with he/him pronouns. Absolutely rips on anyone who gets the Doctor's pronouns wrong.

The Brig: Literally nothing changes between them. He'd already been quietly transferring staff who said homophobic things back to the regular military.

Liz Shaw: Figures it out on her own and starts using the right pronouns for them out of the blue. Doesn't ask questions. Once she's left UNIT and gone back to Cambridge, she occasionally gives out the Doctor's phone number to trans students. They always answer the phone.

Jo Grant: Literally all she's ever wanted is a gay best friend to talk about boys with. This is the happiest day of her life.

Sarah Jane Smith: Begs the Doctor for an interview for a queer journal she occasionally writes for. Finally gets one out of Four, who cannot take it seriously to save his life.

Harry Sullivan: Actually incapable of understanding despite being semi-canonically bisexual. He finally gets his head around it after the Doctor regenerates, which doesn't help much because Four alternates between he/him and "I don't remember what a pronoun is"

The Master: Fellow Time Lord, doesn't give a shit. Does relentlessly tease them for getting stuck in the 70s and/or 80s in an incarnation that needs to explain 21st century gender politics to every person they meet.

#doctor who #the third doctor is nb #gender #classic doctor who #third doctor

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tmntxthings · 1 year

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Σ一The Villainess, AKA: Cherrypie ‘A Cute-Meet’。・゜・

summary: way before the night of the ball, Y/n and Raph met under pretty average circumstances, if average includes testing out a prototype for a cloaking brooch & a certain special ring getting stolen

author’s note: this is first prequel to the ongoing collab with <3 @marwhoa <3 we have been contemplating more prequels to continue adding depth to the story and ofc the almighty ‘part two’

warnings: rise!raph x villain!reader, cloaking brooch au, secret identities, cute meet, fluff

〔you’re here〕 → next

—————————————————————————

Through one of the very few quiet streets of the city, a hand emerges from the wall. Around it glitters magenta sparks, twinkling as an entire body follows through it. As dazzling an entrance as that was, this particular stranger happened to be dressed simply. A plain, ruffled, scarlet dress with a billowing skirt, accented by the pair of matching sandals wrapping up her calves, and tied together by a red clutch-purse as its accentuating piece. ‘Plain-Jane’ blinked away a crackle of red magic that was quite literally drawn into a ring upon her finger. Small bits of arcane energy surged in, bouncing erratically beneath the clear film protecting ruby crystals inside—all until the last twinkle blipped into the vacuum.

With a few calming rotations of the ring around her digit and a tucking of stray hairs behind her ear, the silent street was filled by soft tmps of the mysterious newcomer’s light footsteps. Perpendicular to the alley she has appeared through, a sneaky peek was given before she stepped out the next pin-drop quiet street with sidewalks that likely experienced so little foot traffic that they just might be clean enough to eat on.

Luckily, this lass wasn’t here to dine on the sidewalk picnic style—no, no, she was here for a special café that was quite literally the hidden gem beaten off the path. Had it not been for her frequenting, it likely wouldn’t be able to stay open. THAT is just how out of the way it was. Alright, that may have been blown out of proportion, but Y/n couldn’t care less as she and her temporarily-inflated self-importance pushed through the doors. Immediately she was woken up by the soothing hold of coffee grinds and baked goods. They cradled her, placing energizing kisses upon both cheeks.

A barista greeted the door’s chiming bell with a cheerful good morning and “Welcome to Sugar n’Spice!”

Any sleepiness brave enough to stay in your system from a bright and early rise wouldn’t stand a chance in this quaint, domestic place and its enlivening, ambrosial scents as you approached the counter. A glance was passed to the occupants of the room—a man who looked like he just got out of the gym, two sickly looking old ladies by the window, a lady bouncing a kid on her hip, and a man in a suit who’s foot tapped in a ‘watching the clock closely’ fashion.

Giving a curt “Excuse me,” as you navigated around the impatient man, you swallowed the bitterness upon your tongue for these humans who had the privilege to be here, topside, all day, any day. Hold back that discontent, for there is one important rule! A personally appointed exception, specially made for Sugar n’Spice: this place was divine enough to escape your witchy wrath. Show utmost respect by refraining from the usual ‘Hidden City Dweller seething at the humans.’ You could do that anywhere but here. This place was the holy land. The heavenly pinnacle of coffee—the SACRED LAN—

“Ma’am …?”

The barista tilted their head towards you playfully as that increasingly bizarre inner monologue settled abruptly. The distractions were waved off by a shaking of your noggin and an apologetic smile. “Sorry! Caught up with something—could I get the spiced Red Velvet latte? Please.”

Your lips shifted into a patient smile as the barista practically sighed in relief, hand on their chest as they muttered, “..much more normal than that last customer,” under their breath. You quirked an eyebrow at this but quickly rested your features. Humans complained too much for folks that—no! No, no, Y/n, quit it. The rule, remember the rule!

“Oh! Also, can I do the student discount? I’m an Eastlaird student.”

There was a missed opportunity as three of the occupants in the room perked up upon hearing that name; alas, your attention was instead fixated on your red clutch. Swiftly unlatching it and digging out two cards: one to show to the barista, your ID, and the second, your debit card. The animated worker leaned in, nodded at the little plastic, and took off some of the charge via the ‘Sugar n’Spice’s Nice Discount.’ With just one swipe of a debit card and a little wave after the machine’s little ‘doot!’ , you were all ready to go and await your beloved order. Your seeking eyes gazed all around the room in search of a table to claim until landing fondly upon a small two-seater. There, in the corner opposite of the old ladies and other waiting humans, was a perfectly empty space. Morning sun rays seemed to illuminate a chair for you to sit in, whispering a ‘come here to enjoy the one thing humans were able to do right, dear!’

After a moment to place your things upon the uninhabited table, you then went over and leaned against the counter near where orders came out and scrolled nonchalantly through your cellular. A scoff or two may have escaped at whatever human news headlines caught your eyes, at least up until your expression glimmered with a split-second of trepidation as an instinctual swipe did away with an unwanted notification.

NOTIFICATION

You have one new message.

———————————————————

➤ MOTHER sent now

Where are you?

Not here, please, agonized the disguised witch silently. This was your one true escape—the one and only getaway from home that you had. Away from the mystic training, away from her, and into a place where you could be a normal... A normal what, human? Don’t even think about finishing that thought.

But, Sugar n’Spice cafe… this was one of the only human-made delights you had…

Surely that granted you one little ‘cross my heart’ secret kept, right?

Trapped in your chest was a deep sigh; you didn’t want to think about your mother. It felt like she had done nothing but push you to your limits as of lately. Constantly claiming that your magic “wasn’t performing at its peak.”, That you “should train more,” —no, even MORE than that, that you should only be training. The ever-lingering pressure to perform and perform well, lest you don’t come up to par with your mother’s expectations, it was starting to get ridiculous. “Seriously Y/n, are you even trying? If you don’t start taking training seriously—” You quickly shoved the memory away violently.

The little device was hastily shoved into your clutch, along with the unpleasant memory. Your eyes closed as the subconscious habit of twisting your ring came in full swing. You did it mostly when nervous, but every so often it would give off a calming effect—and per usual, it served to ground your racing heart in the here and now.

This place was your safe haven. You didn’t want to mar its charm by thinking of that hateful woman who did nothing but dampen your spirits. Just as you were opening your eyes after building up your resolve, one of the baristas called out, “Spiced Red Velvet latte!” Right on time, just the thing to completely nip these nerves in the bud as if clicking a ‘do not disturb for at least an hour’ switch.

You were so focused on your destination, hand reaching out for its prize. So focused in fact, your hand jolted and floated stiffly as your peripheral caught another hand closing in. Far closer than a stranger’s hand should be, and your eyes were blown wide, resting upon the intruder heading straight for the cup—your cup.

“Oh—”

Both of you stilled. You followed the hand up until you met the gaze of a culprit who dared to try and steal the drink you ordered every single visit! Just as quickly as you made eye contact with a pair of emerald eyes, the barista’s worried voice snagged your attention once more.

“—that’s right! Sorry, both of you ordered the spiced red velvet latte,” clarified the worker behind the counter, slowly, nervously, pulling their hand away from the fresh beverage. “The, uh, the next one will be out shortly!” They amended, turning back to concocting tasty drinks.

“Sorry! You can go ahead, I’m in no rush.”

Your gaze returned to those bright green irises. His voice was deep and soothing, offering a soft smile as he dipped his head towards your drink. Or rather, a drink whose fate laid in the hands of you both. A shared dilemma.

“Wait—wait what?”

Cue the double-take. From the drink, to those curious green eyes, right on back to the drink. Was this… Selflessness? Displayed by one who belonged to a selfish society? “You’re just letting me have it?”

Now, by no means would you ever forfeit something of yours to a human. Not even a drink mishap like this! But, what stopped you in your tracks was the lack of a rude ‘I’ll be taking this! You can wait for the next drink.’ from the stranger.

“Well, yeah, a’course. Raph prides ‘imself on bein’ respectful— ‘s good manners, too.” He was beaming with a proud grin, crossing his arms and standing with a stance that seemed all-too-heroic. The “amaze” factor of his pose was severely detracted by the gym clothes he wore. Basketball shorts and a tank top, sneakers—was this dude on a morning jog? Not the most heroic get-up.

“R.. Right..” Y/n’s eyes rested on the cup and its steam, lingering there for long enough that the drink’s twin had been completed and slid out on the counter, metaphorically framed by the worker chirping, “Another spiced red velvet latte, for here!”

