#i feel like she ended up looking like nicole but with red hair | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lauraneedstochill · 1 year

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Cry me a river

summary: Aemond finds her wounded and left to die in the middle of nowhere. her desire for vengeance helps her survive — and her unbreakable spirit inevitably draws the prince to her. author’s note: her betrothed does what Daemon did to Rhea... this time, the woman survives 🔪 also, couples who kill together, stay together, I don’t make the rules warnings: archery (described in unprofessional language), slow burn (... and then not so slow), mentions of blood and murder (duh), it gets a bit heated words: ~ 11K song inspo: Tommee Profitt ft. Nicole Serrano — Cry me a river (cinematic cover) 🔥

>>> Aemond is caught in heavy rain midair, in the depths of a starless night. The storm rips through the clouds, and the lightning flickers across the sky that’s bowed over the Vale. He tries to resist the voice of reason that urges him to land, he’s no little boy to be afraid of the whims of nature. But the downpour only grows more ferocious, and the rattling of thunder soon drowns out Vhagar’s displeased roars.

Begrudgingly, Aemond sets his pride aside and peers into the darkness that stretches as far as the eye can see. He can barely make out a vague outline of the mountains but the rocky terrain is a poor resting place, that much he knows. Exasperation slowly claws at him as the wind howls, his clothes drenched and heavy, and the ribbon of moonlight slips away into the gloom.

When his gaze suddenly catches a flicker of light, a faintly lit cave in the distance — Aemond thinks it’s the Gods' mercy as it is. He is yet to find out that the Gods are leading him that way for a reason.

>>> The landing is rough but Aemond holds back complains and runs for cover, breathing a sigh of relief once he gets to the cave. Vhagar curls up in a heap, and her enormous silhouette can easily pass for just another mountain in the valley.

The prince tiredly wipes the raindrops off his face — and only then notices a spot of crimson right under his feet. He recognizes the color of blood in an instant, and the realization fills him with dread. Slowly, he turns around, his eye following the gory trail, his hand reaching for the dagger. But the sight he’s met with leaves him frozen in place.

Aemond is sure he’s never been so stunned and horrified all at once.

At the far end of the cave, a woman is lying next to a waning fire, with her eyes closed and face drained of color. She is dressed in bright red, and the blood on her hands blends into the laced fabric of her long sleeves, and Aemond is struggling to locate the injury that left her unconscious. She looks so helpless, a breath away from irrecoverable, he throws caution to the wind and rushes to her side without much thought.

Aemond kneels, examining her bare and bloodied feet, the torn hem of her dress, the smudges of dirt on it. With timidly blossoming fascination, he takes in the softness of her features stained with tears, green leaves tangled in her hair. Aemond reaches his hand to smooth a strand of it when he sees a splash of red framing the side of her face. His fingers barely graze her temple — and once he sees them stained with red too, his breathing hitches.

He’s no stranger to cuts and bruises but he doesn’t know how to treat a head wound. And his fighting skills won’t be of use against the Stranger.

A feeble voice brings him back to reality:

“I am not dying.”

Startled, Aemond lets his gaze fall on her lips, parted and faintly tinted with pink. Her eyelids flutter before she opens her eyes — they meet his in an instant. The feeling he gets bears no explanation: it’s sudden and overwhelming, raging like a hurricane that hits right at his chest. She doesn’t look away while her hand finds his — his fingers are still in her hair, and he shudders at the touch; her skin is cold but the grip is surprisingly firm.

“I’m not dying tonight,” she repeats, her tone a bit steadier. “I will not give him the satisfaction.”

His brows furrow from the lack of understanding. His body tenses at the very clear hint that he gets.

“Who did this to you?” Aemond asks with concern.

But she already drifts out of consciousness, back to where she can’t hear him. The thunder rolls and the lightning tears the cover of darkness, illuminating uninhabited mountains and valleys. The terrible weather seems like the least of Aemond’s problems.

>>> It rains all night, and the dawn comes shrouded in white mist. He cannot sleep a wink. The woman tosses and mumbles incoherently as her mind lapses back into the grasp of the unknown suffering. Aemond finds the sight so unnerving, it’s almost painful to watch, but he doesn’t take his eye off her.

He keeps the fire burning to help warm her up, ignoring his own discomfort. Not his shivering but hers eventually compels him to peel off his wet outer garment to dry it off faster. He hastens to put the clothes back on but leaves out his coat to cover her with it, black material over red, a night draping over sunset. Hesitantly, he rubs her arms and back, his usually deft fingers now tentative, until he sees the life returning to her cheeks. It puts Aemond’s nerves at ease, and he belatedly realizes how stiff his body has become from hours of sitting in agonizing suspense. And yet, he never leaves her side.

The mountain tops stay hidden by the clouds, the sky coated in gloom the sun can’t peek through, but around midday, she wakes up again. Her eyes dart to Aemond who moved to feed the fire with branches. He doesn’t rush into conversation, giving her a chance to come to her senses. She is looking at him with distrust but without a hint of fear.

“You stayed,” she concludes in a hoarse voice, slightly shifting in place.

“Leaving you all alone didn’t seem fair,” Aemond responds, which only earns a huff from her.

“I am perfectly capable of managing on my own,” she rebuts, trying to prop herself up on elbows — and instantly groans at the ache in her temple.

Aemond comes closer in a blink of an eye, and it’s hard to miss the empathetic look he gives her. He politely stays at arm’s length which she is thankful for.

“Your bleeding stopped but such a serious wound must be examined by a maester,” Aemond tells her peacefully. “How far away is your home? I shall accompany you there once the weather calms down.”

He sees emotion flashing through her face, and for a moment it gets so quiet, he can only hear the rain still drizzling outside the cave.

“I do not have a home,” she forces out, and Aemond is surprised to notice that she doesn’t sound sad. If anything, there is ire in her words. “You shouldn’t bother.”

“I am sure your family is worried by your absence and —”

“My family valued me so little, they got rid of me at the very first chance,” she cuts him off, her voice stern. “So I am not going back to them, I’d rather you leave me here.”

He looks her over — her ruined dress and anguished face, dried-up blood in her disheveled hair. No doubt, she is hurting, and it would be unbecoming of a prince to leave a lady in such dire straits.

“I can do no such thing,” Aemond insists. “You survived a severe injury but whatever discomfort you are now feeling can be eased.”

“Complaining would only make me look pitiful. I need none of that,” she is sitting with her fingers pressed to the aching part of her skull, her brows knitted.

“Only seems reasonable to pity anyone with a ble—”

“Did anyone pity you?” she interjects, looking straight at his eyepatch.

The question is meant to cut him yet it doesn’t — too much time has passed, and his once painful memories are now dust-covered images at the back of his mind. But he finds her intent amusing. Wounded and weak, she is supposed to be at his mercy, but her spirit stays unbendable, and her gaze is so blazing, it’s nothing less of a fire. She keeps her eyes on him, waiting for his reply, confident that she will get it.

“Hardly anyone,” Aemond admits. “But I wasn’t left in a cave to die, so the comparison doesn’t work in your favor.”

He expects her to snap again, he almost wants to have another taste of her insolence — a trait so uncommon among any women he’s met, Aemond deems it not offensive but thrilling. She only hums in response, throwing him a glance, and he sees curiosity shining through her cold stare, like a ray of sun in the storm clouds. Their exchange of pleasantries is cut short by another one of her groans. He is usually patient but the sound of her suffering is a test that he fails.

“You will not get better on your own and you know it,” Aemond tries to reason. “I can take you to the greatest maester there is,” — and his persistence is akin to a plea. He anticipates her fears and allays them before she can utter a word: “You will be free to leave at any moment, you have my word.”

“What’s in it for you?” she narrows her eyes at him, her whole demeanor a clear evidence of her refusal to give in just yet.

Aemond thinks for a moment. The real answer to her question lies on the surface and is as vivid as her dress and as her blood: he knows nothing about her and he wants to know everything. He has trouble not only voicing but coming to terms with his desires.

“I am afraid that guilty conscience will disturb my sleep,” Aemond says, and it’s not entirely untrue. He can already tell he’ll think of her many nights to come.

She looks at him appreciatively, slowly, as if her gaze can cut through the cotton of his shirt, flesh, and bones his body is made of. Whatever is her verdict, he can’t tell because in the next moment, she is stricken with pain again, and talking isn’t of much help.

“We shall leave at dawn,” Aemond recapitulates, helping her lay down to have some rest while he can’t find any.

“Do you happen to have any water?” she mumbles more humbly. He senses that showing weakness doesn’t come easy for her; he’s not the one to gloat at something he can perfectly understand.

“I will fetch you some,” he reassures and pulls his coat over her again — and hurries outside.

The mountain valleys welcome him with stillness, and Vhagar’s eyes are two beacons in the mist. The dragon seems comforted by the rain and pays Aemond no mind as he climbs up to get a flask with water he luckily brought, and some lemon cakes Helaena insisted that he take (“should something happen on the road”, she said; he makes a mental note to thank her later).

They eat in silence — she has no appetite, and Aemond feels food stuck in his throat. She tells him nothing but her name; he savors the sound of it, a weave of letters he can now put to her face. Aemond studies her discreetly and although he can’t read her yet, he puts everything in memory, down to the smallest detail. The slight tilt of her head, the pensiveness of her gaze, a blizzard of feelings trapped in her irises, the stubbornness in her lineaments paired with beauty. The curve of her neck and a thin golden chain around it, her collarbones flowing down in that hollow spot his thumb would fit in... He stops himself from looking further down; his face flushes nonetheless, and something sparks inside him, dangerously unnamed.

The evening approaches stealthily but comes chilly and dank. They go to sleep early, both laid next to the fire, and Aemond courteously keeps his distance. She notices the goosebumps that snake under his shirt; her suspicions are soon confirmed when she catches the sound — and can’t tell if it’s the hammering of rain or his chattering teeth.

She considers him: his sharp profile, tense angles of his jaw, lines of his cheekbones seemingly chiseled by the Gods themselves. With his silver hair and eye the color of wisteria, she expected a different attitude; everyone knows the Targaryens to be self-righteous at best and prideful as a given. But the man next to her is instead stoically enduring the hardship he can easily avoid — if he only rolls closer and allows their bodies to trap the elusive heat; he doesn’t dare to. She realizes he could’ve taken advantage of her if he wanted, but it seems like the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind. She finds it way more endearing than her vigilance would usually let her — the pain must’ve dulled her sanity, she thinks, reminding herself that it’s the sole intent of surviving that should motivate her.

No words will work against his wit so she wastes no time snuggling up to him, with her forehead against his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest as she shares his own coat with him. A quiet gasp escapes Aemond’s mouth, but he stays still.

“I can hear you shivering,” she can feel it now too — his skin trembling under her fingers. “You are risking to catch a cold.”

Aemond is frozen for a minute, his heart thrumming at that unexpected boldness, at the feeling of her — malleable curves and no rigid edges, their ribcages in contact, their thighs brushing. Calming his breathing is an arduous task; he’s used to fighting off opponents but now he’s battling with himself, with the need that’s treacherously strong, almost primal. He barely quells it, and only by some miracle his inhales are soon steady again.

He moves his arm — the one she’s lying on — a little to the side, giving her more space to settle into, tips of his fingers stopping at her lower back. He does feel undoubtedly warmer. Aemond glances down at her, his voice a whisper tinted with mirth:

“Isn’t this called pity?”

He hears a faint cackle. “Call it rationality,” she refutes. “Since we are to leave soon, and only one of us can fly a dragon.”

The words roll off her tongue like it is the most mundane thing, not a century’s worth of power encased under the thick-scaled skin of a creature the size of a castle.

“You do not find the beast scary?” Aemond can’t stop himself from asking.

“Why would I? It is only a dragon,” her voice grows smaller, eyelids become heavier. “Unlike some men, the dragons are at least not known for their ill intentions.”

At that moment, a wish is abruptly made — to find out who harmed her, make sure it happens no more. The fury in Aemond is a mounting force meant to cause destruction, tamed yet never really dormant. But he listens to her breaths and pushes his anger aside, and the full moon is the only witness of his surrender. As he falls asleep, he tries not to think how nice it is to have her body pressed to his.

>>> What he should be thinking of is how to explain all this — him, unwed, bringing a woman to the castle; a scandal, no less. And yet, it is the last thing on his mind. It’s only occupied with this moment he wishes would never end — with gusts of wind tucked under the dragon’s belly, clouds spread out around; and, most importantly, his arms snaked around her waist, her back touching his chest.

It is bittersweet, truth be told because her pain isn’t gone overnight, and he can’t heal her with just his hands and his words. The splotches of dark maroon are even more visible in her hair in daylight, and she winces at loud sounds, at the harsh flow of air that bites her skin while Vhagar soars up, and she has to grab onto Aemond a little tighter.

But soon they reach the clear canvas of the sky, the serene emptiness, and she looks around, taking it all in — and then the corners of her mouth curl up. There are sparkles of delight in her eyes, and still no sign of fear. And he thinks that her smile is the closest thing to the sun.

They cover many miles, crossing the lands as Vhagar bursts through the clouds, and the time allotted to their inadvertent closeness runs out, mercilessly as ever. Once they land and he helps her climb down, his anxiety comes back, like a wave approaching shore. But then a sound of her whimper reaches him, almost inaudible; he only has time to turn around, to see her pained expression. She passes out — he catches her; it’s his heart that falls, and no other thoughts and explanations matter.

When Aemond is seen at the castle, he’s carrying her in his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line, and not a word slips out after he calls for the maester. The prince pays no attention to the guards and the maids exchanging glances, to his mother stopping dead in her tracks upon seeing him, her hand over her heart. There is a question hanging in the air, parting Alicent’s lips, but she doesn’t voice it and only watches her son walk away, hurried and fearful in a way she forgot he was capable of. She struggles to remember when was the last time she saw Aemond in the company of a lady. And if he ever looked at a woman the way he looks at this one.

>>> Aemond is pacing the corridor, his eye on the floor, on the pattern of the stone surface. His mind is treading at the doors that were closed in his face after she was carried into the room. She was breathing still, and that’s what helps him keep it together, his hands clasped so tightly his fingers go numb.

He wonders if maester Mellos has always been so annoyingly slow. That’s the only wondering he can allow — otherwise the noxious thoughts will flood his head: how much blood did she lose before he found her? What if he was the one being too slow? What if —

“Her life is not in danger as she regained her senses” the maester moves with the pace of a cat, his face wearing the same unbothered expression. “The long flight might’ve been tiring for her impressionable female nature.”

That assumption is disregardful and uncalled for — Aemond hates it; still, he’s glad to hear the rest. He lets out a breath that frees his chest from the chains of agitation.

“I will fetch her some herbal ointment to help the cuts and bruises heal faster,” the old man then adds.

Aemond’s expression hardens; clearly, he knows the meaning behind the words but he cannot fathom them. Violet marks of violence blooming on her skin, how could he miss it? How did she get them? He accidentally thinks of it out loud.

“It is a rare luck to get only bruises after taking a fall from a horse,” the maester looks at him askance. He gives his final verdict before leaving, followed by a sigh: “The young lady surely must rest.”

The displeasure is a tiny tongue of flame at Aemond’s ribs. He is vexed by not knowing (nothing new in that, not with his eagerness to learn all and everything ever since he was a kid). Unexpectedly, he is equally vexed by not seeing her — so much so, that he almost reaches for the handle of the door that separates them.

Aemond stops himself, his reticence a fetter but also a necessity: she needs her rest, and he shall leave her be. He will not go beyond the bounds of decency.

She can’t be niched into any bounds, he soon will learn.

>>> Aemond is good at many things but not at waiting, as it turns out. In the morning, after he wakes up, anticipation already laps up in him, his day a blur — breakfast, sword practice, the lines in a book he picks at the library all merge and bore him. He only glimpsed the maids leaving her chambers once; it took all of his willpower to go the other way.

In just three days, his impatience smolders — then flares up, then erupts into a wildfire, his head in a haze that makes him lose focus. The more Aemond tries not to think of her, the harder it gets.

He pushes yet another thought aside as he sees Ser Criston approaching, armed with a longsword and perseverance. Aemond’s training is never a dull routine — the knight makes sure of that and doesn’t make concessions. Their swords lock and clank, and time is a whirl; in the midst of it, Aemond finds himself reminiscing about her shining gaze. He almost misses the hit aimed at him and ducks at the very last second — spins, glares, strikes, his blade stopping an inch away from Criston’s face.

The knight chuckles in good spirits, and the pride he feels is almost paternal. “Such a shame you aren’t the one for tourneys,” he pants, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Aemond rolls his eye, a brief respite not helping with his frustration. The subtleties of his emotions are unknown, unreadable like an ancient language: he’s daydreaming of her hands, her face, her —

“What a shame, indeed.”

Aemond turns to the sound of her voice. The whirl is silenced in an instant.

It’s different from his memories and his dreams — better than both: she is alive and well, she’s right next to him. She isn’t wearing a dress but a tunic and a pair of breeches, cool-toned material against her sun-kissed skin. Her wound is cleaned and healing, the mark left is a lightning peeking from her hair, the waves of it loosely braided. The simple attire doesn’t take away from her beauty (nothing can, he thinks), and it takes him a second to blink the enchantment away.

Aemond’s voice comes back, a tad low. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” He’s looking too joyful for it to sound like reproach.