The gears in your head were turning, still frozen by the smallest gesture, far too small for anyone else, but that meant so much more to you. This is a sign, echoed a thought. As he took his drink, you couldn’t have missed him doing a victorious fist to the air and muttering “You still got it, big guy! The precious drink has been secured.” The whimsical nature of the whole interaction had your hand moving before anything could be thought through enough, driven by a single fear. Pushing your hand, the fear begged you, as though letting this one leave here and now would become the biggest regret of your life.

“Wait,”

You nearly whispered the word, feeling an uncharacteristic thump in your chest as those same green hues turned and locked with your own shaky eyes.

“Someone who loves Sugar n’Spice’s spiced red velvet lattes as much as I do, th-that’s hard to find. ‘Cause, y’know what they say, it’s too much sugar and spice.”

“It’s too much sugar n’spice.”

Laughter brought the two together within seconds as the realization that they said the same thing at the same time set in. Y/n’s nerves dissolved—and to be frank, so did this particular stranger’s, not that you would know that.

A shaky invitation was proposed, asking him if he’d like to sit together and share company. With a toothy smile and a nod, the two sat at her claimed table, humming at the clinks the cups made when their bottoms met the polished redwood of the café tables. Just before either could start conversation, one of the old ladies across the room gasped dramatically loud. Y/n would have looked over, had it not been for the man in front of her quickly covering up the scene with a cough and interjection.

“So!”

His voice cracked, seeming to choke on a bit of unease as your eyes returned to him.

“Ya gotta be a regular, too, then?”

“Yes—what gave it away?”

Y/n inquired, taken aback by such a bizarre deduction. Seriously, what gave it away? She glanced at her drink, her seat, and then to the board. The evidence revealed itself before he continued.

“These drinks ‘ave long since been taken off the menu, but they still serve ‘em for the few regulars who knew about it.”

The happy trill he gave upon sipping the hot drink further lowered your guard as you leaned into your hand. The little voice in your head placed its imaginary hands on your shoulders, leaning into your ear with an ecstatic ‘maybe this one’s a good human? say, don’tcha think nice humans exist? there’s the owners of sugar n’spice, so can’t there be others !!?’

“Quite the observant eye you have, sirrrr… Raph” Dragging out the last word until the name came back to you, the same one he said earlier. You were banking on that having been a third-person-speaking moment as opposed to him giving the name of an absentee.

“Raph,” He nodded in confirmation, to which you dipped your head with him, copying his nod.

“And your name?”

“Oh, it’s Y/n.” Your voice spoke sheepishly, wondering why it had taken you so long to say so.

“Issa lovely name, and a pleasure to meet ‘cha!”His smile was so warm and comforting that you let go of the embarrassment swirling around your head, heating your cheeks. Play it off as being from your drink’s steam, that’ll work! Go on, a little ‘shoooo’ to the maroon-red liquid before taking the lightest sip. Ah, it’s still too hot.

“How long ‘ve you been a patron?”

The friendly human asked in order to continue the conversation. This had a tiny smile appearing on your face. You almost couldn’t remember the first time you stumbled into SnS. You blew out a winded raspberry.

“It’s been a good long while..” Pondering hums reverberated from within as your hands lifted the drink once more in a contemplative sip. This was your first year at Eastlaird, so that …plus a couple of years more, Ah!

“Around 3 or 4 years,”

The cup’s bottom tapped the tabletop with a light clink. Ever since you had found one of the more far-off gateways from the Hidden City to the topside, your nose had followed the sweet aroma of coffee. Now every time you snuck away from your mother, you made sure to squeeze a stop here into the schedule. Fortunately for you, sneaking away was one of your specialties, thus your regular status at said coffeehouse.

“Well Raphs been grabbin’ a drink here for 5 or so years!”

The huma— Raph, added after you finished. You wondered internally how miraculous it was that neither of you had run into each other before.

…

…….

Silence filled up the space around you both. Though the conversation had reached a momentary halt, Raph caught himself lingering on a potential topic. Should he bring up Eastlaird? It was an overheard tidbit from the exchange between you and the employee at the register. But, how could he phrase it without sounding like a bit of a creep for eavesdropping in the first place? He glanced up from his glass to find you staring out of the window. Head angled slightly upwards as though captivated by something, and so his own gaze curiously followed yours to the bright blue sky.

Nothing particularly interesting nor impressive stuck out to him. It was just an ordinary sky—not exactly a clear sky, an occasional cloud would make it’s gradual trek across the expanse—, but as his eyes came back to you, it seemed your eyes saw something else in the overhead canvas. A soft smile graced your lips as your eyes affectionately soaked up the view. Maybe it was the strokes of light morning pinks and golden yellows streaking across the canvas. Or it might have been the dashes of clouds, like stretched-out cotton clouds, pinned to the board for depth. Something about this thing that Raph had seen every day yet never truly seen, the twinkle in your eyes had him taking another look. The atmosphere between the two of you opened up to him as he began to realize the position he was in.

Here, at a table for two, with a lady as pretty as you. Deceiving you, disguised and still daring to watch fondly at this vulnerable smile you gave. You were the perfect picture of someone who saw a world he didn’t, and that very thing was leaving a sour pit in his chest. Raph immediately looked down at his drink, taking another swig, but this time the sweet drink left a bitter aftertaste. Everything he did sounded louder to his ears—picking the cup up, swallowing the latte, placing it back down. He was suddenly all too aware of every action he made. How couldn’t he be? Look at you, so well put-together and serene, and here he was making a blunder of the whole conversation. You went out of your way to invite him, and his thanks to that was uninteresting small-talk.

Raph suddenly felt…

Boring.

…

The gap in the conversation only seemed to widen as the two of you both scavenged for the next topic. It was an understatement to say it was humiliating to you—inviting a stranger, who was a human also, don’t forget that very important bit, and then proceeding to give them the driest conversation in existence?

You took the pause as a chance to take in your delightful beverage, and it seemed he had the same idea. As the rays of sunlight filtered in through the bay window beside your table, framed by decorative brown curtains made of the silkiest fabric and lined with gauzy trim, you both had your spirits raised as you bask in warmth and contentment brought at the sweet and refreshing sting of the beloved lattes. As true to their name, the delicate blend of sugar and spice displayed a masterful dance upon your tongue. It was just the kind of drink to set you at ease and clear your head entirely, so much so that you found yourself needing to place the glass down gently and excuse yourself to the bathroom.

A splash or two met your face, dragging you out of the vulnerable trance that the latte left you in.

Think about it, you are sharing a table with someone you hate. Well, not him personally, but his people! They treated your folks so poorly, shunning and belittling them. Don’t even think for a second that your community had forgotten the witch trials!

But, the little voice in your head interjected. This is someone showing us something different. Surely you see that, right? He is yet another example of a good human, and there has to be more, Y/n, you know it deep down!

And just like that, Y/n could feel herself slowly turning back to thoughts she once had as a child—all because of this, this!

This guy. Something about him was making her falter on the hatred her mother ingrained in her. Something about him was making this soldier fall out of line…

And back at the table, that someone was almost disturbing those around him with how his leg was bouncing. A ding from his phone made his knee instantly knock against the table, spilling some of the liquid in his drink-twin’s cup. Begin the panic! Napkin after wadded napkin built up on the table as Raph worked to clean up the spill as best as he could, almost going so far as to pour some of his in to make up for the bit lost. Alas, some restraint was exercised while checking the notification that started this whole debacle to begin with.

It was from a certain nosy brother, texting for “the deets“ of what was going on.

Agitated, he turned to the old ladies at the window who instantly—DESPERATELY—looked everywhere else, pretending they weren’t just boring holes into the back of his head.

“Knock it off, you two! I will not be giving you the ‘deets!‘ So stay out of it—you’re throwing me off”

Raph turned back after having whisper-shouted to the ‘ladies’. No, scratch that, to the not-so-dearest brothers clad in blue and purple who took to elderly human disguises. Why, you may ask? To keep an eye on their brother who was currently trying out a mystic cloaking prototype.

As he leaned into the palm of his hand, huffing and twiddling with the delicate chain around his neck, Raph thought back on what led up to him being here, his special café, with THEM, his meddling little brothers. His human thumb ran across the twinkling ruby as it gave off a magical glow.

So, roll back the cameras—back before you strolled through the door.

Raph had a rather awkward entrance. By no means had he fibbed about frequenting here for the past five years, but there was a crucial detail left out.

This was the first day that he came in with so little clothes.

Not like that, no, I mean that he usually only ventures into the human’s stores and public spaces in get-ups that had him sticking out like a sore thumb. Like seriously, who wears scarves, hats, masks, and coats in summer and spring? But today, clad with a magical item, he was just a normal human being. Normal humans had the privilege of not melting themselves under radiating suns from seasonally-inappropriate disguises. They also held the privilege of getting their drink ‘for here’ instead of ‘to-go.’

And boy was he grateful for that on this day specifically.

See, when he had his antsy, awkward encounter with the barista minutes before you came in, he had been all-too-prepared to grumpily seat himself with the odd old ladies. He had even encouraged himself, “Alright Raph, you got this!” before making a complete fool of himself.

“Raph would like to buy one spiced red velvet latte, thank you….”

He and the worker exchanged glances for a few moments. Nobody could miss the quirked eyebrow they gave at his approach. Recovering from the oddity, they typed away on their device then wordlessly stared up at him. Raph felt that there was something to be done now, as though their eyes were conveying a ‘Well? Go on?’ message. Come on, Raphie, you’ve done this a million times over, why now do you blank out?

“And uh… Where does he pay..?”

Raph added, giving an apologetic smile to the poor worker whose face almost read as ‘this isn’t the normalest customer service experience I’ve had, but it definitely isn’t the worst.’ They gestured to the card reader, adding a low, confused “here, sir.”

After he then fumbled with his card, Raph finally paid and made his way to the pick-up counter. Not so bad.. definitely could do better. Nonetheless, he was brimming with pride from configuring how to order, as a human. He rocked back n’forth on his heels, only coming to a standstill when his attention gravitated towards the baristas working fluidly. Down he came from all the jittery nerves of talking to a human, especially while in a rather comfortable outfit, perfected with the stylish mutant-cloaking necklace! Raph almost started fiddling with the golden chain yet again, this time out of grateful thank yous to the inanimate jewelry piece.

But he held himself back, hands shifting down into his pockets. Donnie had told him plenty of times to, “refrain from touching it.” Which, fair, it was a prototype, and Raph was sure he would need to permanently avoid this place if he shifted back in front of all these people! Or, well, all the workers. Not really a busy place when you’re quite literally a hidden gem. Needless to say, he was only halfway aware of his surroundings when the door chimed. A bell rang out and in walked a figure wearing his favorite color.

Now the color alone would always catch his eye, but the reason he lingered was solely because of her. First, he started at the sandals. Awfully pretty, especially with how they wrapped up and around her calves. Raph could never pull that off, he concluded mentally. Next, his gaze continued to climb, taking in the red dress. The way it—

He blinked and began chiding himself for staring so blatantly. It wasn’t polite! Raph’s eyes darted back to the front and center, aimlessly looking at the menu he may or may not have known well enough to not even look. Away his gaze went, searching for yet another sight to focus on. Ah, right, he noticed the baristas had yet to start on his drink, which he didn’t mind, he wasn’t in a rush for anything more than a normal thing to look at for as long as needed without being creepy. A sign, a table, even a chip in the floors! But all too quickly he found his eyes roaming back to her. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail; although, a few pesky strands must have been bothering her because occasionally her swift hand moved to brush them right back behind her ear.

His phone buzzed, bringing him back from his staring trance once again. It was the perfect opportunity to distract himself, and so when he glanced at the notification, the last thing he wanted to see was a notification from Leo. Raph held in an eye roll as he read, ‘Staring quite hard there, brother of mine’ He promptly let his phone slip back into the pockets of his basketball shorts, leaving the message on delivered.

Though he did lull his head towards the two elderly dressed women in one corner of the coffeehouse, giving the one clad in blue a hard stare that read his reply, Shut up. Raph knew full well he was guilty of the accused crime, staring. Didn’t mean he wanted or needed to be called out by his very annoying little brother, and it definitely didn’t help that Leo had a smug face despite the ridiculous amount of makeup he had on. “Gotta look the part!” Leo’s voice echoed in Raph’s head from earlier this morning, as Leo somehow forced Donnie to put on the makeup as well. They looked absurd, and Raph was thankful for the cloaking necklace now more than ever.

Still, Raph found his gaze trailing back to you so much that he dragged his hands down his face, stretching and groaning out, low and exhausted. It wasn’t till the call for a “Spiced red velvet latte!” broke his trance enough that he sluggishly moved over. Like a crescendo, his energy came back with each step until he reached for his drink with a polite nod to the barista. Their shocked look and follow-up sentence was what brought his eyes elsewhere. Down to the cup.

The hand he recognized much-too-quickly stiffly hovered near, and her gaze was a mixture of an unknown emotion and pure confusion. He, too, stiffened up as though meeting the eyes of Medusa herself. Gosh, she’s even prettier up close, a side-tracked thought said, only for him to recoil his rude hand and gesture to the drink. He was apologizing before your gaze could shift into anything that may have ached his heart, following it up with insisting you take the drink. He could wait! Whatever you were saying next was muffled as he found himself entirely entranced, answering in automated sentences that may or may not have been prepared, had he found himself locked in small talk with a human.

So, to break the trance, he accepted the next identical latte handed to him and turned, quick to flee the scene. That is, until the spell knocked up a notch with your hand on him, inviting him to sit.

And that is exactly how he got into this position: sipping his latte as he watched you come back over to your rightful seat, having left the lavatory. All while trying his best to look like a normal person who definitely did not make some of your drink rock out of its mug a second ago. No, not him. Totally. He’s innocent.

“Sorry! I was, er… Splashing my face. To do away with some sleepiness…”

Raph nodded, taking another sip of his drink that had since cooled down. Did he look guilty? Was he playing it off? He choked up on the sweet liquid upon your next statement.

“Whuh—it’s sticky, did you spill something?”

Curiosity and a bit of wariness swirled in your eyes as they bore through him, begging for an answer. He was caught red-handed, entirely so. All he could do was admit his crime, a sigh slipping his lips as he gave an ashamed look to the left like a regretful puppy-dog.

“I was hopin’ I’d cleaned up alla mess ‘fore ya got back. I had some nervous jitters and knocked the table.. Sorry, Y/n..”

There was yet another one of those uncharacteristic thumps in your chest when his eyes met yours, pleading forgiveness. Rather than the usual bitterness settling in your chest, you found yourself a tad bit more patient towards this special boy. Your cheeks flushed, emitting a heat soothed by the cool side of your hand pressing against it with an even more uncharacteristic stammering.

“Y-You’re fine.. Thank you, for the honesty and clearing the mess.”

The next bout of silence was less awkward and more-so dizzying—in a good way. It fluttered your heart and felt welcoming. As the last bit of your drink passed your lips and settled inside, filling you with blissful comfort, you held out a hand for his empty mug. Perhaps a change of heart would do you some good—a kind gesture returned for someone who truly deserved none of your hatred. His eyes met yours, quickly understanding as he stood and passed the cup to you. This moment was coming to an end, and somehow that made your eyes sting for a moment. It was almost as if a tear was threatening you to prolong it as the ceramics were placed upon their respective ‘for-washing’ pedestals at the disposal corner.

“Well, Raph… it was nice meeting you.”

“Likewise.”

His smile had you considering an option you would never ever do. Your mind strayed to where your phone was, itching to ask this boy a certain question. Together, you both walked out of the café—and again, you missed how the two old ladies were practically becoming the window with how hard they pressed to the glass, nosily watching.

The morning sun was still bright in the sky, shining through clouds in a way that almost spotlighted you guys as you gathered the courage to ask! Turning to face him, you bit the bullet and opened your mouth!

“Could we exch—IRK!”

Y/n lurched forwards when someone knocked into her in a fashion that just couldn’t have been played off as an accident. Thankfully she had bumped straight into Raph (and tried desperately to ignore how nice his chest felt), but the draining, nauseating feeling that began quickly washing over was enough to raise alarms.

And she knew the exact cause. It wasn’t the closeness to a human or the lack of an “excuse me” or “sorry” for shoving her. No, there was another, far more important cause to the sickness tightening. Y/n raised her dominant hand, holding her clutch and finding that a special ring was no longer wrapped around her finger. Of the things to have taken, had this one thing seemed much more important than a literal wallet?!

“The nerve of some people! He totally meant th—Y/n, whoa, ya look pale! Are you okay?”

His hand instinctually made contact with you, brushing some stray hairs away from your face as you had done a few times earlier.

“Th-That guy, he—thief, he took my-my!”

You held your hand, twirling air around where a ring once was. Raph blanked for a second, thinking you had meant something to do with your clutch, but as his eyes zeroed in on the light prints of an absent ring, it suddenly all made sense to Raph. A rushed “What? Wait here,” was muttered before he was quickly pursuing the thief. All while leaving you against the outside walls of the café.

You watched Raph’s figure leave. A heavy exhale clawed itself from your chest. How foolish! You had been so caught up in thought—about asking for Raph’s number, that you had allowed someone to get so close. Too close, right into your personal space, and completely able to swipe your ring.

That small piece of jewelry was dearer to you than anything else you owned. It was what contained your power, or rather, what kept it in control. Without it, you were a hazard who started leaking mystic energy immediately. Red sparks crackling around your eyes when you were pushed.

Just seconds from a potential disaster, but somehow it was Raph’s voice that snapped you out of it. You couldn’t lose control here in front of the one place you swore to protect from your evil. You wouldn’t lose control in front of him. So when you barely explained with a shaky voice and he quickly sprung into action, leaving you, there was relief swirling around. This was a good thing. You’d rather him not be around to witness if you couldn’t maintain a firm grip on your power. Not him. Okay, try to distract yourself. Control, think about anything else, anything but your magic right now.

Oh, right! He had held you!

The thought struck you so fiercely your cheeks heated to the same shade as your dress. The warmth of his arms holding you lingered. Even just remembering the feel of his broad chest had you utterly distracted. And it hadn’t stopped there! He had brushed your hair away from your face, his fingers so careful and gentle. That type of touch was quite foreign to you. It had you blushing even more furiously than before—if that was even possible. Your eyes never left Raph’s back until he dashed out of view into an alleyway.

…

As soon as Raph had seen your expression twist and realized you had been wronged, it was like his body moved before his brain could catch up. The perpetrator had sped up into a jog, after hearing Y/n call out “thief.”

Luckily there weren't that many people crowding the sidewalks this morning. Especially since this part of the city wasn't as advertised. Raph’s green eyes tracked the punk as he dodged into an alleyway. He pushed himself faster, shrinking any chances of this guy getting away right on down to zero. Maybe even into the negatives if he tried hard enough,

Fate was on Raph’s side, as is befitting of the hero, because he slowed to a stop to find the petty criminal glaring at the dead end before him. The universe was practically handing this criminal over to Raph in a cute little red bow right now.