There’s laughter in her eyes. “No one forbade me from stretching my legs. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Ser Criston chimes in, cautiously curious. “If only you don’t find the sight too unsettling,” he twirls his sword, the steel soundless in his hands.

“On the contrary, I find it entertaining. Although that wouldn’t be my weapon of choice,” her gaze follows the blade up.

Aemond throws her a surprised look but Ser Criston is the one to raise the question. “You have your preferences? Do tell,” he turns his head to the weaponry on a nearby table. “We’ve got shortswords, flails, axes...”

“All of which lack speed,” she remarks pertly, leaving the knight mystified.

Aemond sees no mystery; he knows that in the highlands catching prey is way trickier than killing. Knives, swords, blades of any kind won’t cover a long distance. Something else will.

“Archery, then?” the prince guesses.

“Doesn’t seem like the type of weapon you Targaryens prefer,” she shrugs but her disinterest is feigned.

Ser Criston catches onto that. “Can’t have preferences if there is nothing to choose from,” he grins, then calls for one of the guards, giving short instructions.

The man runs back in a minute, with a bow and arrows, and her eyes light up. They glide over the tight string, the polished wooden bend, concave at each end; it’s crafted beautifully.

“I must ask you to spare the guards,” Ser Criston jests while she takes the weapon, laying hold on its grip. “But do not be shy about taking your pick,” he points randomly at a stack of barrels, about thirty yards away. “These might be nice for a start.”

“That is too easy of a target,” she barely glances that way, then takes a good look around. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

The knight’s cheeks heat up. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to —”

“Oh, I do not find it offensive,” she grants him a meek smile without looking, already eyeing something much further away. “To tell you bluntly, it only spurs me on,” she mounts the feathered end of the arrow against the bowstring — and then pulls it.

Both men follow the direction the arrow is pointed at. Right outside the castle gates, there’s an apple tree, tall and branched, bent slightly over the stone wall. The fruits are bulked and ruddy, mouth-watering; but from where they are standing, the apples can barely be seen, obscured by foliage the wind breezes through.

Ser Criston raises an eyebrow, not incredulous but intrigued; Aemond only gets time to take a half-breath. The first arrow is fired with no warning — it cuts through the air, a flash of color above everyone’s heads, — and pierces an apple, pinning it to the trunk. A moment later she takes another shot; after the second one, Aemond isn’t looking at the apples, his eye instead drawn to her.

He suddenly can see nobody else.

Her every move is concise and simple, but her gaze is dead-set on the tree. She repeats each shot with a honed precision, controlled yet gracious; one of her arms set in a straight line, the other one follows a well-learned pattern — an arrow out, an apple down. That’s where, he thinks, her intrepidity comes from: the deadly weapon in her hands sings like a musical tool. The chance to watch her is bliss, and she’s a vision.

Only when she’s down to the last arrow, her hand unexpectedly flinches. She doesn’t miss, still, but the iron tip veers off and knocks the apple to the ground; a shadow of discontent glides across her face. Ser Criston is too impressed to notice yet Aemond knows that feeling all too well. He’s always strived to be the best too, and he knows how poisonous the pursuit of excellence can be.

“With that level of skill you might be unrivaled,” the knight praises, his words backed up by some of the guards and passersby clapping.

She seeks no praise, her quest is more troublesome. “I can do better,” she says, with her disappointment forced down. Her voice wanes a little when she adds: “I will do better by the next full moon,” and that hidden meaning holds unfathomable weight.

Aemond is too eager to bring her comfort to read between the lines. “The bow and arrows will be waiting for you, shall you decide to train more. But do have mercy on the tree,” a smile ripples her lips, a warmth ripples his heart. “I will ask for some target rings to be made.”

That gives her a dollop of contentment, and their fingers brush when he takes the weapon back. As Aemond gazes after her, he wonders if she feels it too — blood stirring, sweet dizziness, limbs lightweight.

Ser Criston watches the prince with a knowing look, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “It is so rare to find a lady with such a competitive spirit and a talent to match,” the knight muses. “Her husband must be a lucky man.”

Aemond’s joy shrinks, that mere word disturbing. “She doesn’t have one,” he responds. The uncertainty of his answer leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Doesn’t she really?

“That might not be for long,” Ser Criston carelessly comments. The prince’s cold stare makes no impression on him. “Shall we resume our training?”

Aemond goes to pick a shorter sword, his blood now boiling for another reason. There’s a gaze that’s akin to a caress, to a gentle tap on Criston’s shoulder — he turns readily to meet it, dark brown eyes that are a mirror of his own. Alicent casts a glance at her son, questioning and worrying, then holds the knight’s gaze once more. The looks they share are hand-written letters — both of them write the same thing.

>>> Alicent goes looking for answers first — she walks into the woman’s chambers the very same day, with the elegance of a Queen, with the benevolence of a mother. She doesn’t push but guides the conversation; she faces no resistance from the woman she’s facing.

When they are both seated, she tells her a story as old as time, a tragedy lived out by many. Her mother died when the girl was ten years of age, too weak to carry on her blank existence, and her father couldn’t even bear to look at her, no matter how much she tried to please him. Growing up in the Vale felt freeing but lonely, so she preferred archery over embroidery to leap at every chance to get away from home, into the beauty of the wilderness she had no one to share with. But she held out to hope that her life would change. She couldn’t predict that said change would start as an accident — her horse slipping on wet grass.

Alicent can’t help but bring her into a compassionate embrace at the mention of it. Her embrace turns into an offer — of a place to stay, of a shelter, and a friendly ear (maybe those were all the things her younger version wished for but was robbed of). The lie Alicent heard was so skillfully woven into the truth, she didn’t get suspicious.

Once Aemond learns the story from his mother, he discerns the misleading part in a second. All the other pieces fit together like a puzzle — her being self-reliant and guarded, her brazenness a shield, just like the one he’s grown accustomed to. But that last bit was made up, he can tell. And yet, he just doesn’t know how to approach the subject and not scare her off.

Aemond takes a task on earnestly.

>>> He looks for an opportunity to talk — he ends up tirelessly watching her, and he can’t say that there is no pleasure in it. She does resume her training, and every morning she’s the first one at the training yard when the sun is barely up, and no prying eyes can witness her dedication. Him having an eye on her doesn’t seem to be a problem.

His relentlessness has always been something Aemond prided himself on but it’s hers that he grows to enjoy. He carefully notes her refined movements, her sharp focus, her gaze cutting through any target before an arrow does. It’s easy to be fascinated by her; it takes him a couple of days to look past her outward calmness to catch a flicker of a feeling he can effortlessly recognize — an undercurrent of fury. And then he grasps that each time she aims at the wooden boards, she means to hurt someone. And maybe that is the exact reason she struggles with her every last shot, and her hand keeps flinching, unsure, or maybe too overwhelmed with certitude instead.

On one of those mornings, Aemond gets an idea, an outburst of bravery (or madness, but he’s too excited to care). She’s grimly collecting the arrows, inspecting them for damage when she sees him out of the corner of her eye.

“I couldn’t help but notice that something’s been troubling you,” Aemond comes closer, hands behind his back. She gives him a look that holds no denial but no explanations, either.

Aemond goes to the wooden boards, round and lined up on a hastily built frame, — and stands in the middle, right in front of them. He then puts out a hand with an apple in it, ripe and deliciously red. “Maybe I can help.”

Nothing short of shock flashes through her face, her eyes darting from him to the fruit and back. “What— ” her jaw drops as the words escape her; she strings them into a sentence. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you focus better,” Aemond offers in the calmest tone he can master.

It’s not uncertainty that leaves her speechless, her proficiency hard to deny. It’s the genuine, borderline naive trust that he shows her — with his open gaze on her, his body not moving from the spot, his faith in her as unwavering as his posture.

The moment is fleeting, soft like a morsel of a gossamer cloud, with so many words not shared; in another blink of his eye, it ends. The change in her isn’t drastic but chilling, like a touch of steel blade to the skin — her hand doesn’t waver when she reaches for the arrow, her gaze firmly locking on him.

As her last attempt at leniency, she notes: “There is no stopping an arrow once it’s shot.”

Aemond doesn’t think twice before replying: “You trusted me with your life once. I trust you not to kill me.”

She lifts the bow without hesitation, and he keeps eye contact with bated breath. The never-ending movement of life abates and the pale sunlight fades, and Aemond is deaf to everything but his booming heart. She drops the bow out of the way just a little and pulls the string up to the tip of her nose. She waits at full draw, the passing seconds endless and fulminant at once, before her hand flows back, her fingers relaxing — and the arrow slices through the air.

The first one hits somewhere above the apple; Aemond doesn’t dare to even take a glance, standing motionless, rooted to the ground. The second one follows soon. It’s a blood-curling contrast — how quiet is each shot until it reaches the target, and then the arrow rips right through the board, a deafening crash, a waft of death he’s spared from. Until she draws the bowstring again.

Aemond hears the third and the fourth hit, his hand unmoving, every muscle in his body tense. He is rarely scared, and it’s easy to mistake the fluttering of his heart for fear. But with how his eye is riveted on her, his gaze rapt and throat soar, — he thinks, it might be some other feeling. He gets no time to guess as the fifth arrow — finally — plunges into the apple and pins it to the board.

It’s a momentary reprieve, a quivering wave going through his body; and yet, she doesn’t lower the bow, eyes still fixed on him. Aemond can see her inhaling, the metal tip of the arrow pointing in his direction — and then released smoothly. In a split second, it lodges into the gap between his ribs and his arm, the feathery end stopping right next to his heart. When Aemond looks at her, he catches fiery glints of mischief in her gaze — and then something else, bright but short-lived like a glare on the water.

She puts the bow down, and they both know — her hand didn’t flinch once.

Only when Aemond steps away, he sees that the six arrows form the letter “A”, with the red apple right in the middle.

>>> He’s afraid the change is transient but it lasts — she is now watching him, too. Aemond finds it befuddling at first, not considering himself worth the attention, not used to being seen as something other than a wreckage of man, intimidating, and lonely, and harsh. She doesn’t look daunted. On the contrary, every time she sees him, the ice of her concentration thaws, and her gaze softens and lingers on him, mending every part of him that’s been broken by his insecurities.

She doesn’t recoil from the parts that are irreparable, either. She shows the same understanding when he can’t find the right words and shrinks into his shell — in the middle of conversations, in between rows of bookshelves, at bustling dinners; her company is a haven he can retreat to without a word. She welcomes his every impulse to talk and to share — thoughts, meals, books he thinks she will like (she bites down a smile thinking how much time he spent looking for any mention of archery).

She stays by his side when he doesn’t want to talk and when he overshares, when he’s bleakly taciturn, and when his temper gets as rigid as his sword; she’s enthralled by his anger, never burnt by it. One week turns into two, then into three. Day by day, Aemond wakes up earlier to watch her hit every target without fail, and she then watches him win one bout after another with evident amusement. They explore the castle, get lost in the library, take rides to the woods — she laughs as her horse breaks into a gallop, she basks in the sun, wind ruffling her hair, and his heartbeat raises to a clamor upon seeing her like that.

Her seat is next to his at the dining table, their chambers not too far away, and he persistently walks her to her doors, and every evening he dithers before saying goodnight and parting ways. Her presence soon becomes a warming light nurturing his days — and simultaneously the reason for him losing sleep. But as he lays at night, watching the moon wax, he thinks of another constant, bothering him like a page missing from a book, a closed door he’s got no key for — it’s her secret that he is yet to uncover.

He gets his chance when he least expects it.

>>> The month is nearing its end when Aemond is nearing the dining hall, brimming with emotion he cannot capture — excitement, unrest, sprinkling of anguish. He last saw her hours ago, when his mother came to her in the training yard, and the two of them hastened to leave, seemingly in some agreement he knew nothing about. He caught bits and pieces of words — mentions of fabrics and seamstresses, but it didn’t help with his confusion which soon turned into worry he had trouble coping with. And it wasn’t the worst part.

What’s worse is the comprehension, icy and unforeseeable like a blast of northern wind: it’s only been a few hours, and he’s already missing her. He looks back at the days she wasn’t with him, but they all seem too far away and forgotten, his life before her a blank canvas that she’s now painting with colors. He keeps thinking of her, getting more pensive with each step, until he reaches the doors, and walks in, and —

the ground is cut from under his feet.

All is the same in the hall: long table in a cloud of mindless chatter, silverware clanking, a rich palette of scents. What stands out is the color, bright like rubies formed within the earth’s crust. It’s the red of her dress — the same old and brand new — and he can only catch a glimpse but it’s enough to leave him dazed. It lasts a second before she senses him, her conversation with Helaena interrupted; she springs to her feet, the dazzling hue stirs up his ardor — he’s almost blinded when he gets an eyeful.

He is staring at her, everyone’s staring at him.

Helaena stands up with a laugh in her attempt to smooth things over: “It isn’t very nice of you to keep a friend waiting,” they both sit down then.

Aemond goes to join them with cotton feet.

He must’ve been too busy last time, her injury too big of a disturbance, so he paid the dress no mind. But once he’s seated, he can’t help but notice: the layers of fabric, flowing lines of her body, the cut in the front, the golden chain now ten times brighter. She casts him a wondering glance, he drinks half the cup in one swallow. The minutes that follow are like a fog, and although the conversations carry on, Aemond can’t bring himself to take part in any.

That is until he hears vaguely his sister’s delighted voice. “The stitching is barely noticeable! What an excellent work,” she marvels at the red dress, then looks at him with the spontaneity of a child. “Wouldn’t you agree, dear brother?”

He’s certainly grateful he’s not drinking otherwise he’d choke. Aemond manages to cast one furtive glance. “A fine work indeed.”

His mother gently picks up the discussion. “It was only fair to help repair the thing your friend holds so dear,” Alicent’s gaze is directed at her. “You can now wear it on more than just one occasion.”

Why would she hold so dear the dress that only carries the memories of her pain, he wonders. The dress that was covered with blood, with fingerprints of someone who wanted her dead. He takes a peek at her, and her face expression gives away no answers but for a second too short to comprehend he sees the undercurrent again; only it never takes shape. She puts on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and he’s the only one to notice.

“I greatly appreciate you taking your time to help me,” she says, and Alicent’s smile — a genuine one — only grows wider. Maybe even a bit too wide for it only to be about some stitching.

“I suspect we tired you out with all the measuring and dressing up,” his mother points at her plate. “You hardly ate, my dear.”

“It’s been a long day,” her fingers close around a cup but she doesn’t drink from it, “And the dress brought back some memories,” her grab tightens, the only sign of everything she’s keeping covered. “But I am glad to get a chance to wear it one more time.”

“And I am happy to help,” Alicent assures, “But please, go have some rest, you have seen enough of our boring dinners.”

“I was never bored,” there’s a glimmer of gratitude, a tone of sincerity as she gets up from the table and looks at the faces sitting at it. For a moment, it seems that she wants to say more — grand, meaningful, closer to the truth. And yet, she just opts for a short, “Thank you for having me.”

She barely has time to take a step before Aemond all but jumps to his feet. “I will walk with you,” the words leave his mouth as he stands up with unflinching determination. And it’s not that he wants to leave as much as he wants to follow her.

His eagerness doesn’t come off as a surprise. No one says it but it seems that everyone knows — Alicent and Criston sharing the same looks, Helaena beaming, Aegon smirking into his cup. Aemond only waits for her reaction, his eye focused on her face. She isn’t against it — just like she’s never been before, every time he found a reason to come to her and be with her, and even when there was no reason to do so. She gives him a nod, a tad guiltily but more so accepting (and maybe just as eager as he is).

While they are on their way out, Aegon turns on his chair to say something but Helaena covers his mouth with her hand.

>>> Aemond breathes a little deeper and walks a little slower, gathering his words, — and before he knows it, they are talking again, his infatuation receded, although never truly gone. He asks about her day, and in the corridors and hallways curtained with silence, her voice flows lightly. He can tell that she’s abashed by all the fussing over her.

“Our seamstresses are quite fierce,” he chuckles. “I fear no sword of mine will stand a chance against their needles.”

“They said this dress was made for feasts,” she quotes, fiddling with the material as if she can’t see what’s there to admire.

“Well, Aegon’s name day is approaching. That will surely be a feast we are all invited to endure,” Aemond jests.

“I don’t think that I will —” she doesn’t finish the sentence, biting down her lip. He’s too distracted by that movement to pay attention to what’s left unvoiced. “You do not find those celebrations to your liking?” she changes the topic swiftly.

“I find them boring,” Aemond huffs. “The same old lords boasting about their wealth, making up achievements that are each so hollow.”

“Sounds like ladies aren’t a part of those conversations?”

“Theirs are hardly better so you should keep your expectations low,” he ruefully remarks. “Сourt gossip is one thing you can’t avoid. And then they’ll either lament about their husbands or try to find one for you,” he doesn’t think much over his words until he sees her smile dropping. And then, before he can find a reason not to, he adds: “...Assuming you are not already married.”

As soon as she hears it, she stops — Aemond does too, and he can tell that she isn’t looking for lies and excuses. She only timidly looks around, as if she’s afraid the walls have ears, and the truth she’s about to tell him is only meant for his. They managed to reach his chambers first, so without a single word Aemond goes to open the doors, and she accepts the nonvocal invitation.