“Alright felon, hand back the stolen ring.”

His voice was rough and commanding. Above all else, he despised those who preyed on the weak. Criminal acts like these deserved a good beating, but Raph was willing to compromise on that if this perp coughed up the ring without making things difficult.

“Back up, hero!”

The cornered thief sneered as he brandished a knife, waving it threateningly.

Raph couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. If only this guy knew! Raph and his brothers faced weapons tenfold more menacing on every patrol. He doubted such a dull thing could even pierce his shell. For a second, he toyed with the thought of taking off the cloaking necklace. Showing his true form. This punk looked like the type to wet himself, and the slight trembling in his hand that wielded such a crude weapon didn’t go unnoticed by Big Raphie.

“They always wanna do it the hard way,”

Raph murmured, shaking his head as he moved forward. This guy was sorely underestimating him. It was comical! Raph ended up wondering if his human form, despite its size, just wasn’t all that intimidating. That would be new to him. So Raph opted for using this to his advantage. After all, he may look big, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t fast, and what was more rewarding than proving wrong the criminal foolish enough to underestimate the Raphael Hamato?

The crook hardly got a second to blink before he was sprawled out on the ground, clutching his gut as he dragged in wounded breaths. Securely in Raph’s palm rested a wooden ring, Y/n’s ring. It had a band of red jewels inside that glimmered brightly even though the alleyway was covered in shadows. He smiled to himself, it seemed as though you really liked this color. His color.

Yet another thing the two of you had in common, other than drinks. How much more did the two of you share interest in?. He wanted—no, needed—to find out.

Now Raph was sure he had held back on his punches, but it was painfully obvious this culprit was struggling to even stand. I see no issue with him turning his back on a downed enemy, do you? Was that overkill? No? Maybe? Who’s here to judge him, honestly?

“Next time, think twice before stealing from a pretty lady.”

He growled over his shoulder before starting up a run back to you. Raph hoped he hadn’t taken too long as he tried to move just a little faster to get back to your side.

Since having been left by Raph, you were finding each second to be harder and harder to restrain the burst of overflowing magic. Thoughts and distractions could only take you so far before fizzling out. Just as you were your mother’s vessel for revenge, that ring was your vessel for magic—a conduit, even. Others would even call it your arcane focus.

Bottomline was, without it, you could barely handle the destructive force pinballing around within. It seems the state you were in was so worrying that the two elderly ladies from the cafe came out, frantically bickering in harsh whispers that were all too muffled in your ears.

Was it getting hot in here, or was it just you? Anyone else? Just you? Alright. Your body pressed harder into the cafe’s brick walls, soothed by the coolness they held. Your head was spinning, with worry and desperation. Was this area hidden enough to attract more danger? Had you really been so foolish as to leave yourself open in prime human territory? Hell, what if this was all an elaborate trick and that thief was actually in cahoots with Raph, and vice versa?

But, what if these are all just your delirious, panicked thoughts? Remember the little voice, the one beckoning hope. She wants to believe humans are good. She wants to believe Raph is good.

You want to believe humans are good, don’t you? How did that one saying go, the one about how even the smallest things can cause the biggest changes? However it went, it seemed this Raph human might have been your smallest thing, creating this ripple of thoughts in your head.

Or, again, maybe that’s the delirium.

You had almost entirely given up on the last bits of hope for Raph being good when finally you saw his silhouette running back to you. He had the widest grin on his face, waving your focus in the air and calling out “Y/n! I got it, ya don’t gotta worry!”

You weren’t sure when the ladies had left, but when he slowed down in front of you and took your hand, you couldn’t help but notice you were all alone.

Old humans were… strange.

Color returned to your skin, the plummeting left your chest, and your tremors ceased as the polished wooden ring slid back into its rightful place upon your hand.

“Th-Thank you…”

You breathed out, allowing yourself to press into him once again with your senses returning faster than you were capable of handling with a straight face. Your forehead rested against his chest as the overflowing energy was being vacuumed right on back to the ring, leaving you far more winded than any training session with Mother had done.

“It’s no problem, Y/n… This ring must be really important to have you this… Upset…”

His voice was softer than it had been during your talks inside. There was obvious concern and worry laced in it. Such kindness was nearly unrecognizable to you, so forgive the temporary dependence on it.

“More than you know, Raph..”

You replied, rubbing the ring so that it twirled around your skin—a nervous habit that Raph took notice to almost immediately. Forgive him, as well, for the heightened attention he had on you right now. A fond smile settled upon his lips as something came back to him suddenly.

“About your question a moment ago, before… well, this. Sure.”

“What?”

You looked up, confused by what he meant. The smile he gave you was enough to put even more hope in your head, eroding the grime and muck that poisoned you, beckoning you deeper to the villainous pits.

“T’exchange numbers, right? That was what ya almost asked?”

Oh! You had completely forgotten that part. Straightening up and taking a coy step back from him, you pulled your cellular from a pocket in your dress (because, really, what villain wears a dress without pockets? never you, of course) and handed it to him with bashful joy.

After the exchange, you both waved your goodbyes, then turned your adoring gaze to the contact in your phone.

𝘙𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 (𝘚𝘙𝘝 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦 𝘛𝘸𝘪𝘯)

（1）𝘟𝘟𝘟－𝘟𝘟𝘟－𝘟𝘟𝘟𝘟

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marthawrites · 11 months

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The Arbor and the Dragon: Chapter 4, Moonlight

Aemond Targaryen x Redwyne fem reader

Word count: 6.8k+

About: Tension around the Red Keep grows. Rumors begin spreading about yours and Aemond's time spent together. Jane, your best friend and lady-in-waiting, reminds you of your favorite summer festival back home. You write Aemond a letter in secret and request his company at the beach. Emotions are high and promises are made.

Includes: Tension, some mild angst, hurt, comfort, and fluff. Reader (named Emeline) has body image issues due to a slight deformity.

Note: Hello lovely reader! I hope I haven't lost you on this story ♥ I deeply apologize for keeping you waiting for literal months for this chapter. The beach scene in this chapter has been living in my heart and mind for a solid month or even two! I've been greedy with it, and it's finally time to share it. It's inspired by a cut-scene in a video game and if you get the reference please let me know because I will fall in love! As always, I hope that you enjoy it! I plan on having chapter 5 ready to share much sooner than this one was (3 flippin mo rofl) ♥

Catch up on earlier chapters with the series masterlist

"Are you taking Lady Redwyne to the Sept this morning?" Alicent asked her son as he sat across the table from her. On any other occasion the Queen Mother's question could be received as harmless. A simple inquiry. Naught more than curiosity for her soon to be daughter-in-law's goodness.

Aemond knew his mother better. His fork clinked on the silver plate as he dragged a chunk of sausage through syrup. A childhood favorite. Only his mother would indulge him in such a treat if she meant to soften him up.

Or, perhaps, she merely missed her son. They'd hardly seen each other as of late.

The curtains of her room were drawn open, as were the windows, and summer's morning breeze rolled over King's Landing from the ocean. "Yes, mother, I've already said that," Aemond answered as he ate the bite from his fork. No one else joined them for the day's breaking fast; not even a servant. Fruit, still warm bread, and bacon accompanied the spiced sausage on polished platters. The small table lent them a feeling of intimacy even their seclusion couldn't. "Would you care to join us?"

Alicent too dragged a bite of sausage through syrup; the source of Aemond's guilty pleasure. "Not this time, no," she answered around a mouthful. If she were dining with anyone else she wouldn't respond in such a way, but with her son she paid it no mind.

Aemond hummed thoughtfully beneath his breath and continued eating. Tension slowly knotted between his shoulders at the heavy silence.

"I worry about you and Lady Redwyne, Aemond.” There it was. The reason for their unspecified meeting. The softness of her lovely eyes, so unlike the rare hue of her son’s, betrayed the practiced hardness of her mouth. With a tilt of her head she regarded him a little closer in a way only a mother could.

Truthfully, the young prince found little pleasure in eating and ate almost solely for the purpose of nourishment. Leave it to his own mother to serve him one of the few things he actually enjoyed only to bring up this topic. Again. “We are to wed in less than a week. What is there to worry about?” He asked, appetite gone.

“You know of what I speak,” she answered curtly, eyes fluttering in such a way Aemond knew she might as well have rolled them. “Now is not the time to fall behind on your duties. You two spend countless hours together. Alone, too, no doubt. On dragon back to who knows where, unchecked around the city, amidst the dragon pit. I’ve said it multiple times: you two are not to be alone together.”

“She is a respite from the daily burden of princeliness and unwavering duties,” he replied, features defensive. Alicent read the subtle shift of his neck and shoulders as if he'd turned the table over in a rush of rage.

“It is unbecoming of you and Lady Redwyne to be practicing what you’re doing. Suspicion of your activities is high. We – I – cannot allow a foreign girl to put you so under her spell that you forget about this war. Depravity doesn’t look good on you. Nor does it serve any sort of purpose.” Heat bloomed across the tops of Alicent’s ears. The grip she had on her silverware made her knuckles turn white. Her jaw jutted authoritatively.

Aemond’s jaw clenched. He loved his mother. He respected his mother. The things he wanted to say would poison both of those things. Instead, he glared across at her and a breath chuffed from his nose.

“The Sept will do you both good today. Ser Arryk will accompany you. Stay and pray as long as you and Lady Redwyne both require. I’m sure it is needed more than I know.” Her voice was even again. Stern.

The prince stood, eye never leaving his mother. “It is good to know you pay heed to my daily activities while actively disregarding Aegon’s lechery and debauchery. If the tables were turned, would you still?” In long strides he stepped to the door. Turning his head over his shoulder he saw her attention following him. “Now that I see where your priorities lie this morning–” he paused with a scoff, “–you might be lightened to know Lady Redwyne is much more than her father's fleet to me, now. You needn't worry over it any longer. Aegon will have it.” He exited, closing the door with deliberate finality.

Duty. Love. Aemond Targaryen treaded a fine line.

Your personal guardsman, Louis, practically vibrated out of his armor in protest of being denied accompanying you with Aemond to the Sept. Growing up with a strict father garnered you the hard learned skill of little mice feet. Subtly was one of your stronger suits, and even Louis, despite your complete trust in him and his skill as a well-trained guardsman, couldn't keep up with you at all times. And, thus, you and Aemond were able to sneak away unbothered on more than one occasion.

And today? Well, Louis simply had to listen to your hard, and unwavering, no. Your father could punish you for it later for all you cared. Time with your soon to be husband was worth it.

Excitement rushed up and down your spine as you saw Aemond make his way to you at the agreed location. You bounced on the balls of your feet eagerly. Clasping your House's grape cluster signet at the center of your mantle accented the low neckline of your dress; perhaps the lowest cut you'd worn in the prince's company. It was sleeveless in the fashion of your home too, and the gossamer cloak offered you a shield of modesty.

You saw a tightening of Aemond's jaw, as well as a stiffness in his back and shoulders, which immediately dampened your excitement. Had you done something wrong? Did he disapprove of your lovely summer gown? Perhaps it was the fashion of your braid – would it offend the other ladies in court with its, potentially, outdated style? Your mouth dried before you even opened it to speak.

He stood in front of you and offered a formal bow, ending with a chaste kiss to the top of your hand. "Good morning, my Lady Redwyne. I don't believe you've officially met Ser Arryk. As per my mother's request, he will be joining us today in journey to the Sept." He spoke evenly. Practiced and courtly. The darkened pupil at the center of his eye, and the way it lingered on the opened expanse of your chest, however, spoke much more passionately.

Your gaze flickered between both men, Ser Arryk standing a few paces back for privacy, and you tried to control your breath. "He must be quite a warrior to be the one protecting you, my prince," you said smoothly before smiling at the knight.

He simply nodded and bowed his head in a show of respect.

"Hm," Aemond hummed shortly. He hadn't loosened at all yet, and if anything he looked even more tense. His hand at the small of your back splayed wider than you'd felt it before, and his fingers curling into your waist gripped firmly.

Oh. Was this… jealousy? Something primal in the ancient part of his brain that made him need to show you as his? Most of your time spent together had been alone: now, another layer to the Targaryen prince to witness.

The carriage ride was silent. Aemond's hand, warm and wide and possessive, stayed glued to the top of your thigh the whole way.

It was only at the great doors of the Sept that Ser Arryk finally spoke. "Pray in peace, my prince. I will be standing guard here at the door. If you need me, you know where I'll be," he bowed politely and turned forward once again, eyes keen and observant on the bustle of the square ahead.

While Aemond acknowledged Arryk, he barely gave the other man more than a simple "hmm," in reply.

"What's the matter, my prince?" Inside, your voice seemed too loud for the incense laden air. There must have been hundreds of candles lit and their smoke made the air heavier than it already was.

Beautiful high windows of stained glass dominated the walls, and geometrical patterns of the overhead framework added to the ornate sanctuary. Outside the sun shone brightly, and when the sky’s fluffy clouds moved away from in front of it, rainbows of light reflected on various swaths of floor, wall, and statue alike. While inspired by religion, you’d never been heavily religious. Here, now, however, you realized why so many people lead a holy life.

Civilians gathered in intimate groups for prayer around the varying altars, and the Sept’s holy brothers and holy sisters wandered throughout the place. One thing you noticed was how many averted their gaze from Aemond. Some even turned on their heel in the opposite direction to, seemingly, avoid getting close to him. Despite his lineage, even the holy brothers and holy sisters regarded him with little formality.

Aemond One-Eye. The cruel prince. Black hearted. Kinslayer. Here, in this holiest of places, there was hardly anything more accursed than a kinslayer. And you, the fair foreign girl from far away in the Reach, his betrothed. The smallfolk knew little of you and likely trusted you less. Being on the arm of the Targaryen Prince brought more side-eyes than respectful greetings.

Tucked away inside the Red Keep with your wedding plans, lady’s gossip, and noble mingling sometimes made it easy to forget that a war was simmering.

Aemond’s stiff shoulders and silence had spread to you.

What a strange turn of morning. In all your time spent together it had never been quite like this. Even your first meeting didn’t carry the same tension that hung in the air between you now. Before you knew it, you found yourself fiddling with the silken material of your dress. A nervous habit you had as long as you could remember.

Finally, while standing in front of the Father, Aemond turned to you and said, “normally I come here with mother, Aegon, and Helaena.” A long breath exhaled from his nose as he tipped the flickering flame of a candle to the wick of another, lighting it. “Mother summoned me to join her alone in breaking fast. I thought it kind, at first. Sweet even,” he chuffed, a disapproving tug pulling down one side of his mouth. “You are spoiling me with yours so I forget it’s not freely given. How silly of me.” His single lilac eye rested on your doe-brown gaze, your lovely dark pools looking up at him softly, questioningly. Attentively.

You extended your hand out to his and held it gently. “Aemond…,” you started, peering up at him with all the gentleness you could muster. “I’m sure your mother didn’t mean to come across the way she did.” You squeezed and stepped closer into him, uncaring of how it might look to any nosey onlookers. In your experience even the most religious folks could be the most nosey. In the high morning light, with rainbows illuminating the cloud of heady smoke, the lines of your bodies meshed into one as you kissed the prince’s cheek.

A smile graced his features and it was the first you’d seen all day. “Let us pray to the Father. May he judge those who seek him for strength and wisdom. May they be wise enough to see what their judgment clouds.”

Kneeling, then, you finally released his hand and began praying in silence. He knelt beside you, too, and you’d be lying if you said prayer had your full attention. Aemond’s lips moved silently and you wondered what he might be praying – they were so handsome, his lips, and you desperately wanted to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him to blushing pinks right here in the middle of the Sept. Each time you peered across at him beneath the protection of your eyelashes you had to force yourself to close your eyes and focus. With his hands clasped, head bowed, and eye closed, he looked ethereal. He was ethereal. They said Targaryens were closer to Gods than men, and the more time you spent with your betrothed, as well as his siblings, the more you came to realize it. Silvery, and pale, with features not quite like anyone else, they truly were lovely and unique. Perhaps one day Aemond would give you one of your own. A tiny white haired dragon with ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. You smiled in mid-prayer and allowed your mind to wander. When it came time to visit the Maiden’s altar, you could ask for her forgiveness in regard to the impure thoughts that ran rampant in your mind.

After visiting and praying at the altars for the Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, and Stranger, and after many stolen touches and lingering gazes, you two finally exited the Sept with Arryk close behind. The carriage ride back was lighter than the first. You crossed a leg over the other so it pointed in Aemond’s direction, and behind the little shield of your knee his larger palm rested atop yours.

Upon returning to the Red Keep Aemond was almost immediately swept away by a list of duties and “royal chores” – whatever that meant – that he’d fallen behind on since spending more time with you in the Sept than was expected. You were beginning to read him better and better all the time. While others might not take note of it (sternness and practiced neutrality a theme for the young prince) you saw the bristle of annoyance along his edges as Otto took him away. You barely had time to say goodbye. Walking alongside his grandfather, Aemond turned his head over his shoulder one last time and offered you a small, barely there smile and tilt of his head. Your own lips pressed into a restrained grin as you offered a wave just as small. You hoped he’d at least be able to have dinner with you tonight. Until then, there were many wedding plans and gossip for you to busy yourself with.

During the evening’s meal you were distracted and hungry. “If you could summon him by staring at the door he’d already be here, my lady,” Jane whispered to you sympathetically. “Let’s try to at least enjoy the wine, yes?" She served herself a plate and helped you with yours. "Ah… it reminds me of back home. We’d be getting ready for the dance of the moonlight jellies! It’s tomorrow night! I hate to miss it. This will be the first one I’ve ever missed.” Her expression changed from melancholy, to excitement, to pouting, and you followed right along with her. She tried to soften her pout with a little smile.

“Ah! Gods we would be, huh? Oh, I can’t believe it. This will be the first one I’ve ever missed too. Such a pity. It’s always been my favorite event of the summers.” Your gaze went distant for a moment, fingertip gently circling the rim of your goblet. So far there definitely hadn’t been any sign of Aemond. Nor Aegon or Otto for that matter. Alicent and your father were busy chatting away – assumedly about more wedding plans – and Helaena patiently ate and helped feed her children in turn. There were other noble ladies and men around the table as there were most nights. You couldn’t keep up with all the conversation around, and frankly didn’t care to, because you kept watching the main entrance dreamily as if Aemond would stroll through it at any moment. Jane always knew how to pull you out of your little daydreams. “I almost wish you hadn’t reminded me because now I’m sad,” you laughed.

“Not my intention!” She giggled despite the defensiveness of her tone. “I think it’s lovely your wedding will be so close to the dance. Perhaps they’ll allow us a bonfire in celebration too.”

“Perhaps! Though… I do admit… – ” you dropped your voice low and leaned closer to Jane so no one else might hear what you said “ – I don’t know how long after the vows I’ll be able to stay. The bedding ceremony follows soon after, yes?”