They walk in — both are hasty and agitated, but he gives her space and scarcely hides the trembling of his hands. She finds it hard to utter a particular word. “I was... betrothed but not anymore. The man in question now believes I am dead.”

Her face is turned away from him, her gaze gliding over every object in his room, searching for something to fall on. She hesitantly walks to his table, glancing over a stack of books on it.

Aemond gives her a minute, then inquires: “Was he the one to hurt you?”

Her pain is still fresh, her face briefly splashed with it but she pushes through. Her response is not affirmative and yet, it’s enough of a confirmation. “I should’ve known better than to trust him.”

His anger rears up its head, a beast on a chain readying to get loose. “There is no excuse for what he did,” Aemond punctuates. “There cannot be —”

“There isn’t,” she cuts him off, not harshly but with a weary acceptance, her finger grazing thick book covers. “And I’m the last person to ever make excuses for him. But I should’ve known.”

Aemond is hurt by the thought he gets, but her torment is even more hurtful so he says the words, each letter scorching his heart. “You can’t take the blame for having feelings. Love often makes people let their guard down.” (And for years, he never did. Not until her).

With how fast she retorts, his ache is cured: “It wasn’t love.” Whatever it was, she regrets it so deeply, it’s written all over her face. “Now that I think about it, it never was.”

Her fingers travel down to the table surface, her thoughts straying back to the time that’s too distant but too haunting to forget.

“Lord Dykk Hersy is a son of my father’s friend, we’ve known each other ever since we were kids. He was always too noisy, then turned too self-centered, not much to like about that. And I never thought he fancied me, either. But my father made a decision about us some years back, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So Dykk started coming more often, following me around, being very nice. And I wasn’t...,” she stops fumbling with strewn parchments and lets out a sigh. “Not a lot of people were nice to me back then. I was naive to mistake his kindness for something else, and he was smart enough to say all the right words to make me believe him.”

Her fingertips reach his dagger, unscabbarded and left in plain sight. His eye is drawn to her every movement.

“We were betrothed when I was ten-and-six. I grew to like his company, and I think he did try his best, at first. For a couple of years, he was courteous, generous enough to give in to my every whim. Not that I had too many,” she’s glassy-eyed, and Aemond’s glare would be enough to kill. “But the illusion didn’t last for long. I soon began to notice pitiful stares, taunting whispers behind my back, maids dropping their gazes in shame. Three years in, I found out one of them was carrying his child.”

“Am I right to assume he denied it?”

“He did,” she chuckles bitterly. “He seemed taken aback by my anger, tried to persuade me he was falsely accused. But I could never blame the girl, it’s not her fault he was so good with words... I fell for them too,” her sadness is washed off with virulence; her fury awakened again, flames of it rising from the bowels of her restraint.

Aemond finds himself only a few feet away from her, pulled in by empathy at first, enamored somewhere in between the first and second steps.

“From that day, the complaints began, the excuses — he was too busy to stay for long, then got too busy to visit.”

“Was it so hard to saddle a horse?” Aemond bristles.

She casts him a glance followed by a half smile. “He lives in The Reach.”

“So chivalry is dead,” he snorts, and her laughter gives him a spark of joy. “It isn’t far away from here,” Aemond notes.

“Takes way longer to reach the Vale,” she explains, then pauses. Her memories eat up the merest hint of cheer. “Only he wasn’t road weary. He was burdened by me.”

Aemond almost reaches out for her, but clasps his hands together, his knuckles whitening. Her finger traces the very edge of the blade.

“And then, on his latest name day, my father made a poor joke,” her smile is crooked, hating. “He said me and Dykk were meant to stay together unless death do us part. That’s when, I think, he got the idea.”

“It is unworthy of a man to ever nurture such a thought,” his voice is embittered, his chest ablaze with wrath.

“I should’ve known,” she sounds dull like an echo. “He’s always called himself a man of traditions — the start of the month was meant for hunting, and he preferred the grounds of Grassy Vale, the shore of the Blueburn river. But then, all of a sudden, he wanted to explore the mountains of the Vale,” she wraps her hand around the hilt. “Said he wished to reconcile, that the trip would bring us closer, made me wear a dress,” she stumbles over the words, “And I didn’t even want to come or to see him, and all the signs were there, but I put on the stupid dress, and I was the one being so unbelievably stupid and —”

His palm covers hers in a rush of tenderness, his gaze more telling than a poem, confessions embedded in it — so many of them, it would take all night to unravel. They stand still, their eyes locked, his affection sweeping in between his fingers and her skin.

“None of that was your fault,” Aemond asserts. “And no one is to blame but him. Your fortitude is only worthy of admiration.”

It’s alluring how unrelenting he is in his desire to please her; the shift of her body toward his is barely noticeable, and she looks a second away from giving in. Something stops her, a sign of regret on her face, her gaze averted.

“And yet, he continues with his life thinking he got the last laugh,” she bemoans. “And I fear I... will never forget the feeling of his stranglehold as long as we are both alive.”

“You survived the unthinkable,” he tugs at her hand, caring in a way no other man ever was with her. “Why can’t it be enough?”

She ponders, hesitates, her outrage tempered by his solicitude. “I guess some lessons can only be learned the hard way,” she draws conclusion.

There it is again — the puzzling implication, a mystery wrapped in an enigma; it leaves Aemond with a sense of unease. “You deem that lesson to be worth it?” he questions.

The truth slips away from his grasp, but her hand stays, and it is too disarming of a sensation for him to think clearly. “I am afraid it’s too soon to tell,” she deflects, her thumb pressed against the flat of the blade. She can’t resist glancing briefly at it.

“You seem to like this little thing,” Aemond observes. “If so, you can have it.”

Her face is so bright with glee again, all the light in his room grows dim in comparison. “I’ve never seen such an intricate pattern,” she clarifies shyly, then adds with appreciation: “It’s truly beautiful.”

“It is,” he’s only looking at her.

“Teach me how to use it,” she unexpectedly asks. She looks at him again, her gaze exulting, and his heart skips a bit. “Properly.”

“And why would I do that?” he asks, undeniably willing.

“Why wouldn’t you?” she teases, her hand moving from his, clamping the dagger tightly.

Aemond misses the feeling — her skin against his, tighling with warmth, — and he catches her fingers in the same second. The distance between them is shortened down to a few inches; they don’t seem to care.

His touches are light and feathery. “You need to make sure your grip is strong,” he gently presses his forearm to hers, her hand positioned in his palm. “Not too tight so there’s some room for maneuvering. But with all your fingers in place,” he gives instructions, and she eagerly follows.

The red of her dress is a striking distraction; as is the softness of its lace, of her touch, of her lips parted in wonder, her diligence bewitching. She waits, his blood rushes; Aemond gulps.

He continues. “It is a common mistake to take a swing with a pommel up,” two of his roughened fingers latch onto her palm. “But the backhand grip works better,” Aemond rotates her hand in the right position, a steady motion with unsteady breath; her shoulder comes in contact with his chest.

He halts all movement, she makes no attempt to step away. He wonders if she can feel... He lacks the words to describe it. But he can discern her bosom heaving with every breath, and his heartbeat is caught in his throat.

He keeps the dagger pointed down, then calmly guides it up and away, their fingers intertwined. “This way, the point of the blade always comes first,” her eyes are on the steel, on the veins scattered on the inside of his wrist. “Which means that the threat also comes faster,” his eye is on the curve of her neck, on the necklace gleaming, beckoning him to glance lower.

Both of them feel the pull, too spellbound to resist — she takes a half step back, he meets her halfway. Her back is now fully propped against him, every bit of his body overflushed with yearning. Their hands stay adjoined as his words vine through her hair: “You try it.”

And so she does. The first time she repeats the movement, it’s almost reluctant, and his long tenacious fingers lead the way. He inadvertently leans in, his forearm molding into hers, a touch that edges towards embrace; her bashfulness then disappears without a trace. The metal shines coolly as she dexterously twists the blade, and Aemond should be concerned with how easy it comes to her; he is instead utterly transfixed.

She looks at him over her shoulder, his breath fanning out over her cheek, the space between them almost nonexistent. She makes a turn, torturously slow, their hands an inseparable duet, bodies longing to share heat.

“Seems like you did have some practice beforehand,” Aemond notes, voice barely above a whisper.

“Or you are a good teacher,” her eyes slip over his lips.

“And you are a fast learner,” he says under his breath.

This once, his gaze wanders, like a wayward traveler in search of means to satisfy his hunger; she is the one he craves. His fingers are itching for every curve of her body — she’s burning in all the places she wishes he could touch her. The tension rises, floods their bloodstream like fever, and —

“Hardly fair to leave me deal with our grandsire on my own!” Aegon bursts through the doors without knocking, a cup in his hand. “Did I ask for a lecture on table manners? I did not!”

He then sees them, already a step away from each other, and there’s a hint of surprise in his eyes which quickly turns into suspicion. He’s about to voice it when she blurts out: “Aegon would make for a good target.”

The cup he’s holding doesn’t reach his mouth. “...I beg your pardon?”

“I talked your brother into teaching me how to throw a dagger,” she lies slyly. “Would you mind stepping back to the door?”

Aegon blinks, incomprehension evident on his face for a moment, until he frowns and does move back to the door — only to open it and rush out, grumbling: “Both of you are utterly insane.”

The second he leaves, she bursts into laughter, and the same sound, low and hearty, spills from Aemond’s lips. She glances at him — his face relaxed, cheeks adorned with dimples, and he catches her gaze. The moment is lost but their desire isn’t, still swelling in both, unabated fire under the navel.

But now she tarries, her delight eclipsed by a grim understanding she chooses not to put into words. She tries giving him the dagger but Aemond gently pushes it back: “I meant it, it’s yours.”

“Thank you,” she puts it into a scabbard he hands her, then murmurs, sincerely grateful: “For listening, too.”

“I am glad to be worthy of your trust,” he replies warmly.

There’s a ringing urge in the back of his head to come closer to her again. But she is unanticipatedly avoidant of any intimacy, mumbling something about the late hour, moving out of his reach — and then the urge turns into a need so desperate, he can’t keep it bottled up.

“I think he is the biggest fool in the Seven Kingdoms,” Aemond lets slip.

She turns to him when her hand is already on the door handle. “Because he couldn’t manage to kill a woman?” the smile she gives him is acerbic, but her gaze is sad.

“Because he didn’t love you the way you deserve,” he breathes out.

She looks astonished, her mouth falling open, and he wants nothing more than for her to say another word, just to give him a reason to spill his every feeling out. But she slumps her shoulders and purses her lips, and then pulls the handle and gets out so quickly, the door slams behind her, and the sound makes him wince.

He is left all alone, with an unsaid revelation at the base of his throat — the way I would’ve loved you, he wanted to say. And with another heartbeat, Aemond realizes: he already does. He is already hopelessly in love with her.

>>> That realization is a ball lightning that swirls in his chest, and he cannot close the eye all night. It’s liberating to say it to himself — love, the word that sounds and tastes so sweet; it’s also absolutely terrifying. Chaotic thoughts run through his mind, and he is racked with indecision that’s paved with his self-doubts and fears. Amidst the chaos, Aemond finds himself reminiscing of her shining gaze — and then of a touch of her hand, of her eyes on him, of her body leaning toward and her lips not shying away from his. He couldn’t have made all that up, he thinks. He also can’t let fear dictate his future.

Aemond leaves the room with the first rays of the sun, while its light only shyly skims the ground, but the prince’s never been more awake. His intent is a vital force, a fuel that makes him quicken his pace. He all but runs — down the stairs, through the doors, through the castle, and out of it; her name and his proclamation on the tip of his tongue

— only she isn’t in the training yard.

And neither are her bow and arrows.

Anxiety scrapes his ribcage and spreads like ice, then creeps, sluggish and squeaking, into his subconscious. His gaze roves over every corner of the yard, but he can’t catch the slightest hint of where to look for her.

He does break into running on his way back; the corridors and walls all flash before his eye. Her chambers greet him with her absence, the maids all share his concern. Aemond tries to look for clues — a letter, a piece of anything that once belonged to her — but she had no belongings, he remembers then.

Despair crawls out, like a predator sensing blood; Aemond isn’t about to give up without a fight. He goes to question the guards — surely, she couldn’t just disappear into thin air, no matter what her talents are. The men in silver-plated armor are doubtless striving to help, but only one of them recalls her visiting the yard not long before the sun emerged. That knowledge is rather scant and hardly helpful, and Aemond’s determination traitorously falters.

Help comes in the form of a stable boy passing by who gleefully chirps:

“The lady must be a skilled hunter,” he says to no one in particular, dreamingly impressed. “Not many people stick to traditions these days.”

“...Come again?” Aemond throws him a glance so piercing, the boy stammers.

“I only m-meant that it’s a full moon,” he hurriedly explains. “They say, on that day deer move more at night hence why the hunters favor it so much.”

That’s when her words resurface in his mind —

“I will do better by the next full moon.”

“Lord Dykk Hersy always called himself a man of traditions.”

He thinks that for a man who’s only lost one eye, he surely couldn’t have been more blind. Because the clues he’s been so desperate to find were all before his eyes this entire time. He promptly knits together all the fragments — her tireless training, haunting memories, her asking to repair the dress. Only, the one occasion she wanted it for was not some silly dinner.

Disappointment clashes with worry in his chest as Aemond leaves the castle once more, this time with a destination in mind. He blames himself for not guessing sooner; he hopes and prays that it’s not too late.

>>> The grounds of Grassy Vale are robed in green, a canvas of valleys and flats with lone wooden shacks interspersing; Aemond reminds himself he didn’t come for sightseeing. He gazes into fields sprawled underneath, and Vhagar’s body casts a shadow that sweeps along the earth like a water stream. With how low they are flying, it won’t be hard for any of the smallfolk to spot the dragon but Aemond can’t find it in himself to care.

His gaze is searching for one person only, his longing for her immense against everything in his life that’s been measured. But soon he sees the river, and the valleys smoothly give way to forests; Aemond admits with increasing concern that he’ll have to continue on foot. Vhagar grudgingly plops into the high grass, burying her claws in the ground, the flap of her wings so strong, it brings down a couple of trees. Once their rustling is stilled, the sullen peace settles in the vale.

As if to add to his unrest, the sky gets blanketed with clouds, and he can hear the thunder humming in the distance, his heart already hammering in tact. The Gods, it seems, certainly have a penchant for drama.

The sound of the branches crackling is what catches his attention first, and he discerns heavy footsteps fast approaching. In just a second, Aemond sees a man running out of the forest, and there’s no need to take a guess — not only does the stranger look clearly aghast, he’s also got an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

Aemond throws him a disdainful glance but Lord Hersy is too distraught to notice. “Please, help!” he begs and whines, “I am being chased by a mad woman!”

The prince holds back a snicker, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the sight. “Oh, how unfortunate,” he drawls, and every feature of the man looks hideous to him. “A woman instilling that big of a fear? It is the rarest of things.”

Lord Hersy can’t seem to share his amusement. “She’s truly evil!” he assures with wide eyes, his legs unsteady, hand pressed to the wound, red seeping through his fingers. “She led me into an insidious trap, and I am left completely disarmed!”

“It sounds like it required quite a lot of planning,” Aemond notes. “Might it be that she has a reason to be cross with you?”

“I am a righteous lord, I wouldn’t hurt a fly,” the man lies profusely, and a dark look crosses Aemond’s face. “My only fault was trusting her, that scheming wen—”

With one hand movement, Aemond grabs him, his fingers holding the man’s collar so tightly, Lord Hersy has trouble breathing. “But you are surely cross with her, it seems,” the prince remarks in a dry tone, his gaze blistering cold. Underneath the ice, there’s a flare, a spark; he is actually enjoying this. “Would you mind, my lord, telling me more about her?”

Lord Hersy seems taken aback by the request but obeys implicitly. “She’s n-not lacking beauty, that I will admit,” he weakly tries to free himself yet to no avail. “But ignorant of manners and so terribly short-tempered!”

“Is it her temper you are so afraid of?” Aemond doesn’t hide his mocking.

“She’s got a dagger!” the man complains in distress. “An angry woman armed poses a horrid threat! Gods know, I’ve done nothing to merit that mistreatment!”

He opens his mouth to accuse her some more — but then finally takes note of the frighteningly stiff look on Aemond’s face. The prince’s lips curl up into a wrathful and malignant smile, and the air gets heavy with silence.

His anger is a beast that breaks the chains with its teeth.

“Hm,” Aemond shakes his head with derision. “Worry not, ser, you are in good hands,” the prince lowers his face to his, his voice spewing poison when he hisses, “I was the one to give her the dagger.”

Lord Hersy does attempt to escape Aemond’s grip, he’ll give him that. Pathetically and weakly he twitches and wails, tries scratching his face, then reaches for the eyepatch, wobbly fingers tugging at the stripe of leather, gasping and swearing and —

all of his efforts fall short, and Aemond’s iron grip doesn’t loosen one bit.

And then, out of nowhere, another hand grabs a fistful of the lord’s hair, yanking his head back so harshly, that he gasps. They both were too distracted by the scuffle to notice her draw near, but once she reaches them — engulfed in red, her gaze equally flaming — she truly is force to reckon with. The fury looks so good on her, it makes Aemond hold his breath.

“I see your luck did finally run out,” she says to the man, words filled with resentment.