Jane squealed. “You unholy woman!”

You two broke off into fits of giggles and entirely unladylike banter. You did your very best to stay hushed, however, not wanting just anyone to hear the things you were saying about your betrothed. In fact, such talk was more suited for bedchambers and private groups – not the middle of dinner. You both got a few side eyes and raised eyebrows. Even your father gave you the look on two separate occasions. Whoops. Maybe the wine was affecting you more than you realized. Finishing the remainder of your food, you stood and walked to give your father’s cheek a goodnight kiss.

“Take some water and drink it before you fall asleep! You little wildling,” he called after you.

There was already a full pitcher of water in your bedchamber, but that didn’t stop Jane from grabbing an extra just in case.

By now you were both learning the halls of the Red Keep. The main hallways, that is. There was much more to the sprawling castle than you knew, and to say it was intimidating and overwhelming was an understatement. Thankfully – by the God's small graces – its main flow was easy enough to learn and navigate.

“When the castle was complete under King Maegor’s rule, he had all the builders executed to ensure only the Targaryen’s knew its hidden passages and secrets,” Aemond had told you during one of your earlier explorations of the castle. You hadn’t a reason to doubt him. But, even if you did, you knew in your bones he spoke the truth.

How different he was than any boy you knew from home. A true Targaryen from the blood of Old Valyria. You, naught but a sweet, delicate grape, held inside the claw of a mighty beast; how easily he could skin you whole. His steady eye observed you, studied you; the tips of his roughened fingers gingerly accepting your more forward affections so those tips might learn the utter softness of your flesh.

Inside your room you readied for sleep. "A bonfire on the beach in honor of the Arbor's celebration being prepared as we speak…," you spoke dreamily, eyes a little distant as you envisioned Aemond experiencing it for the first time.

Jane's delicate fingers loosened your day's braid before brushing any tangles out. "Surely you know the rumors of the prince…," she said, baiting you, arching a brow at you through the mirror.

"There's quite a few. You'll have to be more specific," you replied similarly.

"He doesn't dance! At all. The only dancing he's done is in the sky on his dragon. Or dancing with foes in the training yard and skirmishes."

You knew of these rumors, of course. "I suppose he'll need some practice before the wedding then, yes?"

Your best friend and lady-in-waiting smirked and rolled her eyes. "And I suppose you think you'll be the one to teach the tall lanky prince how to dance on a whim?"

"He's not lanky!"

You both laughed and continued the banter until you were dressed comfortably for bed. She bid you a goodnight and kiss on the forehead before leaving to retire to her own chamber. Sleep came easily that night. Sweet wine coated your palate and you dreamt of embers and jellyfish.

The sun barely lightened the sky when you woke. Perfect, you thought to yourself as you stretched with a wide yawn. Excitement pulled at your belly and before you knew it your bare feet padded across the chilly stone floor to your desk. You struck your candle to flame, dipped a quill into its inkpot, and began writing a letter to your soon to be husband. He'd written you many little letters since your arrival, and you'd yet to have one delivered to his room. Before losing inspiration, you wrote,

"My dearest Aemond,

Meet me down at the beach tonight. With it still being high summer the sun doesn't set until late. Please. You won't want to miss this.

Your Lady Redwyne"

Still in your nightgown with only a flimsy robe covering yourself, you cracked the door open and peered outside. Grinning, you hissed a careful whisper, "Louis! Psst, hey Lou!"

He perked up after the second call of his name. "My Lady? What is it? Is everything okay?" His armor clinked as he strode over to you quickly, kind eyes looking over you for any sign of distress. As soon as he saw your excited glimmer, however, his shoulders softened. "You're perky this morning."

"Take this to Prince Aemond! Please. Before he leaves his chamber for the day. It's important, hurry!" You put the carefully folded letter in his hand and shooed him off. "Thank you," you added before closing and latching the door again, trying to calm the excited wave of butterfly wings in your belly.

Tonight would be magical.

You dressed, braided your hair, donned some of your favorite gold jewelry, and applied perfume to the insides of your wrists, behind each ear, and at the center of your breast. You prayed for the hours to pass quickly as you applied makeup. Accentuating your features always made you feel pretty. There was an art to it too, you realized some years ago, in balancing hues and pigments to your natural skin without looking akin to someone from the theater. Like everything, it took practice. And you were happy with how your skills had grown. With one final tuck of hair here, and twist of hair there, you departed your bedchamber with confidence in your stride.

Breakfast. Going over more wedding plans. Tea and lunch with fellow ladies of the court. A break amidst the gardens. Supper. All without Aemond. The hours flew by and yet the day itself dragged. As soon as you were finished you made a sneaky escape to your horse in the stable. Before your father, or Louis, or even Jane knew what you were up to, you were off.

Please let Aemond make it. Please let Aemond make it. Please let Aemond make it, you said like a mantra to yourself in time with your horse’s pace. The mare wasn't easily spooked and quite prone to biting. It took you at least the first three days to gain her trust, and at least another two to make it so you could saddle and ride her without the assistance of a stable boy who’d been around her nearly his whole life. You pulled all the tricks: oats, apples, even carrots. Finally, after many suspicious huffing fits, the mean she-beasty warmed up to you. Now, she greeted you with happy whinnies and curious snufflings – she’d know if you came without a peace treaty and you weren’t about to try your luck with that yet.

The sun was perhaps two hours from setting when you made it down to the beach to begin collecting wood for a fire. The fresh salty air was warm and you were glad to have worn a thin dress with billowing accents. Waves continuously lapped at the shore and before too long you found yourself in a partial trance. Thoughts in your mind slowed and quieted, and for a moment the sand almost looked like the golden sand of which you were born to.

"My Lady Redwyne," Aemond's soft voice called from behind you. At least he had the decency to let his presence be known before merely arriving out of thin air like he usually did with you. He'd ditched his normal tunic and only wore his thin linen undershirt; its laces only partially tied to expose a tantalizing swath of his collar and chest. Leather in the summer heat could be unbearable and you were glad to see him in less clothing -- for wholly innocent and wholly impure reasons alike. "You picked a fine horse for the ride down here. I trust you have your dagger too?" He asked, eyeing you over approvingly and questioningly.

A smile curled up from your mouth and went right to your eyes. How you missed him. With his hair rippling in the wind, and his shirt giving sight to parts of himself that you'd yet to see, and the tiny pucker of his mischievous lips, a pang rang in your heart. How did you go so long without knowing him? Without being his betrothed? "Of course. I've not gone a single place without it since you gifted it to me in your secret place."

The space between you was closed by his long careful strides in the sand, and he wordlessly took the pile of driftwood from your arms. "There's my good girl. Where would you like these?"

Blushing, you pointed to the stack you'd been working on and said, "just there."

"What is it you're so excited to show me?" He asked once you both gently discarded the driftwood into the pile.

You began stacking it neatly, in the way your father taught you, to make a successful fire. "Every year, when the summers extend beyond one year, the Arbor has a celebration known as 'the dance of the moonlight jellies'," you said fondly, looking over to him with distant, happy eyes. "The final preparations would be happening now. It's always been my favorite celebration, and this is the first one I've ever missed."

Aemond listened curiously as he always did whenever you talked about things from home -- whether it be stories and myths, lore, architecture, or anything else. "Tell me about it, my Lady."

A wistful sigh escaped your lungs. "On the western part of the island, out into the Sunset Sea, there is a breed of jellyfish who migrate along our coastline. We build bonfires along the beach and out on the docks as far as we can. These jellies are special because they glow," you smiled, movements continuing on muscle memory as you struck a fire to life. "They make the water look as if a hundred thousand fires were beneath the surface. Everyone from the highest houses down to the most rugged Flowers join together for the night. We sing, and dance, and drink spiced wine." By now your own little fire was coming more and more to life. "All while they slowly drift along with the ocean's current." By the end of the explanation you were sitting and beginning to work your shoes off your feet.

All the while, Aemond listened and imagined such a thing even happening. There was nothing like that around here. He never journeyed far from home for too long either, for his princely and second son's duties kept him tied down to King's Landing -- more specifically, the court of the Red Keep -- with a short leash. The more he learned from you, the more he realized he truly knew nothing of the Arbor. "Everyone? The nobles and the bastards?"

"Yes, my prince. All is cast aside for the night. It is truly that important to the people and tradition."

Golden sun washed over the young prince as he looked out to the ocean. Pensive. A few moments of silence followed as you both quietly observed the continuous lap of waves. When he turned his attention back to you his pupil was so small from the sun that the lilac of his iris was all you could see. "I would fly you there tonight if things were different in our world, now."

Guilt rushed to your throat. "Oh, Aemond, no. That is not what I meant by any of this," you said with meaning as you found yourself straddling over his lap with his lovely sharp face between your hands. "I am sad to miss it, yes, of course. But that is why I'm here now. And that is why I wanted you to join me here and now too, so I could share this special time with you." You gently pressed your forehead to his, the tip of your nose fitting against his bridge. A soft smile pulled on your lips when his mouth brushed yours in a whispering kiss.

Lips led to tongues, and soon to teeth, and Aemond's hands traced along your hips and waist all the while. Goosebumps tickled your skin despite the warmth of the air and fire. The press of his hands, the weight of them, had you panting against his mouth. Leaning back, he grinned slyly. "Let us stop before we cannot." He gave your hip a firm squeeze before slowly, slowly, letting go of you against him.

"I want so badly to be your wife...," you whispered sincerely. "Before, though, there is one more thing I need to share with you." Heat crept into your face, yet this blush had nothing to do with the coil of arousal in your belly and all to do with the humiliation in which you were going to show your soon to be husband.