Lord Hersy grows unsure about his every accusation. “I think there’s been a grave misunderstanding,” he protests in a whiny tone. “I deeply regret causing you any offe —”

“I don’t remember you regretting dragging me down from a horse to try and crash my skull with a rock,” her voice is low, biting. The grin that follows makes her face look sinister. “I knew you couldn’t finish.”

His frown betrays his irritation — he puts it out the second he pulls out the dagger. “There are still ways for me to make amends,” Lord Hersy pleads so sickly sweet, Aemond lets out a growl. “I made a terrible mistake, I shall admit, but I did search for you! Day and night, I prayed to the Gods to find you, I cried my eyes out!”

Her face seems empty while she listens, and Lord Hersy is enough of a fool to mistake it for reluctance. But Aemond thinks she’s never looked more sure, and there’s no mercy she can grant the man whose fate has long been sealed.

She tilts her head, the corners of her mouth twitch, and the prince reads this expression with ease — she’s finally facing her most wanted target. He loosens the grip, and Lord Hersy falls to his knees, gulping air, the breath of death no longer tickling his neck; but his relief is premature.

The blade in her hand pale-glimmers in the vanishing rays of the sun — the man only catches a dreadful glint before he feels the metal pressed against his throat. Her gaze is just as sharp. “Go on then, dear lord,” she sneers without a sign of mirth, each word hastening his end, “Cry me a river.”

He barely gets a breath in when she swings — unmerciful and with the backhand grip; the dagger draws a scarlet cut across his throat. The wound is deep and fatal, and the blood runs fast and thick, cascading down his chest, his body going limp and falling lifeless to the ground. The red seeps out into the grass, splashed beads of it shining dully against all the green, and it’s almost alluring to look at.

Unceasingly and invariably Aemond only looks at her.

The trees sway in the wind, and the clouds race, the sky now veiled with the darkness of the unfolding storm. He’s never been the one to value landscapes, but it makes him think: the same lush wilderness surrounded her while she was growing up, a rose among the weeds, her thorns repellent to most but no obstacle for him. With bloodied hands, disheveled hair, dirtied clothes — she’s still the only one he wants, irresistible as life.

She stands in reverie, her gaze boring into the huddled body of the lord: “I must admit, this is poor planning on my part.”

As if on cue, Vhagar’s roar echoes in the distance, and Aemond smirks: “I know of a way to get rid of a body.”

She hums and slightly leans over the dead man, wiping the dagger off on his coat, and Aemond sees that she ripped the dress again; he finds it funny.

“Not the best choice of clothing, I might say,” the prince notes.

She follows his gaze and doesn’t even bother to adjust the damaged hem. “He thought I came back from the dead to hunt him,” she lets out a dry laugh, “I counted on that.”

“Wish I could see it,” Aemond says, a gentle admiration in his tone.

Her mask of concentration crumbles, replaced by the expression he remembers from the day before. The same astonishment mixed with timorous indecision, with a tint of shyness, washes over her face as their eyes meet.

“You came for me,” the words fall from her mouth as if she only now becomes aware.

“Why do you find it so surprising?” he wonders because leaving her was never an option for him.

“Unreasonable, mostly,” she bashfully remarks. “You’ve been so kind to me, and yet I left without saying goodbye.”

“You did,” he agrees, thinking that shyness only adds to her charm.

“And I never told you of my plans,” she admits, even more coyly, and he just nods.

Her gaze falls, mouth unsurely half-open, as if she’s trying to pluck the right words from the grass. He watches her, and there’s that pull again, the flowering desire in his chest.

“I think it’s time for us to go our separate ways,” she musters out, and it knocks the air out of his lungs. She’s curbing her own pain, deeming it to be a relief for his. “You’ve done more than enough for me... I think your conscience should be clear.”

The wind picks up, and so does his pulse. “And where will you go?” Aemond asks, his voice faltering.

“I am my father’s only heir” she shrugs, mostly burdened than pleased. “He will take me back and,” she works up the courage to find his gaze again, “I won’t be a problem of yours any longer.”

The thunder is approaching, a rushing sound disrupting the peace of nature. Aemond knows he will never find peace if he lets her leave.

“So you can go,” she offers but they both don’t want it, and he instead allows himself a step to her. “If this is what you want,” she blurts out in a shaky voice that gives away her struggle no matter how much she tries to put up a face. “If this is what your heart desires,” she adds so quietly, she isn’t sure he will hear her. But Aemond does.

Something snaps in him, and his body is an arrow shot out — he closes the distance in a heartbeat, and his lips all but crush into hers. She kisses him back with the same fervor, without a moment’s hesitation, and neither of them is timid or holding back. His hands find her waist, follow the gentle bend of it as she presses herself to him, as her mouth opens more, and his craving turns into hunger, his desire not hidden any longer, erupting right through.

Aemond grabs onto her hips, desperate to feel more, ravenous in his need, and each of his kisses is a plea for her to heed to; she does. Her fingers frantically travel up, then tangle in his hair, untieing knots of his restraint, his quivering sighs all disappearing into her mouth. There are no other sounds but their shuddering breath, their lewd touches, moans — hers or his, he can’t tell.

The massive storm is brewing when they part, both breathless, their lips still brushing.

“It’s you,” his confession is hot against her mouth, “You are the only thing I desire,” the syllables flow, pouncing like a waterfall, “He was undeserving of you, foolish, pathetic excuse of a man, and if only I—”

His words die down at the feeling — her fingers dancing right above his cheek. The one that’s scarred, unloved, detested by him; the gruesome sight that was supposed to be covered by the eyepatch. He must’ve missed the moment when he lost it, too wrapped up in his anger to notice the despicable lord succeed in his attempts. Aemond can’t find it in himself to ask for confirmation, to even move his hand to cover half his face.

She never looks away. And then, in the gloomy evening, she smiles — the sun rises again, a crack of dawn formed by every feature of her face. Her fingertips tenderly graze his scar.

“You asked me once if I thought it was worth it,” she recalls, her gaze affectionate, without a shadow of a doubt. “It was. Because I would do it all again if I knew the fate was leading me to you.”

The warmth of her touch heats him up, then ignites every part of him. She’s still caressing the side of his face when he reaches for her — his kiss so searing, her hand trembles, while his confidently moves to the hollow of her throat; this time, the sound of pleasure is undoubtedly hers. With his eye closed, his mouth on hers, Aemond sees the vision, bright as day: him going through the layers, lace and red, until she is all bare in his sheets, and he can put his lips to every inch of her skin. And feel her, drink her, worship her, their limbs intertwined, him drawing moans from her until the night sky lets in the first streaks of light.

He has to take a labored breath to blink the dream away, to hold his ardor back for just a little longer. By the look on her face, she’ll welcome his every offering.

“It seems that all those years I’ve been searching in all the wrong places for you,” Aemond whispers, holding her tight in his embrace.

“But you found me,” she follows the contour of his jaw with her finger, her smile never fading. “And you can have me,” she makes a vow, and her lips trail for his to seal the promise.

And no storm can compare to the love for her that rages deep in his heart.

✧ if you are into stories about revenge (enemies to lovers, with angst, fighting, and quite a bit of fire involved), I have a multi-chapter fic for you ✧ two more stories inspired by songs (modern!au): with Aemond & with Aegon ✧ my masterlist tagging @amiraisgoingthruit who was kind enough to ask (girlie, I’m sorry this one is so enormous…) also big thank you to arcielee for approving the gif it was driving me insane 💙

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

#aemond targaryen #it took me 3 (THREE) months to find inspiration to finish the gif and I can't say I'm 100% happy so I will take NO criticism #to the ten people who will read this — I am forever grateful (I'm sending you cups of cacao as a treat)#my stuff #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fic #aemond one eye #aemond one eye x y/n #hotd fic #house of the dragon fanfics #hotd fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond #aemond the kinslayer

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sturnwritess · 8 months

Text

Things always end, Pt 2

(just figured out that there will be multiple parts, DW IT WILL BE A HAPPY ENDING)

warnings: mention of smut, angst, drinking and kissing lmk if there is more.

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You just lied in your bed wondering what went wrong? It's not like you never had sex, you guys were animals when it came to sex. You had everything that dumb blonde had, she just did everything better than what you could've ever done. After all she was prettier than you, but could she ever love matt more than you?

flashback.

He was on top of you making pornographic sounds. You were like a lost puppy being demanded when it came to sex with matt. You liked how he would tease you with his tip before aligning himself with you before making harsh thrusts. You knew no one else could make you feel how matt makes you feel.

end of flashback.

You groan and cry in your bed wishing matt was there making everything feel better. He always knew how to cheer you up after rough fights. He loved you so much and maybe still does but you couldn't let the thought of matt not loving you anymore seep into your brain.

You finally decided to get you lazy ass up out of bed. You could feel the grease in your hair, and you started to hate the feeling. You got in the bathroom and started undressing and you had thoughts of why matt left you. I mean her body is perfect why couldn't mine be. Is all you thought, pushing those thoughts aside you decided to run a shower. You step in to feel the warm water soak your body.

After you got out of the shower, you started to look for clothes around your room. You had finally found flare leggings, a dark red hoodie, and your favorite red converse. You got ready and decided to put on makeup, blush, concealer, contour, mascara and setting spray just to finish the look.

As you started going down the stairs, your best friend Nicole was already waiting for you. Since she heard you scrambling around your room, she had two cups of coffee ready. She was already ready to go somewhere with you, you sat down next to her already sipping the cup of coffee.

"Hey y/n, are you ok?" she asked, "yes I'm okay, and thank you for taking care of me these past two weeks, I've been a mess." you said.

"Of course, y/n you're my best friend and I love you." she says. "Hey why don't we go out, since were already dressed." she asks. "That would be a great idea, I already needed to go to Walmart." you reply.

You guys are walking down the driveway to your car, you start your car and drive. You drove past the cafe you and matt would always go to, Nicole notices and gives you a rub on the shoulder.

You head to Walmart, park your car and notice a car that looks like matt's car. You shrug it off and walked into Walmart.

You and Nicole go separate ways and you go to the blanket section and grab a silk, white blanket. You put it in your cart and go to the candle section to get a vanilla bean candle, you see someone down that isle without getting a good look at them.

You go around trying to find another way into the isle, once you got in the isle you saw his face and her face. His arm around her waist, she was curled up into him like a baby kitten. pathetic. You thought to yourself, it didn't take matt to notice someone else was trying to get through.

He didn't see your face due to the hood of your hoodie over your head, but he knew it was you. The way you smelled, the way you walked and not to mention that was his hoodie. He saw your eye's, they had no shine like they used to.

Then and there his heart crumbled, not caring for the girl beside him. You looked at him, you locked eyes for 5 seconds but felt like 5 minutes before her annoying voice asked him "what are you staring at Matty?" He knew your heart shattered at that point.

Thats the name you used to call him, you grabbed the candle and got out of that isle as soon as you could. One part of you wished Matt had followed you all through Walmart. But your thoughts got pushed aside when you ran into Chris.

He apologized not knowing it was you, once he smelled your perfume and looked at your red converse. He instantly asked how you were doing, though he could not see your face he knew you were still sad and torn up about everything. He knew Matt was in the store with Gracie, and he could tell you saw them the way you were rushing through the store.

The thing about Chris is that he was madly in love with you, and you never had the thought of him loving you since it was always about Matt. You loved Chris of course but never thought of him that way, Chris would always give you a big hug after Matt and you fought.

Y/N? he asked, "hey Chris, how are you doing?" you reply. "I've called you y/n, 19 times." he says " I'm sorry I just never got on my phone since..." you say looking down at your feet. Before Chris could say anything Nicole finally had found you, "hey y/n, oh hey Chris." she says. "Hey Nicole." "It was nice talking to you" you say to Chris.

As you say goodbye you turned around and waved at Chris, then Matt walks up noticing you leaving. He caught your eye, and you caught his. You wondered where Gracie was at.

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OKIE DOKIE IM MAKING MORE PARTS DW, if this flops I'm like going to quit :). I spent 2 hours on this. The first part i did was on my phone, this time it was on my compute. lmk which is better.

@chrisenthusiast @chrissolosa @christinarowie332 @chrissturniolossidehoe @chrissturniolodaily @chrissturn @mattsnymphette @mattitties @mattsgirlie @mattsturniolosgf @mattsturn @mattsturnioloarchive @nicksnosering @mattsturniolosworld @chrissturniolosbf @mattsturniololover @padlocksturn @sturncrazy @sturniolopowers @sturnioloskies @sturnspoison @sturnioloshacker @sturniolo @madisonbeer @madifilipabitch @carolinalikesthings @junnniiieee07

#Chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #smut #light angst #angst with a happy ending #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt x reader

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caughtonwebcam · 1 year

Text

sp hcs <3

- In his 20s, Cartman used to sneak out to bars and try to seduce men while crossdressing. He thought it was a secret, but Kyle, Stan and Kenny all knew, they just didn’t say anything but joked about it in private. (This was before he became homeless. He got kicked out of college.)

- Craig goes everywhere looking like he rolled out of bed. Like just throws on a hoodie that was on his floor and sweats.

- After post-covid, Stan ends up marrying Wendy, but the marriage ends in divorce.

- In middle school, Butters becomes a bit of a bully. After constantly being grounded throughout elementary school, be becomes rebellious and starts to hang out with Cartman more. However, when around Kenny, he feels as though he can be his true self. He was also veeeerrryyyy deep in the closet about his gender identity at this time, and tried very hard to project his masculinity as obnoxious as possible. Kenny was the only one who knew about Marjorine being trans and helped keep the secret for her up until high school. She started hrt and publicly came out her senior year.

- Tweek always wears mismatched socks.

- In high school, Butters got the courage to call cps for his parent’s abuse, after doing so being put into foster care. He was adopted by the Tweeks and became Tweak’s adopted brother/sister.

- Scott Tenorman lives in a mental hospital.

- Stan played with Crimson Dawn throughout middle school and high school. The band became kinda cultish within South Park. When they broke up before everyone went to college, Stan tried to start a solo career and got a couple gigs. He still plays with the former members occasionally, though.

- Stan smells like axe. Kyle thinks it’s disgusting.

- Kyle can’t go a day without showering. He also wears cologne a lot.

- Kyle is a neat freak (he has ocd.)

- Kyle hid his hair under his hat up until junior year, being heavily insecure about it. In college, he started to embrace his hair and let it grow out.

- Since dating Cartman, Heidi suffers from bulimia and anorexia, because she still sees herself as a clone of Cartman.

- Bebe is one of those girls who sprays bath and bodyworks warm vanilla sugar perfume all over the locker room.

- Tweek and Craig like to bond over movies and tv shows, like Adventure Time or Star Wars. Their current favorite is Steven Universe (Tweek’s favorite character is Peridot and Craig’s is Garnet <3)

- Cartman still sleeps with his stuffed animals/dolls, but denies it.

- Mars becomes a cheerleader.

- When watching a horror movie with friends, if Clyde knows there’s a jumpscare coming, he will leave the room and yell “Is it over yet?” when he wants to come back in.

- Kenny makes his money when living alone by being hired for kids birthday parties. He will go as either Mysterion or Princess Kenny.

- When Stan starts to question his sexuality during his preteen years, Wendy helps him out by telling him she’s omnisexual herself and introduces him to bisexuality.

- Red and Wendy date for two weeks in middle school.

- In middle school, Stan nearly drops all his friends again, hitting his lowest point with his mental health and alcoholism. He starts to recover in high school.

- Stan HATES weed. However, he still smokes it as a stress reliever despite himself, having been surrounded by it since 4th grade. Occasionally, he’ll smoke some with Kenny.

- Stan has ache, meanwhile Kyle has a perfect skincare routine.

- Craig, Clyde, Bebe, Heidi, and Wendy all have braces.

- Mars loves y2k, early 2000’s and Japanese Harajuku fashion.

- Kenny owns one of those stupid “virginity rocks” and “I ❤️ hot milfs” t-shirts.

- Nicole and Tolkien are married and Tweak and Craig are engaged.

- Stan is still jealous of Kyle and Tolkien’s tiktoks. In response, Kenny and Stan make their own tiktok account to rival them.

- Kenny’s phone is a hand-me-down iPhone 6 that is so cracked it’s a shock how it even still works.

- Wendy takes muay thai lessons.

- Kyle is a huge book worm, enjoying classic literature. Stan makes fun of him for it, thinking it’s boring.

- Stan carries tote bags everywhere.

- Stan loves motorcycles.

- Stan avoids red meat in his diet. He still eats chicken and fish, though, since he’s not a total pussy.

- Tweek likes musicals. Craig, on the other hand, thinks they’re silly.

- Stan is a fnaf kid.

- Kyle is a coffee addict. Not Tweek level ofc but he can’t go without it.

- Kyle is an insomniac.

- Kyle enjoys writing, specifically poetry. In middle school, he wrote a lot of cringey poems that he is embarrassed of, which his mother kept as keepsakes.

- Cartman writes yaoi fanfiction of Tweak and Craig that he hides under his bed.

- Kyle went through a “I’m not like other boys” phase in middle school. Years later, Kyle had to scribble out his old yearbook photos cuz he hated them so much. He had a pair of round glasses that he thought looked so good for about a year, then saw his photos and never wore them again.

- Butters started sneaking out in high school to go to Kenny’s house. Marjorine became a really good liar.

- Tweek likes physical touch but feels uncomfortable giving it or having it be displayed, while Craig hates being touched but loves getting into everyone’s personal space.

- Tweek is taller than Craig.

- Marjorine has a huge growth spurt in high school, making her the tallest out of the boys.

- Tweek has a huge fear of blood. If he gets something as minor as a scrape or a paper cut he will literally pass out.

- Stan and Kyle will stay up very late playing roblox together on school nights.

- Clyde is afraid of loud noises, specifically thunderstorms. He also has a fear of clowns.

- Clyde and Kyle both sleep with a nightlight.

- Kyle is a straight-A student. If he gets a B he will beg the teacher for extra credit to make it up. Stan’s grades are pretty average, mostly B’s with a couple A’s and like one C. Kenny has abysmal grades. Mostly F’s and D’s and one B. Cartman is mostly C’s and D’s with one F.

- One of Mars’ favorite hobbies is to go thrifting. She often goes with Kenny and they pick outfits out for each other.

- Mars and Kenny also like to bond over online games, specifically Hello Kitty Island Adventure (among other things like webkinz or animal jam)

- Mars and Kenny love singing karaoke together. They also like painting each others nails for fun.

- Mars and Kenny aren’t dating, just really close friends. A lot of people think they are due to their joke flirting (they both know it’s not serious but they think it’s funny. Sometimes they’ll do it just to confuse people.) Mars is dating Red and Kenny just sleeps around, but is open to a committed relationship(s), both monogamous or polyamorous.

-In college, Kenny worked at a tattoo shop. He gave himself his own piercings. He has a lot of them.

-Kenny likes wearing skirts and dresses occasionally. Not like Cartman does, but in a “fuck gender norms I can wear what I want” kind of way, being cis.

-Cartman used to talk to his plushies and believe that they were alive and had feelings (he watched toy story and totally thought it was real). He used to cram all his plushies onto his bed and sleep with them because he didn’t want them to be lonely.

-Cartman is very embarrassed about his genderfluidity, with lots of internalized homo/transphobia (if u asked him what his pronouns were, he’d probably say “I have a dick and balls, make of that what you will.” Otherwise, he’d go by he/she) If he found out that the other guys knew, he would die. - Wendy and Stan, since middle school, are constantly in an on-again-off-again relationship. Stan’s personal issues in middle school led him to treat Wendy horribly, even if he didn’t mean it. Heidi used to comfort Wendy about this, sharing her experiences, and they became close. In high school, as Wendy became more popular and Stan started to recover, he started to chase her while Wendy was colder. However, they hooked up occasionally and dated periodically. While Stan was getting better, he still lacked good communication skills, and in senior year, Wendy finally broke up with him for good. They rarely saw each other in college, but after that they reconnected and became friends. Read the first headcanon. - Kenny doesn’t give a fuck about his health because he knows he can just come back. He’s constantly living life on the edge and doing dangerous shit, but is always quick to protect anybody who he feels is at harm and would never try to drag them into anything crazy he does. - Kenny will get high off of anything. Anything. He doesn’t cheese anymore but he likes huffing and taking LSD. - Mars and Kyle enjoy writing.

- Wendy is wasian (korean and white)

- Stan is wasian and Latino (Japanese, Mexican and white)

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wield-the-mighty-pen · 4 months

Note

ladynoir 12 for the drabble prompts!

Hey Nicole!

So, you did prompt #12 (also yay! my favorite number!), which ended up corresponding to Love Don't Die by The Fray!

I'll admit, it took me a while to figure out what to do with this one, but I ended up taking the angst route lol

This is a PRPR fic, where Chat Noir and Hawkmoth's identities have been revealed to the public (Ladybug is still unknown though)...

anyways... hope you enjoy!

ao3 link

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Instead I'm Never Leaving You

“LADYBUG! LADYBUG! OVER HERE!” The shouting and blaring lights of overzealous reporters threatened to overwhelm her, but she blinked back spots and stood her ground. She reminded herself why she was here. Why was she standing alone with only the bare vestiges of a whisper of his hand in hers, of his warmth radiating next to hers, a stolen moment taken from only moments ago, but feeling like a lifetime past.

One eager reporter with bright purple hair and a sharp haircut broke from the fold and shoved her microphone underneath Ladybug’s face.

“Ladybug, what do you have to say about the rumors of your partner being Adrien Agreste?”

Ladybug pursed her lips and fought against the building headache in her temple.

“No comment.”

This was not to discourage the enthusiastic reporter, who pushed the microphone even further into Ladybug’s face, its plastic scent was beginning to make her nauseous.

“And what do you have to say about the allegations of famed fashion designer Gabriel Agreste being Hawkmoth, and about the potential implications of Chat Noir being the son of Hawkmoth?”

Forever on the defense for her partner, this time, Ladybug could not hold herself back from speaking.

“The identity of Hawkmoth, regardless of who he is, has no effect on Adrien Agreste, who has never done anything to harm Paris, and it certainly has nothing to do with Chat Noir, who has spent every waking moment defending all of Paris, including myself.” Ladybug could feel her face turning a bright red, as her voice rang clear with righteous fury.

For a moment the crowd around her silenced, until a voice in the crowd, to which she could put no face, piped in.

“Ladybug, don’t you think that we’d be better off without Chat Noir? How could you trust your partner, if these are the kinds of people he spends his time with?”

She was going to be sick.

Surely he had been watching the crowd, surely he knew that they had given voice to the seeds of doubt growing heartily in the back of his mind.

Ladybug looked around helplessly for an exit, then remembered the trusty yo-yo hooked against her side.

“I’m sorry everyone but I have to go.”

With an eager fling, she catapulted herself into the air and made her way to the nearby rooftop that she knew he’d be hiding behind.

It wasn’t fair. With merely a grainy video taken by an invasive fan, which had showcased a side view of what looked to be Adrien’s Agreste’s face, after Chat Noir’s transformation. And had been posted to social media barely two days after the arrest of Hawkmoth suspect #1 Gabriel Agreste, Adrien’s… Chat Noir’s life had been effectively ruined.

She blinked back angry tears for him, knowing that their being spotted would only hurt him more.

When she caught sight of him, he was facing the opposite direction from where the crowd had been, as though he hadn’t caught the entire thing from his hideaway.

He heard her before he saw her.

“What they’re saying is true, you know.”

“Chaton,” She sighed, her shoulders drooping.

“You would be better off to drop me. I mean, who would blame you? I wouldn’t trust me either.”

The ache that settled in her heart became too much for her. Rather than fight against his untrue words, rather than remind him of how much she cared about him, about how much she needed him, she sat down beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

There they sat, with only traffic and wind to harmonize the silence, until Ladybug felt pressure and tenseness ease from Chat Noir’s shoulders, until his head sloped onto hers.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” She said quietly, she took his hand and began to draw circles on his knuckles.

He shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “It’s okay.”

Ladybug sat up abruptly and turned herself towards Chat Noir. She grabbed his face in her palms to make sure he could see the earnestness on her face.

“It’s not okay. No partner, no person is as kind, as giving, as loyal and– and as goodhearted as you. You don’t deserve this treatment. What your father did was awful, but it’s not in any way a reflection of you. You– you are the opposite of him in every way, and I’m sure if Alya and Nino were here right now, they’d agree with me.”

Ladybug stroked Chat Noir’s cheekbone in a repetitive motion that managed to catch reluctant tears, haphazardly falling from his weary eyes.

“I know everything in your life is insane right now, that people are confused and have turned you into something you are not. But know this Chaton. I am never leaving you, and I am not going to turn my back on our partnership. Because I know who you are and I will always love you for it. Minou, we will get through this like we get through everything, together.”

Chat Noir finally released a shuddered breath and nuzzled his face into her palm.

“Thank you M’lady.”

“Always Chaton.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you so much for the ask! <3

Request a lovesquare side and a number from my playlist for a drabble!

#mostmagical #i ended up having so much fun with this prompt #while it was interesting for me to experiment with crack #i think i enjoy writing hurt/comfort more #i hope you enjoyed!#miraculous ladybug #mlb #miraculous #ml #adrien agreste #chat noir #ladybug #ladynoir #my drabbles #drabble #drabble-dee-do #my writing

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escapingrealtiylovinginsanity · 1 day

Text

Rewind, Remix, & Replay Jay & Kim 6x8

You can read the rest of the series here

This chapter pretty much wrote itself. Oh, it was so much fun. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did! Love ya’ll <3

It had been a long exhausting day. Jay had got shot at and wasn’t in the best mood when he finally made it home. He had just popped the top off his beer and hadn’t even taken a sip yet when there was a knock on his door. He thought about ignoring it. An older lady down the hall sometimes came knocking when she needed something hanged. Jay had the sneaking suspicion that it had more to do with her loneliness than anything. Jay usually didn’t mind but tonight he was not in the mood.

Jay took a long pull of his beer when the knocking started again. This time, it was louder and more deliberate. Definitely, not his neighbor. Jay headed towards the door grumbling to himself as he nearly tripped over a half-unpacked box. He took another long pull of his beer throwing open the door. He paused beer still up to his lips in surprise.

Zoey Silver.

Her dark curly hair was frizzy around her face, her eyes red and puffy, her lips pressed together, her jaw clenched, and her head held high. “You and Aunt Kim can’t break up.” Jay scrubbed his hand down his face as his blue eyes met hers.

“Does Kim know you are here?” Zoey ignores the question but Jay sees the flash of guilt before she crosses her arms over her chest defensively. Jay’s hand immediately dives into his pocket to find his phone.

“I’ve never seen her as happy as she is with you- you can’t just end it! It’s not fair. This isn’t even her fault! It’s not like she wanted this to happen.” A couple who were leaving their apartment turned to look at the two of them. Jay grabs Zoey’s arm and tugs her into his apartment and away from the prying eyes. “This is my fault, isn’t it? I’m the reason you called it quits.” Jay’s brows furrow as Zoey’s eyes fill with tears and her lower lip trembles.

“Zoey, I don’t know what you think happened- But me and Kim are fine. We aren’t breaking up. We love each other. We are just… postponing her moving in. That’s all.” Zoey’s angry eyes fall on the few boxes that had made it to his apartment before things had changed.

When he had asked her to move in, Kim had agreed easily a tired smile on her lips. Kim had decided that breaking her lease would be cheaper in the long run than waiting for it to end. A lot of Kim’s essentials had already made it to his apartment but she still had a lot of things to box up. She didn’t want to rush the process of moving and wanted to go through all her things before just bringing them over. It made sense they probably had two of a lot of things.

It had been smooth sailing with only minimal bickering about some decorating ideas. Most of it was just to rile Kim up, Jay didn’t really care what the apartment looked like. The only thing he genuinely fought for was the living room wall for a bigger TV and surround sound. Kim had given in pretty easily to that when she realized he didn’t mind her change around most of the space.

Then Nicole had a crisis and attempted to kill herself.

She had gotten drunk and gone to the roof of her apartment building standing on the ledge. The brunette had been crying hysterically and trembling from head to toe. Someone had ended up calling 911. A member of the crisis squad had talked her off the ledge. However, it was clear that Nicole needed more extensive in-patient treatment. The program she ended up signing into was a minimum of 90 days with the potential of being 180.

Six months.

Zoey had broken down when she had been told. She didn’t want to live with her dad who was never home. His new girlfriend was young and always made Zoey feel like she was overstaying her welcome. In the end, it hadn’t been a hard decision. Of course, Kim was going to take Zoey in.

Jay had understood when she sat him down and told him. It wasn’t an excuse to get out of it. It was reasonable and the only real choice to be made. It didn’t help the disappointment and anxiety that clawed at his chest. His relationship with Erin had ended shortly after they decided to move in together too. He knew this had nothing to do with him. Still, it had his head spinning and his emotions whirling.

Maybe Kim hadn’t wanted to move with him at all. Maybe he wasn’t the type of guy that got to live with the woman he loved. Maybe too much time with him could ruin any relationship.

“That’s how it always starts.” Jay is dragged back into the moment by Zoey’s tone going high-pitched. “No, no-I refuse to be the reason you guys end things. I- I will just- just-” She rakes a hand through her curls shaking her head as her tone drops low. “I will just move in with my dad. Then everything can go back to normal. I- I should have known it would be asking too much to live with the two of you.”

Jay stands there dumbly for a moment. His brain trying to catch up to the words that had come out of her mouth. “Zoey, it’s not like that- at all.” Her brown eyes roll up to the ceiling as she continues to shake her head and scoffs.

“Yeah, right.”

“Hey, it’s not. I- I let go of Kim moving in here because I wanted you to be able to stay with her. I thought that was what you wanted. Had I known- Kiddo I don’t care if you moved in with us too. You have been through so much- your life keeps getting upheaved by all these big changes. I didn’t want to make it harder on you.” Zoey’s brown eyes finally meet his again. Her jaw is still tense and her eyes are searching his intently.

“You wouldn’t mind if I move in too.” Her voice is quiet, unsure.

“Well, honestly this place is a little small. We would have to look for a two bed-” Jay’s breath is pushed out of his chest as Zoey connects abruptly with him, her arms hugging him tightly. Jay chuckled hugging her back. “Guess we will have to start looking then.” He offered easily before correcting, “As long as it’s okay with Kim.”

“She will be,” Zoey states confidently. Her fingertips swipe under her eyes trying to minimize the smeared mascara. Jay smiles at her and hopes that she is right. Another guilty smile tugged at her lips, “I thought that was the plan in the first place. For us all to move in together. I knew Aunt Kim was planning on moving in. I figured I would just be on the couch. She didn’t say it but, I know she felt like she didn’t have the right to ask you to take me in too.”

“She does- and so do you. We are a family. I keep telling you that I got your back.” Zoey nodded a few more stray tears trickling down her flushed face as she looked up trying to force them to stop.

“I know,” Her hands swipe her cheeks again, “I think I even believe you. I love you, Uncle Jay.”

Jay isn’t sure what the exact emotion is that tightens around his chest and clogs up his throat when he hears her call him Uncle for the first time. He just pulls her into another tight hug. “I love you too, kiddo.”

#chicago pd #jay halstead #kim burgess #jay halstead and kim burgess #kim burgess x jay halstead #jay halstead x kim burgess #jaykim #jake and kate #jake x kate #burgstead

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brokenjere · 2 years

Text

bad in the bones (c.f) (part 8)

a/n: hey guys! hope you enjoy this next part! I wanna let everyone know that I really only planned this series to be around 10 chapters, so I can’t say how many more parts are left but with that being said, I have some other things up my sleeve to keep everyone busy until season two comes out 🫣🫣🫣 lmk if you wanna be added to the tag list!

A lot of dads showed up - John, the man who had been like a father to me for most of my life up until last year when his marriage to Laurel ended more cordigally than I would have anticipated. Laurel still invited him up for the Fourth despite the fact his new girlfriend was on his arm and she couldn’t have been much older than me. She smiles and pretends it’s not crushing her soul, but I think maybe it was. At least just a little bit.

Adam showed up, too. After Susannah told everyone he wasn’t coming, Conrad seemed to be in high spirits. He was still canoolding with Nicole in the pool and helped me, Belly, and Jeremiah make pomegranate margaritas in their dad’s special blender but his smile was brighter than I had seen it all morning. When he still thought his dad wasn’t coming. Adam still strolled in, though like everyone was happy to see him. Jeremiah was the only one who smiled.

The only dad that didn’t show up was mine. Not that he was invited but I couldn’t help but think about where he was. Where my mom was. Who she was spending the holiday with. I doubt she had a homemade cake and margaritas and there probably weren’t red, white, and blue decorations surrounding her. There might be a pool. Maybe she was laying out by it and being served by someone in a fancy hotel that her new boyfriend was paying for. I didn’t really know. That’s where she was last year, anyway.

I liked her being gone, then. All my friends and I got too drunk in the backyard because there were no adults to stop us. Josh waded in the pool near the edge where I sat. His hands gripped my calves and he kissed my thighs and he mumbled how much he loved me in between kisses. Everyone was envious of us. It was obvious in the way they watched us. Josh never cared much for PDA except when he was drinking.

Last year, after spending so much time in the pool that he became a prune, he leaned over my tanning body and dripped water all over me while kissing my cheeks. He begged me to go upstairs with him and after telling him no too many times, he lifted me up bridal style and carried me up to my room while piles of water marked our path.

This year, I’m alone with a bottle of vodka resting on my stomach. I balance the neck between my two fingers and it rises and falls with my breathing. Everyone is down at the beach with the pitcher of the pomegranate margaritas that we made. Belly begged me to come, holding my hands in hers as she pleaded with me. I told her I wasn’t feeling well and she hesitated, but left me anyway.

The sun is shining through the window and I’m trying to keep my eyes closed to drown out the brightness but a shadow looms over my eyes. I opened one eye and suint at the figure hanging over me. It’s Conrad. “There you are,” he says with a laugh. His hair flops over his eyes and he’s smiling so wide I think he might swallow me whole. “I’ve been looking for you. Belly is getting totally wasted, you should see her.” I don’t laugh but I manage to muster a smile. “What’s wrong?” He asks me, his smile fading. I don’t want it to fade, I want it there plsatered between his cheeks forever.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head as if he doesn’t believe me and grabs the bottle from me. He takes a sip and jumps over the couch. I move my legs so he doesn’t land on them and he pulls them back into his lap. “What are you doing up here?”