Confusion and worry instantly shifted his features. "What is it, sweetling?"

Emotion welled in your eyes and it took a great deal of strength to not let tears fall from your clumpy eyelashes. "Promise you won't change your mind about me either?"

He ran a thumb across your freckled cheek. Your sweet doe-brown eyes ripped at his heart. "I promise."

You offered a soft sad smile before carefully moving from atop his lap. Shifting, you instead sat between his legs with your own outstretched before both of you. You pulled your legs up at the knee so your feet were flat and fully exposed for both of your visions. On each foot, the second and third toe were fully fused together, and a small webbing of skin connected the base of all your toes together. Without looking over your shoulder to Aemond, you explained, "it is a bad omen." As if he wasn't connecting the dots you pointed out your deformity. "Akin to your eye it is a cloak of shame for me. In our mythos it is said it only happens to those who had a twin in the womb... but ended up killing the twin. It is said we are cursed, for we are bloodthirsty like sharks. Only the strongest survive. So we are born with these to let everyone know we are capable of kinslaying as only babes."

Aemond pushed his fingers against the side of your jaw so you were forced to look back at him. His face was somehow soft and stern alike. "Then you are my bloodthirsty little babe. Dragons do not share their egg with another dragon. If the mythos is true, then you are the strongest. And it was you who was born for a reason." He kissed you again, fiercer, this time, and the salt of your tears clung to his tongue.

The sun's golden rays disappeared beyond the curve of the ocean and a spill of reds, oranges, and pinks filled the sky instead. "Dance with me, Aemond. I don't care if you don't know how to. No one is around to see. It can be another one of our secrets," you forced a tiny laugh through the emotion which swelled your throat. You smiled, genuine, and helped him stand.

There were no drums, nor string instruments, nor anything else but the rolling roars of waves as you and Aemond danced beneath the growing moonlight with only your fire as witness.

The following morning you were surprised to see everyone already at the table eating. Aegon, Helaena, their children, Alicent, Otto, Aemond, and your father. Happiness filled in your chest at the idea of sharing a meal with Aemond – he’d been so busy you two hadn’t been afforded the luxury for what seemed days. You and Jane shared a little look as you strolled to the empty seat next to your betrothed. Polite greetings filled the table. It all looked and smelled wonderful.

“Good morning, my prince. Is there an occasion I’m unaware of?” you asked as you began dishing up. Ever since you could remember you were always most hungry in the mornings.

“Good timing on everyone’s part, I’m assuming.”

Beneath the table, he bumped his leg against yours and gave you a half-sly side glance. Manners were important to him, and sharing a table with so many kin meant his bump, and his face, was likely all the flirting that would happen this morn.

It didn’t go unnoticed by you nor the King. Where you smiled coyly and shared the look with Aemond, Aegon snorted. “I forgot to ask, brother, did you and Lady Redwyne enjoy your little adventure out to your rock? I heard she had sweet little bruises all over her tender flesh that night. I don’t blame you for not wanting to wait. She’s supple as any peach,” he said brazenly, finishing the remainder of his wine in a single gulp. “More,” he said to everyone and no one alike. Holding his goblet out to be refilled, he chuckled and flashed his best smile to you. Judging by the glaze over his eyes, and the dark circles beneath them, this wasn’t the first cup of wine he’d had.

You tensed. Aemond tensed. At your side, and beneath the table too, Jane gripped your hand tightly. Lord Redwyne glared at King Aegon but dared not say anything – at least not yet – in fear of what the drunken King might do.

“Aegon Targaryen!” Alicent hissed to her oldest son, dark eyes blazing. “King or no, that is extremely inappropriate. How dare you speak to your brother and future sister-in-law in such a way in front of everyone!”

“What? I’m only expressing my happiness to my little brother for finally getting it wet. And with a girl so pretty too. Prettier than any whore I’ve seen.”

Jane squeezed your hand hard as Aemond’s and your father’s chair toppled backwards with the ferocity in which they stood.

“Says the man who took me to a brothel when I was only three and ten–”

“King or not I will not sit here and let some boy talk about my daughter in such a manner you insolent–”

Aemond’s voice and Lord Redwyne’s voice boomed into one, their words meshing in a mess of hollars as Alicent joined in the scolding. Polished silver clattered loudly and silently alike onto the stone floor. Who had thrown it?

You were struck dumb. If this is what broke out during an otherwise ordinary meal, what happened behind closed doors? During small council meetings? Stress weighed on the entire kingdom and the family before you bore the bulk of it. Everyone’s nerves hung by a thread: a thread which could be snapped as easily as a dried twig by a stupidly careless remark. Embarrassment burned your face and hot tears threatened to spill from your welling eyes. This was nothing short of a nightmare and you wanted nothing more than to disappear.

Your ears muffled as if you were under water. You weren't sure how much time had passed. Even Otto stood, his voice adding to the yelling.

“Come, Princess Emeline,” Helaena’s soothing voice whispered delicately against your ear. Her hand, beautifully pale and impossibly soft, grabbed for your own and pulled you from your chair amidst the yelling. She ushered you away. Crimson wine dripped onto the floor from where it was spilled atop the table.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you stammered, frantically swiping tears from your cheeks.

“I am sorry for the way my husband is acting. If I am to be honest… we received extremely troubling news about Rhaenyra and Daemon this morning. Even if no one will admit it, this war has everyone scared.”

Despite the meaning of her words, she, outwardly, seemed calm.

Not having anything intelligent to say, you squeezed her hand reassuringly. No one followed you ladies out. At a glance, it appeared guards were watching and taking note of your movements through the halls. Helaena turned here, and there, and before you knew it you were standing out by the weirwood. It loomed tall and wide. It cast a shadow of mysticism. Tranquility. For the first time since arriving in the dining hall you breathed a true lungful of air. And then another.

"You are a strong swimmer, and Aemond a strong flier. Both, and more, will be required in the coming time," Helaena spoke dreamily as she led you to an ancient camellia tree. "Two fruits of one, and one of two," she continued to muse aloud. She laid back in the vibrant petals fallen amongst the grass, and you followed along. "Have you ever noticed how red this camellia is? It hardly seems real."

Your vision turned from her to the tree. Leaves of green and flowers of red contrasted starkly against the blue morning sky. A breeze moved through the air and a petal slowly fell to land on the center of your abdomen. "I've never seen one this size before," you said in the serene quietness. Comfort seeped into your bones as you watched fluffy clouds drift across the sky.

A thin long legged spider crawled across Helaena’s outstretched hand. She watched the tiny creature as if it were the most magnificent thing. “You make my brother happy. Thank you for that, princess,” she said, not taking her attention away from the spider. “He bears much and carries more.”

Helaena’s words sent something like love fluttering in your belly as you regarded the gentle far-seeing Queen. Her white hair fanned around her head like a halo on the crimson petals; violet eyes distant and unfocused. “Thank you, Your Grace,” is all you replied, not wanting to break her other-worldly concentration.

She continued to mutter quiet things about: from two to one, moving shadows, and cracked shells.

Tranquil minutes passed. You became lost in the garden of your mind.

“My Lady…,” Aemond’s voice broke through your reverie. “I apologize for what happened.” He extended a hand to you, silently offering to help you up from the grass. “Allow me to take you to your chambers?”

You nodded and accepted his hand. “Yes, please,” you said as you stood and brushed any debris or wrinkles from your dress. Emotion swelled up from your diaphragm to the back of your throat and it took a steadying breath, or three, to push it down. Stress and tension simmered inside you and it threatened to boil over.

“Thank you, sweet sister, for getting her away,” Aemond said. Helaena only briefly regarded him and offered a short wave.

Aemond held you close as you both walked the halls to your bedchamber. Beneath the scents of smoke (which clung so close to him you swore it seeped from his own pores), leather, and bathing oils, he smelled like clean sweat. It wasn’t at all unpleasant. If anything it made you want to bury your face into his neck and not come out for hours. Hurt weighed on your heart.

You missed home. You missed the sense of normalcy you'd known your whole life. So many things were different here. You clung to Jane when you could, and even grounded yourself to Louis, and of course found comfort in your father. Thank the Seven they were all here. If they weren't, you might very well have turned around in Blackwater Bay as soon as you arrived.

Here, now, you clung to Aemond. Your prince who regarded you with compassion, curiosity, and gentleness, so unlike the way you'd seen him interact with anyone else. It only made you want to draw those tender moments out from him more.

"Aegon is vile. And an idiot," he said as soon as your chamber door was securely shut. You stood facing each other in the gentle sunbeams of your quarter; still somewhat bare and lacking your personal touch. "He is drunk but that is no excuse for him to behave in the way he did. Are you alright?" Both his hands cupped your face in reverence, his single eye peering between both of yours as if deciphering your thoughts like scrawled words on parchment.

Hesitation hung in the air before you nodded. "Yes, I'm alright, my pr-, Aemond," you caught his title before it fell from your lips, whispering his name instead.

"Your Aemond. You are correct, princess," he smiled and tipped his head down to meet your lips in a tender kiss. "No harm will come to you whether it be from my kin or enemy alike. Do you understand me? As my betrothed, and even more so once you are my wife." His gaze was only sharp, now, face stern, lacking any of its previous softness.

Searching his features and posture, you, once again, hesitated before asking in a voice that could have been lost in a space any louder than the one you currently shared, "you promise?"

"I promise."