“It was all getting too much. Everyone is out of hand,” he tells me. He watches the alcohol swirl around in the glass bottle and he’s not looking at me but his thumb is rubbing my calf as it pushes into his thigh and then he asks me if I’m watching the fireworks tonight. “Jeremiah got some good ones to impress Dad, but I don’t even know if he’s staying.” Their dad coming was a shock to everyone, I think. Susannah told everyone this morning he wasn’t going to come but he showed up later with a six-pack of beer and Conrad’s mood visibly shifted. I didn’t ask, though.

“Why do you say that?” I ask carefully. His breath is shaky and my question wavers on thin ice. He sighs and squeezes my ankle.

“He and my mom got into it earlier. I don’t think he really had to work, I think Mom didn’t want him here,” he tells me. I tap my foot on the bottle in his hands and he looks at me. His eyes make my heart break. “I didn’t really want him here, either.”

“What about Jeremiah?”

“He was ecstatic. Bought a whole show of fireworks.” I smile at the thought but Conrad doesn’t. “So, are you coming?”

“I don’t think so.” He nods and taps his fingers on my legs. “Unless you want me to?”

“There’s a moon eclipse tonight,” he says.

“It’s called a syzygy,” I say. “When the moon, sun, and Earth align. It comes from the Greek word syzgia which means ‘yoked together’.” He smiles at me and I can feel my cheeks heat up. “I was in science club for a while,” I admit. Conrad laughs. A real laugh with his head thrown back and his face turning red and it’s contagious.

“Yoked together, huh?” He asks and I nod. “Well, yn, do you want to go see the sun, moon, and Earth be yoked together with me later?”

“What about Nicole?” I hate myself for asking but I have to know so I ask anyway.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me but I can’t wait around for you forever.” He looks at me and I know he doesn’t want to not wait for me. We look at each other and I know I should say something and tell him he doesn’t have to wait for me because I’m right here but there’s too much at stake and instead of saying what I want to say, I reach for the bottle of vodka and drink it until it’s gone and the room erupts in noise. Susannah calls for cake and Belly is at her heels like a toddler feening for sugar. “We should go out there,” he mumbles, lifting my legs off his lap and standing up. My legs slam down on the couch and I feel horrible.

I have no choice but to follow him for cake except there won’t be any cake because as I step out onto the patio, Belly skips down the stairs and trips over her own feet and knocks into Susannah and the cake goes everywhere.

Everyone rushes to Susannah's side but I’m glued in place. Mr. Fisher grabs at his wife and she pushes him off - “don’t touch me,” she yells. Everyone draws back. I can see Conrad’s shoulder tense in front of me. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She stands up, smooths down her dress, and walks passed everyone and into the house ignoring Belly’s slew of apologies.

“So I guess no cake,” Conrad mumbles. I think I’m the only one who heard him. John brings Belly inside. She’s stumbling over her feet and slurring her words and John mouths I’m sorry to me.

I don’t think Belly has ever gotten drunk before. In fact, she was always the one tellng everyone to slow down. She’d answer her phone on the first ring everytime I called and walked wherever I was. It wasn’t that big of a town and I never went very far, but one time she even had to take a bus to the party I was at. She waited for me and walked me home and made sure I didn’t stumble into the street. She provided water and Advil adn stayed with me when my mom wasn’t home. Belly was always stable. Sure. Secure. The sun that broke through my dark clouds.

It’s no surprise to me that no one is mad at her for ruining the cake. Even Susannah, who now has to buy a new cake stand, smiled and said everything was okay. No one could be mad at her even when she was a drunken mess.

She’s in her bed, a half-eaten piece of pizza on her end table and she’s fast asleep. I almost want to wake her up. Tell her that everything is okay because Susannah said so and I know she would believe me. I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to change who she is because her friends at the country club want her to. She is not fasinators and white gloves and too much blush on her cheeks. She is not a drunken mess with sand in her shoes. She is more than that.

There’s a soft knock on the door and I turn to see Conrad leaning against the door jam. He’s watching her, too. He doesn’t look at me until I speak. “Wanna go see the eclipse?” He smiles and holds out his hand for me and I take it. I check behind me one more time to make sure she’s asleep before disappearing down the hall with Conrad. Guilt rushing up my throat and I swallow it down.

He takes me back to the pier as the sun goes down. We pass the big white boat and instead of taking me sailing, he takes me to Shark Bait. “You’re gonna take this thing out?” I ask, eyeing the ores suspiciously. Conrad laughs and he helps me aboard. There’s already blankets in the boat and he opens one up to wrap it around my body. His hands linger on my arms and I swallow the guilt again.

“You’re gonna help me row, okay?”

“You don’t always have to teach me something, you know,” I whisper to him. I liked when he taught me stuff, though. I like when he’s passionate and excited and I like when he smiles with his eyes like he’s doing right now.

“To impress a girl that already knows everything, I think I do.”

“You’d be surprised at how little I really know.” Conrad licks his lips and his eyes soften and instead of kissing him like I want to do, I pull away and grab at an ore. “So, how do we do this?” He clears his throat and talks me through the steps and we row the boat out as far as he lets me. I think I could have kept going forever until we hit another piece of land where no one knows us and no one is in love with him and I can kiss him if I want to.

It starts to get really dark, especially out in the water where there are no lights besides the pier a million miles away. Conrad points to the stars and asks me what the constellations are and I tell him and then he gawks at me as if he’s never been more amazed in his life. He tells me, “I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”

And I want to say, “I love you.” But I don’t. I don’t say it and I don’t know if I love him but right now, in the dark, when I can’t really see his face clearly and his arm feels more real next to mine than it has ever felt before, I might.

We sit on the floor of the boat and lean back against the seat. Conrad’s hand finds my leg and he rests it on my thigh. His fingers rub against my skin. It’s sweet and respectful and I don’t make him stop because right now it’s just me, him, and the planets being yoked together. I turn my head to say something and Conrad turns his at the same time and the only reason I know he’s so close to me is because I can feel his breath on my lips. The tip of his nose is touching mine and when I can’t see him, it’s easier to press my lips to his and not feel guilty.

His hand finds my face in the dark and he cups my cheek. I lose myself in him. His lips, his scent, the way his hair brushes against my forehead when he presses his body closer to mine. This kiss is different. I’m not kissing him because I want to forget. I’m not kissing him because he’s here and convenient. I’m kissing him because I want to and the way that I’m feeling inside needs a way to escape and the only way they can be let out is this.

I find myself on top of him. My hands are in his hair. His hands are on my waist. He pulls away briefly and between his heavy breath he says, “are you sure?” I’m not sure what he means by that, at least not right away. I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t sure but I put myself in his shoes for a moment and maybe he doesn’t know that. I nod. “I don’t want you to be sure now and then regret it in the morning.”

“I don’t regret anything,” I say. “I don’t regret anything when it’s with you.” I mean it. I try to force him to believe me so I kiss him again and he leans into me and I know he does.

“Then what’s been the issue?” He whispers. His thumb rubs against my cheek and I lean my face into him. “You know I can’t get you out of my mind.”

“Belly,” I tell him. “She loves you and she’s my best friend.” He stiffens and maybe now he gets it. Why I said I can’t be with him. My heart races and I have to tell myself he’s not going to get up. He’s not going to leave. He’s not going to make me feel like I made a mistake. I repeat these three things in my head until he eventually speaks.

“That’s why you asked me that the first night on the beach? About her?” I nod my head and he kisses my forehead and I like us like this. “Okay,” he says. I don’t know what he means by that but I don’t care because he kisses me again and I kiss him back and he roll around on the bottom of the boat and we’re wrapped up in the blanket and each other. He strokes my head and tells me stories until I fall asleep on his chest. I don’t wake up until the sun does.

We row back to the pier and we don’t talk about last night. Not really, anyway. He smirks when he looks at me and keeps eye contact for too long but I don’t blame him because if I could, I’d capture the way he looks right now and keep it in my back pocket forever. “Are you ready to go home?” He’s leaning against the passenger side door of the car with a hesitant smile on his face.

“No, but yes.” He pushes himself off the car and kisses me. He lingers on my lips like he doesn’t want the moment to end and then he opens my door for me and drives us home. He holds my hand the whole way until we pull into the driveway. Seeing the house puts a pit in my stomach and he asks me if he can kiss me one more time before we go back to the real world and with the entire family still asleep. I say yes.

The house feels heavier now that my head is so full of secrets and I knock on Belly’s door instinctively. She opens the door with a smile on her face. It looks misplaced because she’s not supposed to be happy, she’s supposed to be hungover, and seeing her happier than I feel inside makes me feel jealous and that makes me feel selfish. “What’s wrong?” She asks. The expression on my face was probably clear: guilt and fear, but not regret. Never regret. I start to cry. I feel the tears drip down my cheeks and I try to wipe them away but Belly grabs my wrists and pulls me inside the room before I can and I sob. I collapse into her arms and I cry all over her pajama shirt and she doesn’t say anything. I can barely hear myself speaking but I know what I’m saying. Everything is wrong. Everything is wrong. Everything is wrong.

taglist: @marajillana@liltimmyst@angelayse @nani-2305 @drikawinchester @28cnn @nyenye @isthlsfate @spacefruitsblog @laceandsuch @peotego @hallecarey1

#tsitp #conrad fisher #the summer i turned pretty #conrad fisher x reader #tsitp imagine #conrad fisher imagine #jeremiah fisher #jeremiah fisher fan fic #jeremiah fisher imagine #jeremiah fisher x reader #conrad fisher rec #tsip conrad #conrad fisher fic #belly conklin #jenny Han

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lunalillyhbhb · 2 years

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Lea's Home

Chapter 7 pt.1

My schedule for today is unpredictable, seeing as to how Mrs. Nicole will be visiting today. I have to prepare myself for any outcome in this situation, and it unfolds in 2 ways: either Mrs. Nicole is too swamped by work and is unable to do her "checkups" with me; or her heart craves for attention and she abandons all reasoning and comes to me. As such, I must be prepared for any situation. I end up staying a bit late, tidying up the rarely used rooms as an excuse to staying back longer than needed.

Every now and then, Mrs. Nicole's visits are joined by Roxanne, her dedicated secretary.

Roxanne is a 5' 4" chubby woman in her mid 30s with a fair complexion. She is highly focused on her tasks and is devoted to Mrs. Nicole, making sure her every need is tended too...of course every need except her checkups. I've caught her staring at me with a vague sense of disapproval in her eyes, and I'm sure she thinks of me as ill fit to provide Mrs. Nicole with what her body (and heart) needs with my simple checkups. I don't blame her, but it's not like I could even try explaining to her the full nature of these sessions with Mrs. Nicole. Roxanne's usual outfit is one typical of a secretary, a tight form-fitting white blouse sometimes buttoned down a bit, and a pencil black skirt, highlighting all her wonderful curves, a feast for my eyes. She wears her dark red hair in a loose bun, with bangs tucked behind round frames, softening the natural fierce look she usually wears on her face.... almost the stark opposite of Mrs. Nicole, who wears thin frames to hide her cute adorable features. Under her skirt she wears black pantyhose, slyly hiding her thick thighs from the world. Her black heeled shoes clack in her stride, giving her a calm yet confident and witty disposition. Truly, she and Mrs. Nicole visually have such an effect, they could grab your attention from any corner of the room with zero effort. Truly a fearsome combination. Her large breasts alluringly sway with her each step, unfortunately mostly hidden from view by the documents she carries close to her chest. My hands itch to steth her, to hear her powerful pump beating hard inside her. Feel every inch of her vibrate under my fingers-

I pull myself back together and get on with my work, fingers crossed and hoping today is a good day.

Night rolls around and yet there's still no sign on the beautiful Mrs. Nicole. I sigh, assuming today is one of those days, and begin undressing. Suddenly Miri pops in, that usual twinkle of naivety in her eyes, as she relays "There's a lady requesting you in the conference room! She's asking for you to come as fast as you can! And I told her that knowing you, you definitely do come quick.." She winks at me, giggles and skips away, that little trickster. She needs a stern scolding session this time, this young child is getting too naughty. I'll have to remind her on who exactly she's messing with..... I need to train my sweet little heart slut.

But "a lady"? Miri knows what Mrs. Nicole looks like, so it can't be her... Who could possibly be requesting for my services so late at night?

Still in my maid uniform, I tidy up, grab my backpack, make myself presentable, and make my way to the conference room.

The conference room is a large room located deep in Lea's house, usually used for family business meetings. It is at most used twice a year, with full occupancy. Built to house at least 20 people, it is a sound proof room (in order to prevent potential gossiping/company secret leaking from staff), lined with stunning oak and carpeted floors. It is equipped with a large display/projector area and a working surveillance camera. The weighted doors add a classy finish to the room.

I arrive in front of the doors, breath in deep and push the doors, not sure what or who to expect. My sigh is immediately muffled by the sound proofing, and inside I find Roxanna, seated at the head of the table, legs crossed and skirt riding up a bit, as if teasing me. Her arms are folded under her voluptuous breasts, perking them up further on her heavy build. Her eyes are trained on me as I enter the room and near her.

"Good evening Ms. Roxanne, one of the staff informed me of your-

"Cut the games child, tell me what it is you're after."

Roxanne spits out, her words laced with spite. I don't know why she's angry, or what I could've possibly done to upset her, and stare at her in utter confusion and a little fright. I feel my heart thudding in attention, as my flight or fight system slowly gets ready.

"I'm sorry? I'm not sure what y-

"Don't even act like you're innocent. Tell me what you've done to Mrs. Nicole. I know you've got something on her and you're blackmailing her, aren't you? Spit it out now, and I won't pull out your scholarship."

The second she pulled my scholarship into this, my entire system is high on alert, heart pounding quickly and faintly and ready to jump in a moment's notice. Roxanne's round glasses are barely hiding her malice, and she makes no effort at hiding the hate in her eyes... or maybe it's not hate, but....

No. I don't have the luxury to think of anything else right now. I must deal with this situation. I need to know what she's talking about.

"Ms. Roxanna, please, I really don't know what you mean. Please explain to me what I've done, let me try clearing up this misunderstanding!"

Desperation leaks through my voice, shaking with the pumping adrenaline in my system. My brain runs through all my encounters with Roxanne, and yet nothing comes to mind that could've potentially upset her.

"Hmf, you're gonna fake innocence till the end? Fine. Let me unpack it for you.

"Your nightly 'checkups' with Mrs. Nicole? I know its all a ruse. I heard her pained moans, no checkup requires you to elicit pain from your patient. There's no way that's a regular checkup, I know she would've come to me instead of you. I've come to the conclusion that you're doing unspeakable things to Mrs. Nicole and forcing her to obey you against her will, I know you have dirt on her. Delete it right now, in front of me, and maybe we can discuss a pay to keep your dirty little mouth shut. How's that sound? A fair deal for lowly creature as disgusting as you, right?"

Too much information, too much to unpack here. My brain is confused and I don't even know where or how to start. She was so close yet so far away from the truth of the situation. And frankly, as incredibly sexy she sounds cursing me, I'm starting to get pissed. She completely misreads the situation, and dares to call me such derogatory names? No one except Lea has that privilege over me.

"Ms. Roxanne, you've got it completely wrong. I'm not sure what mental gymnastics you did to get to the conclusion you're at but I'm afraid you're horribly wrong." I feel small doses of anger slowly seep into me, my reactive heart immediately and thudding angrily and visibly rocking my chest, ready to take over her and make her understand.

"There's no use in trying to talk your way out of this-

"Roxanne. I have to ask you to stop talking. Give me a moment to explain myself." I surprise myself with how low my voice is going, almost scaring myself. Roxanne looks surprised at me cutting her off, and abruptly stops talking.

"Thank you. As for my relationship with Mrs. Nicole, I really do checkups on her, but my checkups mostly center her heart. I'm afraid I can't tell you about her concerns, but if you want I can certainly show you if that helps."

Roxanne stumbles over her speech. "Uuh yes. Yes. Do that. I will be the judge in this situation." She bites her lip and I see it tremble a bit, a slight blush coloring her stone cold expression.

My face now wears a scowl, as I bend over my bag and pull out my stethoscope.

"I will do to you exactly, and I mean EXACTLY what I do for Mrs. Nicole. Do not stop me or try and interrupt me in the middle. Let me complete, and then you can be the judge. You are free to take notes, if you so wish to take over my role and do these checkups on Mrs. Nicole yourself, but I highly advise against it (Mrs. Nicole's heart is mine). I must also warn you, my checkups might involve some level of physical activity and stimulation to push your heart. These activities are done to check your heart's full range, which you must comply with to learn the exact nature of my work."

Roxanne suddenly looks unsure, eyes furrowing slightly. I motion to her shirt, and she slowly unbuttons her white blouse, and her large breasts jump out, a lacy black lingerie hugging her form like second skin. Her nipples are so clearly visible under the black lace, and I imagine she gets a kick out of wearing something so 'risque' everyday with the chance of someone seeing the dark pigment on her skin if her shirt became wet. I breath in deep and try and ease out the distaste she left in me. I place one hand on my heart, requesting her to work with me and calm down. She vehemently refuses, still angrily slamming inside me.

I remember the one important life lesson that has always stuck with me in any situation : When the opportunity presents itself, grab it with all your might.

And so that's exactly what I did.

#female heartbeat #cardiophilia #fast heartbeat #stethoscope #heartbeat fic #cardiophile story #wlw #cardiophile fic

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hockeyshmockey · 2 years

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Mick Schumacher- Bare with Me

summary: based on this request! Heyy would you please write a part 2 of crazy girl (mick story) where they end up talking about the kiss and their feelings? Cheers love xx

warnings: none, just freaking cuteness.

find the original here

Mick was just finished begging his mother not to fly to Jeddah when he heard a shoe squeak In the hall by the food to his room. A smile crept onto his face for the first time since his incident when he saw Camille in the doorway of his room.

“Hi there,” the blonde smiled, the girl rolling her eyes as she walked in to his hosital room, making her way right to the chair beside his bed.

“Don’t try to be all cute,” Camille fidgeted in her seat. She wanted to reach out and grab his hand, but she didn’t know how to act after their moment earlier.

“But I am cute,” he smiled sweetly. “Will you come closer?” He gestured for her to pull her chair closer.

Camille sighed, moving forward and taking the jump to grab his hand between hers. “You really scared me,” she frowned.

“I’m sorry schatz,” his eyes were sad. “I don’t want you to worry.”

“I don’t think that will ever happen,” she laughed weakly, rubbing her face.

“Come here please,” he slid over in the small hospital bed, patting the empty spot beside him.

“Won’t they yell?” she halfheartedly protested as she perched on the very side of the bed, sliding down next to the blonde as he tugged on her arm. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, her hand gently resting on his chest.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Camille whispered as she closed her eyes tightly at the memories of her afternoon.

“I can’t promise that darling,” Mick sighed, his hand coming to brush through her hair. “But you know I am as careful as I possibly can be. And if anything could get me back, it will always be the thought of you.”

“You’re such a charmer,” Camille smiled as she blushed, ignoring the fact she could feel Mick staring down at her.

“Especially if you start welcoming me home with kisses,” Mick smirked as Camille coughed uncomfortably. “Did you think I would want to just ignore that?”

“I don’t know Mick,” Camille huffed as she sat up and faced him, shoving his chest gently as he attempted to sit up too. “It was very heat of the moment wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have been wanting to kiss you for years,” Mick said softly as he looked up at her.

“Really?” Camille squeaked as Mick’s hand grabbed her own to intertwine their fingers.

“Camille,” the driver laughed. “I have been in love with you since we were kids.”

“Shut up,” Camille laughed in disbelief. “You know how much I hated Nicole? It was because I was so jealous, she was your first, like, adult girlfriend.”

“I only dated her after you got with Michael,” Mick shrugged as he smile up at her. “Seems we were both being silly.”

“We were,” Camille murmured as she looked into Mick’s ocean blue eyes.

“Do you think you could bare with me?” Mick blurted out, continuing at Camille’s confusion. “Bare with having to worry about me while I drive. As my girlfriend.”

“Oh, is that your way of asking?” Camille laughed, running her hand over his now red cheek. “I think I could.” The blonde leaned down, pressing her lips to his for the second time that day.

The two would never get over their embarrassment at the nurse rushing into Mick’s room at the sound of his elevated heart rate on the monitor, the two leaping apart as the nurse eyed them with a smirk.

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher imagine #haas #haas racing #f1 #f1 driver #f1 imagine #f1 driver imagine #Formula 1 #formula 1 driver #formula 1 driver imagine #Formula One #formula one driver #formula one driver imagine

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codecicle · 2 months

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ok so basically. thw last few episodes i watched were . ok unrelated i really want apple juice rn so i need to get some tommorow . remind me of that.

ok anyways in mystreet s1 Dante(blue hair) and Nicole(red hair) were seeing each other but not dating. dante tried 'breaking up'(more like tell her he didnt like her romantically anymore) with nicole before their summer vacation. but when he tried to tell her, she basically misinterpreted everything he said about wanting to not see each other anymore. and then nicole told him that she loves him and he said that he loves her too because he didnt want to make her upset by saying he didnt want to be with her anymore, which kinda reinforced the dating thing to her. except for the fact they never said they were dating!!!! which is where the issues start to arise.

anyways dante in s2(what im on rn) goes and starts seeing Jenna(blonde) and they r really getting along and alls good and well. everyone likes her and his housemates/friends like her.

THEN NICOLE COMES BACK. she shows up because she got tickets from her parents to go to love~love paradise. and dante is like"oh shit" because at that point it's revealed that he never actually got to fully break up with her. he goes about an entire episode trying to keep them from seeing each other. which works for a little bit then she sees jenna kissing dantes cheek which pisses her off and makes her plan to make dante tell her on his own.

while this is happening theres some side plots where Garroth is trying to teach Kawaii~Chan how to Hula and not attack people in their grass skirts because shes a meif~wa(cat girl). except she claws up his legs like crazy and patches him up in the end and bakes him a cake as an apology :( <3.

the other side plot is that zane eats aphmaus last cupcake that she was saving and he feels bad for her and is like"if i get you a treat will that make you feel better?" and shes like "yeah :(... can i get a red balloon too?" and he says "youre pushing it young lady!!" and i just thought those two side plots were soooooo cute and helpped flesh out their dynamics more, because it's only around now that kawaii~chans dynamics with others and personality finally gets developed more outside of being a shippy love struck fangirl!!! which is so good!!!!!

ok anyways dante tells travis and arron and they both say "you better do this or else youll break both their hearts." with aarons added threat of telling aphmau on him. dante then takes nicole on a dinner date and is about to explain to her but gets cold feet and is where those screenshots of travis and garroth behind nicole come from :p

then jenna shows up and asks him whats going on and then he tells them both and is like "sorry i suck :/" and nicole runs away but jenna is like "ok this sucks and idk if i want you anymore but at least you have good intentions.." and she runs after nicole and tells her basically the same thing and asks if they can be friends and nicole says yes !! :D

okay thats all ill say because thats abt 3 episodes worth of story to give you and im tires or typing now ... take garroth and travis on a fake date as a treat for reading it all

ASKS FROM MY FRIEND ABOUT INTEREST !!!!!!!! WWWOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dude he didn't actually fully break up with her... Dante when I catch you ? When I put your dumb looking self in the spine shatterer ?? Fuckin "SORRY I SUCK ://" WHAT THE FREAK MAN!! At least they're friends in the end :-) it had a happy ever after ^_^

#i make yet anothet post just for me 👍#we have mail :]#AND THE FAKE DATE SCREENSHOT MADE ME LAUGH STUPID HARD AGAIN. LMAAAOOOOO #i love this thank you so much #i wish i was less sick and also tired and could respond with 12 million paragraphs of my own #but i love hearing about your silly little mcrp drama !! always willing to listen to as mych of it as youd like

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sarahpetersonruiz · 1 year

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Sarah's diagnosis | Discord thread with @galexpeterson

tw: discussion of serious illness & hospitals

Sarah: Sarah sighed as she came through the front door, carrying a shopping bag in one hand and the bag of books she had tried hard to resist in the other. She kicked the door shut with her foot, making her way into the kitchen to drop off both bags. “Hey, hot stuff,” she smiled as she spotted Gale in the living room, moving behind the couch to wrap her arms around his neck and place a kiss on his cheek. “Did you have a good day?”

Gale: Gale sat in the corner of their couch, propped up reading a book that Sarah had been reading a few days before. Klaus sat on the floor, playing one of his videogames. He’d not heard the door open and close, too deep into the story that when he heard her voice, he smiled. “Hey you.” He spoke, quickly finishing the page before she got there. He placed it upside down on his lap, hands placed on her arms when she bent down. He smiled at the kiss against his cheek, turning his head to face her, resting his head against her shoulder. “I did. Went for a run, did some errands, fixed the kitchen cabinet and went to see Nicole. Then picked our little rascal up from school.” He told her, sliding his hand to hers. “How was yours?”

Sarah: Sarah smiled as she squeezed Gale’s hand before moving to ruffle Klaus’s hair in the way she knew annoyed him, earning a groan from him as he continued to play his game. She laughed before making her way back into the kitchen to start putting away the food she bought in the store. “It was fine,” she called out as she put her Diet Coke into the refrigerator. “Nothing strange or startling.” She had experienced another dizzy spell during work, but convinced herself it was because she hadn’t yet had lunch. She lifted out a packet of her son’s favourite snack. “I got cookies for- um…” She frowned, looking down at the pack in her hand as she pictured her son’s face in her head, but the name had completely escaped her. “Um…” How could she forget his name? Sure, something as simple as a salt shaker or the name of the book she was reading, but her son’s name?

Gale: "When do you have your administration night?" He asked after she had confirmed nothing much had happened, using a bookmark to indicate where he had ended and closed the book. He asked, since it was the last week of the month. Unless he was mistaken, that's where most companies counted their stock and till, was it not? He got up to help her with the groceries she had done when she began talking about the cookies. When however she froze halfway her sentence, Gale slowed his walk, looking at her with a frown pushing his brows downwards. "Sarah?" He followed her gaze to the packet in her hand then looked behind him at Klaus, and then it dawned on him that she had forgotten. The colour drained from his face as he took the final steps towards the counter, blue eyes fixated on her face. He'd accepted her previous mishaps, had agreed that the salt shaker ordeal was because she was tired, that she called him Dean out of sheer mistake. But he wasn't helping her with this only for them to cover it up again. "Sarah, what's his name." He asked, in barely a whisper so Klaus wouldn't hear.

Sarah: “Thursday night,” she groaned. “I’m just going to load up on Red Bull and candy to get through the night and then sleep for three days straight. That’s healthy, right?” she joked, knowing exactly what Gale would think of that idea. She felt panicked that Gale was in the kitchen with her, feeling somewhat guilty that he was witnessing her forgetting their child’s name. There had been the embarrassing moment when she had called him Dean in a conversation, but had been able to play it off. He was understanding about a lot of things, but this? She looked up at him as he asked her what his name was, her eyes brimming with tears as she desperately tried to think of what it was. It was buried deep at the back of her brain, but it was like a shadow that she couldn’t grasp in her fingers. “I don’t know,” she said thickly, a tear spilling onto her cheek.

Gale: "I can keep you company if you'd like. I have a morning shift, I can ask Nicky to stay here. That way she isn't alone." He tried to keep his opinion about that to himself, having more than one thought about Ricky leaving her by herself again. But that thought soon faded when he watched Sarah, watching the panic on her face. He felt bad for hurting her like this, by forcing her to come clean about the fact she wasn't okay. The panic across her face, joined by the tears brimming until they fell. He felt his entire face twitch when she confessed that she didn't know. He thought he'd been going crazy, that he was being too overprotective by thinking something was wrong where she assured him there wasn't. He looked down to where his hands were leaning on the counter before he turned to Klaus. "Klaus, buddy, how about you go to your room and do your homework, okay?" He told him, which earned him a groan and while Klaus opened his mouth to protest, Gale already beat him to it. "Now, buddy. You can continue after."

Sarah: “You’d really spend a whole night watching me count books and move displays?” she asked, smiling at the idea of spending the night with him there. “It’s a lovely thought, but you’ll be exhausted. “Last time I wasn’t home until 4am.” She looked back down at the ground when he said Klaus’s name, feeling like she could throw up from the guilt of momentarily forgetting. A silence arose in the room as Klaus did what he was told and reluctantly made his way to his bedroom. “Please don’t be mad,” she muttered softly, still avoiding his eye. How could he not be? She had known there was something wrong for a while and had let it fester until it became so much worse.

Gale: "I could spend days. I could also help you, spend the last hours doing something else." He winked, though honestly he would help, a shift until four am counting seemed horrible. But not as horrible as this. His hands were by his sides, not having the energy to lift them to cross his arms or even place them on his hips. He waited for Klaus to leave and hearing his bedroom door close. He wasn't angry, he thought he would be but the only thing he felt was fear and the crippling weight of truth on his shoulders. "How long?" He asked, not yet turning back to face her because he didn't want her to see how he couldn't hide the terror on his face. "How long since this started?"

Sarah: “Officer Peterson, are you suggesting we fornicate in a public space?” she teased with a smirk. She hated when Gale was mad at her. He never yelled or made her feel bad, but she could see the look on his face that told her that she had upset him. That was worse than any yelling. Her stomach dropped at his question, realising he was just going to become more disappointed in her. “The names? Not long. The salt shaker was the first time.” She sighed, realising there was no use pretending anymore. “I’ve, um…I’ve been getting headaches for a while now.” A pause. “For around six months.”

Gale: He didn't comment on her first answer, knowing that this was her stalling. He focused on a family photo, the three of them on Klaus' birthday party before all had gone to shit in their lives. Was this how it was going to be? Whenever they were doing great, life pulled the rug from under their feet. He was just waiting for the shoe to drop when she admitted it lasted for about six months. "Jesus Christ." He sobbed, catching himself by pressing his hand against his mouth. He was grateful his back was turned to her, as he lowered his gaze to the ground before closing his eyes. "Please tell me you're seeing someone. I don't care if you didn't tell me, just.."

Sarah: Despite his back being turned, Sarah could see the effect her words had on him. She wished she could go back in time and force herself to go see a doctor the second she knew things weren’t right. She had so many reasons why she didn’t, but none seemed good enough now she had to explain herself. “I’m sorry,” she said weakly, trying to think of a way to justify her previous decisions. “I just…Things were going so well. The adoption, the engagement, Nicky’s baby…I didn’t want to ruin it. I didn’t want to believe it was anything serious.” She knew her reasonings were pathetic, and if the tables were turned she would have let him know that. “We still don’t know. It might not be what we think it is.”

Gale: Composing himself as well as he could. He lowered his hand and turned to face her again, shaking his head when she apologised. "Don't, come here." Making his way around the counter, he pulled her in for an embrace, one he much needed for himself. His arms circled around her shoulders, cheek resting on top of her head. He listened to her, and he would have sworn that he understood. That he would have wanted to live in happier times rather than having it overshadow everything that happened. His second proposal seemed stupid now, knowing he should've spent that time paying more attention to her and her health when he had already been doubting. "Maybe.. But we both know you're smart enough to have a good theory." He mumbled, feeling his heart race in his chest against his will, all the ideas of what it could be spreading through his mind and taking a hold of him. His doomsday scenario. He couldn't lose her. "Call one of your sisters if they can look after Klaus tonight." He said, lifting his head and looking down at her offering her the best smile he could muster. "We'll go see a doctor tonight. I'll call Callum, ask him to run tests. It's best to know now." Maybe he was freaking a little, or not thinking clearly, but could she blame him? All it took was one day for it to go wrong.

Sarah: Sarah gladly accepted his embrace, trying her hardest not to cry as she rested her head against his chest, hearing his heart thudding because of her. He was right, she was smart enough to know that whatever was going on was never going to resolve itself on its own. She looked up at him as he spoke again, nodding as she moved away from him. “I’ll call Nel. I don’t think she’s working late in the salon tonight.” As he continued, she paused before shaking her head. “Not Callum. I want this to stay between us as long as it can. The only people who know are you and Drew, and I intend to keep it that way.” She had always disliked people knowing too much about her personal life, and this seemed as personal as it could get.

Gale: He didn’t appreciate the sick joke that was being played on them. If he hadn’t waited that long, or if he had never broken up in the first place, would they have caught it when it started? He always thought by now he knew her like the back of his hand, but he hadn’t caught the sincerity of the issue, hadn’t noticed she’d been struggling with headaches that long. “Okay. Nel is good.” He nodded, honestly every sister would have been okay, he just couldn’t ask his highly pregnant sister to come over on such a short notice. “Andrew knows?” What did it say that her ex found out sooner than him. Had he noticed when he had not? He swallowed down the lump in his throat, deciding to focus on the other gale of her sentence. “He’s the chief of surgery. He has pull to get you to see a doctor. But let’s try the emergency room and see how far we get. But if they want to send us home, I’m calling Callum, okay?”

Sarah: She knew she wasn’t on the best terms with Nel at the current moment, but she hoped that despite their argument she would still show up when she was needed. She grabbed her phone from the counter and sent her a quick text, being as elusive as possible with the reasoning but also highlighting how it was an emergency. She nodded as he focused on Andrew knowing. “He commented on how I looked like shit one day and I told him. He tried to convince me to go see a doctor and I…put it off,” she sighed. “Fine. We’ll try the emergency room first, though.” Her phone buzzed and she immediately grabbed it, letting out a sigh of relief. “Nel’s coming over now.”

Gale: He had to appreciate the man’s loyalty to her, not having uttered a single word his direction about it all. Though somewhere, he was glad she had someone else other than him who knew. If there were things she didn’t feel comfortable telling him, hopefully she would with Andrew. “Emergency room first.” He agreed, watching how she grabbed her phone at the buzz and sighing when she confirmed Nel was coming over. “Okay. I’ll tell Klaus.” Yet he didn’t move, staring at her features until he lifted his hands and cupped her face in between his hands. “I know I wasn’t in your life because of what I did, but I want you to know that you can tell me everything. Your secrets are safe with me, honey. I could never be angry with you, you know that right?” He told her, his brows furrowed and a weak smile on his lips. “I love you too much to ever be angry with you.”

Sarah: She wondered if he was hurt that she told Andrew and not him. It didn’t seem like the time to bring that up, but she hoped he knew that he knew things about her that no one knew - not even Andrew. Her brown eyes met his blue as he cupped her face, wishing she wasn’t the reason for the worry in his eyes. “I know,” she said softly, managing the faintest of smiles before it disappeared again. “I just want to make you happy, and I’m not doing that right now.”