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow and/or reblog and/or letting me know! It would make me vvvery happy ♥ See you in chapter 5 where there will be wedding bells!

masterlist

taglist: to be added or removed, please say something ♥ bold means I could not tag you

@melsunshine @iiamthehybrid @arcielee @nina2697 @darylandbethfanforever9 @sahvlren @targaryenbrainrot @bellaisasleep @watercolorskyy @ruby-dragon @aemonds-fire @meggiemay82 @doublesparrows @silverwinged @nikstrange @castellomargot @lost-and-founds @chompchompluke @sirenofavalon @okfashionista @girlwith-thepearlearring

you did not asked to be added but I thought you might like to know since it has been so flippin long! @borikenlove @abbyandizzysmum @disco--fairy

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fic #aemond imagine

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paper-land · 1 year

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Just a note: this post started as a discussion of and is going to spend a decent amount of time discussing Yannick Mirko’s firing and replacement in Ride the Cyclone, but I realized I wanted to address my experience with ablism in theatre in general. I can’t force anyone to read this, but if you have the time and you care about representation in theatre, I’d to ask you to try and hear what I have to say

TLDR: Yannick Mirko's speaking out is bringing more attention to ableism in theatre, I added some examples I've seen to emphasize that ableism in the theatre world is really common

Literally I take a break from writing my papers for finals for like 10 minutes and I find out that Arena Stage cast Yannick Mirko’s able-bodied understudy to play Ricky in their production of RtC.

For anyone not caught up, Yannick Mirko is the first disabled person to play Ricky Potts, a canonically disabled character, in the musical Ride The Cyclone. He was unjustly fired from the production he was in (the McCarter atheater) because of their disability. They had one medical emergency and was told that his disability was too unpredictable that he would be replaced by his understudy, who is not disabled.

Now, onto the Arena Stage production. Three of the seven cast members played the roles they are in now in the McCarter Theater production (Jane Doe, Mischa Bachinski, and Noel Gruber). Two are playing their original role from a different production (Constance Blackwood, Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg). One appears to be playing their role for the first time, though I could be wrong on this (The Amazing Karnak). The only cast member of the Arena Stage production who, as far as I can tell, was an understudy for their first production is their Ricky Potts. Ricky is being played by the able bodied understudy who took over the role when Yannick Mirko was fired from the McCarter Theater production. He was also reportedly referred to by his disability aids during the rehearsal process, rather than his name.

This is genuinely disgusting. Theatre is already so discriminatory to disabled people and the McCarter Theater and Arena Stage productions have so far only proved that they can get away with it. Admittedly, I have minimal social media presence so there could be conversations I haven’t seen, but I have seen a maximum of 5 people talk about this.

It’s very much worth noting that most productions I have been in or seen we’re willing to bend over backwards to make sure an able bodied actor could stay onstage. I’ve been in five shows where an understudy was sent out. Three because the actors had Covid and two because the actor was in the hospital and would not be discharged until after the show was over. This may sound like a lot of productions with understudies, but I’ve been in theatre for 11 years. I’ve been in 30 shows. Five shows, especially mid-pandemic, is nothing. I have been in shows where directors have done everything in their power to keep an able bodied actor in a lead role (including many cases of severe illnesses and one with a concussion and staples in his head). I’ve seen an actress onstage while she had broken ribs. I’ve seen a friend perform after slicing her leg and spraining her ankle. Ive seen a different friend come to a three hour rehearsal after spending the morning vomiting. Two different people I know have performed with dislocated joints. I’ve been onstage when I was so sick I couldn’t breathe or speak. I’ve been onstage when my glasses broke and I couldn’t see as far as the people around me. Most actors I know who have left productions only left because they could not physically return or because they were fired for actually valid reasons (skipped nearly half of the rehearsals so they could go on vacation without informing the director).

If these were fine, if I’ve been praised and seen actors praised for doing this, why was Yannick Mirko fired for one medical emergency? Easy answer: Ableism.

One less-than shocking part for me was realizing that I’ve worked with one of the people who was involved in the McCarter production for an awards show. I watched her work with disabled performers in one of the other acts. And, mind you, by “work with,” I mean that she told them their spots and expected them to know where to go. She was absolutely lovely to everyone else (especially leads but I don’t want to get into the treatment of ensemble actors right now, that’ll probably be a different post one day).

I also want to discuss my experiences with ablism in theatre, as someone who has witnessed it and, very recently, started experiencing it (to, admittedly, a significantly lesser degree than many).

The first show I was in with a disabled actor, I was 14. My friend was made to climb multiple set pieces despite her leg not being fully functional. She’d been in a wheelchair for several months at school that year. I didn’t fully realize something was wrong until she started complaining about minor pain to me. She never wanted anyone to go to the director and she never went on her own.

My next is when I was 15. I didn’t realize what was really happening for many years. He had missed several rehearsals with no word to our directors and was made to leave the show. This sounds normal enough, I mentioned someone else who was forced to do the same earlier on. This would be normal if the director hadn’t checked in on and allowed able bodied actors who had done the same thing back into the show. I figured at that point in my life that he’d just missed more shows or assumed that he’d come to the mutual agreement to leave. I don’t have answers, but I’ve started to doubt those beliefs in recent years.

My next show with a disabled actor was when I was still 15. We had one disabled actress, a girl in a wheelchair. The show was set in a high school. She was in onstage twice. The first time, she sat on the side during a group number and sang with us (she was never taught any choreography. The second time, a cast member brought her on, she was crowned prom queen, and then she left the stage and was never seen again until curtain call. Honestly, at the time, I thought it was weird that we were treating her as less capable and not allowing her into any more of the show, but it’s hard to bring that up with anyone. Especially when everyone you try to talk to about it defends the choice. Everyone said that she was less capable or that she’d stick out or that her wheelchair would get in the way. I didn’t feel I could address it, so it was left unsaid. She went to school with me for five years and I never saw her in another production.

It took several years to be in another show with a disabled actor. My school was by all accounts really great about our treatment of disabled people until it came to extracurriculars.

My most recent show that I’m talking about was not technically with a disabled actor, but one who was injured for the entire rehearsal and performance process and was treated similarly from what I could see. It was last year. They were cast in the group that was onstage the least. Nobody in that group was invited to any vocal rehearsals and they were all in one choreography rehearsal. They were also made to stand at the bottom of a set piece on their own because they couldn’t climb it like the rest of their group.

I’d also like to discuss my experiences since finding out that I have a wrist problem that will likely impact me on and off for the rest of my life. For context, I have limited mobility in one of my hands due to a problem with my wrist and thumb. I cannot fully bend my wrist in any direction, nor can I comfortably straighten my thumb all the way or make a fist with the thumb on the inside.

I’d also like to note that I am currently in university taking a creative writing minor, so that sucks because my wrist and thumb do affect my ability to type and write, so it flares up a lot. I also really like to draw and sew for fun and I’ve had to greatly limit my ability to do the things I enjoy. I’ve been in two shows since I went to my doctor because of the pains and four shows since the pain started affecting my abilities to do things.

This first show I was in after my wrist got bad was a very dance heavy production that consisted of two group numbers and a solo or duet for every cast member. The worst part for me was dance warmups, where we were instructed to do many things forced us to put large amounts of pressure on our hands. Primarily different forms of lunges and pushups. I would cry after every day’s warmups. I could barely hold my props.

The next show, I actually worked crew on. I was involved in props, costumes, and makeup, as well as moving sets/props between scenes. I made props with box cutters and scissors I could barely hold. My hands shook so hard when I was trying to melt the edge of a ribbon to keep it from fraying that I dropped a match (thank god I was outside and on pavement). I sewed costumes until I couldn’t do anything for the rest of the day. One of the worst parts was when I hand-sculpted multiple special-effect-makeup prosthetics for one of our actresses. I could hardly hold my makeup brushes or my dummy head that I was sculpting on by the end of every one I made (three sets, for context, every set used two pieces). The other worst was moving sets. I was originally set to move a desk for an office scene that was so heavy that I cried after our first rehearsal and requested to be switched to a new job. I was given a bookshelf that was on wheels. Two of the four wheels were broken and I had to pick up the shelves to get it into the correct position anyway. This show was actually the reason I went to the doctor about the wrist pains.

My next show was actually an improv workshop followed by two performances. I spent the day of the workshop painting for a school activity. I ended up in a wrist brace for the full workshop. I have never seen a group of people so cautious around me, nobody was even willing to touch that arm, which made a certain amount of improv very strange because we were doing a lot of physical stuff with each other. Everyone else was grabbing hands and stuff and they were just awkwardly standing next to me. I ended up taking off my brace for the performances so that I could feel like a part of the show. and hurting myself because I should have been wearing it.

The last show was a recent production where off-and-on through the rehearsal process, I was in the brace. There were many comments made asking about why my wrist was still hurting me, which I assume is a certain amount of ignorance because yes, my wrist still hurts, I haven't been able to move it properly for half a year. However, I was not given a single costume I could wear the brace with and another cast member was instructed to pull my by the arm that was hurt. Luckily, between pain meds and excessively taking care of myself, it didn’t hurt during production week, but I’d still call that some bad treatment.

Basically, theatre sucks for disabled actors. Please, help bring awareness to this. If you’ve seen or experienced ableism, I encourage you to speak out. Yannick Mirko is a wonderful performer and an inspiration to me. He’s been through so much. Also, I’m not fond of cursing, but fuck McCarter Theater and fuck Arena Stage. Cast disabled actors as disabled characters and don’t replace them with an able-bodied understudy.

#ride the cyclone #RtC #mccarter theatre #rtc mccarter #arena stage #RtC arena stage #ableism #tw abelism

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