Gale: “I’m happy when I have you.” He confessed, lightly brushing his thumb over her cheek before he pressed his lips against her forehead for a few long seconds and then stepped away from her. “Right. Family emergency, in case nel asks. I’ll let klaus know, set his bed time, all of it.” He spoke, clearing his throat before he turned and walked out of the kitchen. There was nothing to be concerned about, he told himself, nothing until a test result might tell otherwise. the thought alone helped him talk to klaus as if nothing was wrong, giving him the same story they would cook up for nel.

Sarah: — flash forward to hospital — Sarah couldn’t sit still in the waiting room, her leg bouncing erratically as she looked all around her. There were people who looked a lot sicker than she did, and she felt bad that she was going to take time away from then. When she had explained her symptoms to the nurse, she had seemed concerned and had told her to wait to see the on-call doctor. “Maybe we should just go and come back later,” she blurted out, her eyes finally falling back on Gale. “It’s late. By the time we’re out of here it’ll be morning.”

Gale: Gale seemed to mirror Sarah’s movements, his leg bouncing, arms crossed as he watched one of the tvs with information about the doctors, wondering which one they would get. He had expected Sarah to suggest to come back later, but she’d taken longer than he had initially given her credit for. He took a deep breath, untangling his arms and instead held her hand, as if that was an answer on its own. If they were to come another time they’d have to wait too. “I can always call Callum. I saw his car, he is here.” He suggested, knowing they’d be helped a lot faster that way. “Just a little more patience.”

Sarah: Sarah opened her mouth to argue with him when a nurse appeared with a clipboard in hand. “Miss Sarah Ruíz? Doctor Hartmann is ready to see you.” She squeezed Gale’s hand tightly before standing. “You’re coming with me, right?” she asked, never letting go of him. She made her way into the room where a woman who looked to be in her mid-fifties with graying hair sat behind a desk. She gave Sarah a small smile as she gestured for her to sit. “Hello, Miss Ruíz. Is this your partner?” she asked, looking briefly over at Gale. “Just to confirm you don’t mind saying anything confidential in front of both of us.” Sarah shook her head in response, squeezing Gale’s hand tighter. Dr. Hartmann nodded, grabbing a pencil. “Okay, could you describe your symptoms?” Sarah cleared her throat before nodding, avoiding both Gale and the doctor’s eyes. “I, um…Six months ago I started getting headaches, but they’re not like anything I’d ever experienced before. It’s such a severe pain that I lose my vision for a few seconds.” She knew she hadn’t told Gale that part, trying her best not to look to see his reaction. “They started becoming more frequent and the pain became so bad that I was throwing up. Recently, I…I’ve started to forget things. It started off with some mundane household items, but I forgot my son’s name tonight, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t think of what it was.” Dr. Hartmann made some notes whilst Sarah spoke, setting down her pencil and looking back up at the pair. “Okay. Thank you, Miss Ruíz. I…Yes. I’m going to make the decision to admit you to the hospital immediately pending further tests. Would that be a problem?”

Gale: “Of course I am.” Gale comforted her, holding onto her hand as they made their way towards the doctors office. He had no idea if he was imagining the fact that either his hand or hers felt sweaty, their grip clammy. Or perhaps it was the both of them. He felt more nervous the moment they stepped inside the office, taking in the woman at her desk. He briefly introduced himself after she asked if he was her partner, remaining silent for the rest of it. Offering insight from his perspective would most likely not be appreciated, as what Sarah had to say was what was most important. And also afterwards it seemed he barely knew half of what was going on. He was stunned by hearing how intense it had been. Losing vision, throwing up. Sure she had mentioned she didn’t feel well in the last few months, or that she had a migraine. But how had he not noticed? He was better at masking his expressions now than when they were at home. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as she spoke, his eyes moving toward the doctor to see her eyes, her body language. The drastic decision to immediately admit her startled him, and he looked at Sarah before turning back to dr Hartmann. Didn’t she want to do a scan first, take a blood sample? Yet he didn’t question it, there was a part of him that was relieved, relieved that it was being taken seriously. Terrified, because it was worse than he had hoped it would be. “How long would she be here? What kind of tests?” He carefully asked, hoping Sarah didn’t mind he did.

Sarah: “The first thing we need to do is a MRI scan. That may seem frightening, but they’re much more accurate for brain imaging than a CT scan. I would then like to go into more detail about your range of symptoms and monitor them closely while you are here. We also need to do some memory and recognition tests. Overall, it is much simpler to admit you as an inpatient to do all of these things.” She paused, as if she was holding herself back from saying something else. “I am not in the habit of diagnosing patients before having data to back up my diagnosis, but Miss Ruíz…Prepare yourself.”

Gale: Gale listened. He had no idea what exactly the difference between an MRI and CT was but that wasn’t important at that time. He tried to remember all that she said, slowly nodding once in every while. The short silence was unbearable, because he knew the doctor was debating saying something, and that was never good. When she finally did however, he felt his heart drop. He had the urge to ask if they had waited too long, but he didn’t want to put Sarah in the position of knowing. He swallowed, unclenching his jaw before he breathed out, shifting in his seat and reaffirming his hand around hers while he looked at her. “Let’s do that then, yeah? Get admitted.” He wasn’t going to mention the doctors warning, nor acknowledge it. He was his mothers son, he was going to have to channel her positivity and believe it was all going to be okay.

Sarah: Sarah simply nodded, fearing that if she opened her mouth to speak she may cry or throw up. Gale was being so supportive when he could have been incredibly angry at her for covering it up for so long, and on some level she wanted him to be angry. She didn’t think she deserved how kind he was being. They were dismissed back into the waiting room to wait for a nurse, and Sarah was still mute. — time skip — It had both felt like a lifetime and mere minutes since she had been sitting in the same waiting room, waiting for Dr. Hartmann to discuss the results of the various different tests they ran. She was exhausted, barely sleeping in the hospital bed. “How is Klaus?” she asked, wanting to discuss some sort of normality while they waited. “Is he okay?”

Gale: Gale hated hospitals. Ever since he had been in one of these very rooms, clinging to life and having his entire life flipped upside down, he wouldn't have come back unless he had to. And here they were, about to have their lives uprooted again. He'd barely said a word, still playing the words in his head of what the doctor had said, waiting for her when they did their tests and once she was back, instantly held onto her hand. He was exhausted, and he was sure she was too. He'd gotten her a diet coke as soon as they had been given the headsup and some of the vending machine, it ws better than nothing at this point. "Nel said he was anxious when he woke up and we weren't there. But she brought him to school and said he was laughing with his friends when she left." He shared, squeezing her hand. Nel had asked what was going on, and he had given her the same answer as before they had left. "I also made sure to call your boss and mine, we're both off for the day."

Sarah: Sarah nodded as he spoke, feeling that familiar guilt rise up again as she thought of Klaus waking up without either of them. The hospital had fit in as many tests as they possibly could in the twenty-four hours they had been in the hospital, and she was sure Callum’s name had been used to push her to the front of all the lists. She rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh, grateful that he was there for everything. “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to take the day off.” “Sarah Ruíz? Dr. Hartmann is ready for you,” the nurse at the desk said with a small smile as Sarah stood, reaching for Gale’s hand and clasping it in hers as she turned to look at him. “No matter what happens, we can get through it, okay?”

Gale: "I have a lot of overtime I'm able to use, don't you worry about a thing." He assured her, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. He would quit his job if that was what it took. No matter his passions and goals, she would always come first, no matter what. "Nicole sent me a video though, I forgot to tell you, it's the baby kicking." He told her, already reaching for his voice when he heard her name being called out. He took a breathe, suddenly feeling a sense of dread wash over him. He'd been positive ever since they started the testing, he had to be for both their sakes. Yet now he couldn't shake it. He took Sarah's hand, getting up from his seat. He didn't yet make an attempt to walk away, needing this last moment with her. At her words he nodded, his free hand lifting to pluck a piece of fluff from her shoulder. "Together, no matter what." He nodded, before heaving in another breath and following her into that dreaded office.

Sarah: Sarah's eyes momentarily lit up as Gale mentioned the video of Nicky's baby kicking. She wanted to see it so she could experience a brief moment of joy, but it was of course cut short by the nurse calling her name. "Show me later," she sighed. As they entered the room, Dr. Hartmann was sitting at her desk, looking as infallible as before. She peered over her glasses at the two as they entered, gesturing for them to sit down. She opened Sarah's file, briefly scanning over her notes once more before letting out a shallow sigh. "I'm not going to keep you waiting much longer, Miss Ruíz. Unfortunately, our results have confirmed our suspicions." She cleared her throat before turning the file so Sarah and Gale could see. It was a scan of Sarah's brain, which seemed to be mostly dark space besides a white round shape on the left side. Sarah knew exactly what it was as soon as she spotted it and let out something between a gasp and a sob as she pushed the scan away. "You have a benign tumour in your left temporal lobe. This is the part of your brain that is responsible for your verbal responses and your memory related to your speech. This is why you have been having issues remembering certain words and names. The, erm...How did you put it? Deja vu you say you have experienced that led you to vomit were actually what we call a simple partial seizure. It's a seizure one can experience while still being conscious and functioning. Dr. Hartmann paused, giving both Sarah and Gale a moment to process her words before continuing. This may seem like doomsday, but it's actually a better outcome than I had first believed. The placement and size of this tumor can be removed by surgery. It would requite minimal radiation and, if we're lucky, no chemotherapy at all. I apologise for using the word 'lucky', but...We can do something about this."

Gale: And just like that, the world fell to pieces. Gale hardly knew what he was looking at, but the doctors words and the sounds that came from Sarah were enough to make his body rigid and cold, his heart slowing down as if he was in trance. He felt like he was moving in slow motion. Slow blinks, slow breathing. The doctors voice sounded like echos bouncing in between the four walls. It was at the moment she mentioned seizures that he sucked in a breathe as if desperate for air but kept himself collected, barely noticeable for the doctors eyes. A tumour, seizures, surgery, radiation, chemo. He could only focus on the bad words, the bad news. He kept staring at the dossier, looking at that magnificent brain of hers, with that blasted white stain. A smudge. It seemed like nothing on paper, but in reality. “Will she be the same?” He asked, dread soaking in his voice. He looked up to meet the doctors eyes. “She’s wicked smart, doctor. She’s funny and…” he paused, looking at Sarah instead. “Will she be the same after?”

Sarah: Sarah looked over at Gale as he spoke, squeezing his hand. She knew it was irrational and she would never tell him, but she felt like she was letting him down somehow. He didn't deserve to have to go through something like that; not after everything he had been through with the accident. "Unfortunately, no-one can answer that until after the surgery and after Sarah has recovered. There is a likelihood that the seizures may occur for the rest of your life, but we can give you medication to help with that. There is also the possibility that your memory continues to deteriorate. On the other hand, there have been patients that appear to make a full recovery, but it takes a lot of time and rest. I just don't want to fill you with the false sense of hope that as soon as it is removed, things will immediately go back to normal." Dr. Hartmann took back the file, flicking over the page but being a little more secretive about the contents of it. "Mr. Peterson, if you don't mind, there are a few confidential details of the diagnosis I need to discuss with Sarah privately. Would you mind stepping outside?" Sarah squeezed Gale's hand again, unsure if she was going to be able to do it without him. She had barely uttered a word since yesterday, and definitely didn't want to speak now, but she knew from the look on the doctor's face that it wasn't a negotiation. "I'll be okay," she finally said, her voice a mere whisper. "I love you."

Gale: The doctors answer hadn’t been what he had hoped. He looked back at the woman, wishing that she had sugarcoated it, even if just for his sake. At least he would have that. If he had to give himself a silver lining, it was that this wasn’t worst case scenario. That would’ve been her telling them there was nothing they could do. At least there was comfort in that. He was still reeling, knowing that if he had been standing rather than sitting it wouldn’t have been a pretty picture. He was pulled from his thoughts when the doctor asked him to leave. Brows furrowed and his shock made way for anger. He understood privacy and confidentiality but they were to get married. He was about to tell her facts when he felt the squeeze in his hand and he turned his head to face Sarah again, and his brows relaxed. Or perhaps he had misinterpreted. Had Sarah asked for privacy when they were doing tests? The thought made him decide to nod instead. If she had it would hurt, but she could hurt him a lot of times in order to ever get even with him. He nodded, kissing the back of her hand before he slowly stood, letting go of her hand and reluctantly exiting the room.

Sarah: Dr. Hartmann waited until the door had closed behind Gale to begin speaking again. Sarah was in the room for around ten more minutes before she eventually emerged, looking pale and shell-shocked as she made her way back to the waiting room to where Gale was. "She, um...She wants me to stay one more night so I can have the treatments explained to me and to sign a bunch of forms and shit," she said, her voice sounding almost as if she was half-asleep. "I'm getting the surgery soon, Gale. Like, really, really soon." Of course, she knew things would move quickly, but not as quickly as that. And there was the added concern of what Dr. Hartmann had talked to her about. She hadn't decided whether or not she was going to tell Gale, but seeing how devastated he seemed, she couldn't break his heart again if things didn't work out. It probably wouldn't work out. "If you want to go home to be with Klaus, I totally understand."

Gale: Those ten minutes felt like an eternity. He sat in the waiting room, staring at the same bloody screen again he knew like the back of his hand by now. At the sight of dr Hartmann on the screen his stomach turned. He hated her already and he wasn’t sure where that even came from. He hated hospitals. He hated them. Sarah’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he jumped up to his feet immediately, instantly reaching for her hand again. He didn’t ask, simply letting her say what she wanted to say. Last thing he wanted was for her to feel pressured. “You have to stay here for that? Can’t you just… go home and .. we’ll come back first thing in the morning.” She needed her sleep, and if she despised this place as much as he did he knew she wasn’t going to get a lot of it tonight. “Okay… what’s soon? This week or?” A month? Months plural? It made no sense he wasn’t allowed to be inside for this, what was so sensitive about this he couldn’t hear. Yet again, he didn’t press, even though it was eating him up on the inside. “No. I’m with you, always. I’ll get my parents to get klaus for the weekend, but…” he hesitated. “Sarah, we should tell people. Family. We can’t keep this to ourselves. Keeping this from them would be bad. It’s big.”

Sarah: She shook her head at his questions, trying to push through the sea of thoughts that roamed at the forefront of her brain. "No, I have to stay. They want me to start radiotherapy tomorrow for a full week to shrink the tumour down as much as they can and then they're doing the surgery next week if all goes well." She wanted to break down and cry, but she feared if she started she'd never stop. Instead, there was almost like a numbness that took over. "I know," she sighed, knowing that they couldn't keep it a secret. "Can we just have one more night where it's just us? We can tell people tomorrow. I just don't want to do the whole sympathy thing right now." She paused, biting her lower lip momentarily. "How the hell are we going to tell Klaus?"

Gale: “It’s all going so fast.. I’m sorry I put you through this.” It was good that they found out, it was bad news, and waiting any longer would’ve made it worse, but he hadn’t expected her to be submitted to tests for a full day and spending two nights in a hospital with all the information being dumped on her. He felt guilty, he hadn’t exactly given her a choice in going. “Tomorrow, this weekend. As soon as your head is in the game for it…. Shit I didn’t-“ he sighed, rubbing his eyes. Dropping puns hadn’t been his intention. “He’s clever like you… I’m sure he will understand when we tell him the truth. We just… will be positive about it, hopeful, hopefully he’ll catch on.” He suggested, brushing her hair from her face and over her shoulders. “I love you. And I’m with you through it all, you know that right?”

Sarah: Sarah furrowed her eyebrows in confusion at Gale’s apology. “What on earth do you need to apologise for? I’m the one who waited too long to see a doctor. If I had went as soon as I knew something was wrong, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.” She knew the whole time. The T-word had been swimming around in her head the moment she had stopped to do some research, but she wanted to prevent the inevitable. Of course, that only made things worse. “I can’t tell my sisters. And Klaus. Can you imagine his face? How the hell do I tell them?” she was panicking now, feeling sick to her stomach. She closed her eyes as he brushed her hair out of the way. “What if they have to shave it off?”

Gale: “I should’ve noticed sooner.” He had, but he had believed her excuses. Perhaps it said something that he took her word for it, that he trusted her. But on the other hand, maybe if he had insisted before. He shook his head, looking up at the ceiling, tracing the lights with his eyes until he looked back at her again. “It’s okay, we’ll figure something out.” He honestly had no idea. All day he had the urge to call Nicole, but didn’t. She knew something would be up. She was already in a fragile state, with her pregnancy and Ricky in the halfway house. “I don’t know if we should tell Nicole. Do you want her to know?” He sighed. “We can talk about this later. It can wait.” They didn’t need to stress over it already. “Oh multitude of things. We can both rock a shaved head, or we’ll get you those scarfs, or Nel will get you a wig that looks natural. Don’t worry about that, okay?” He told her, kissing her forehead before pulling her in for a hug, placing his hand gently on the back of her head. Was this how she had felt when he had been hospitalised? Not knowing what was around the corner? He was terrified yet his heart grew two more sizes for her.

Gale: "This isn't on you, Gale," Sarah sighed. "How were you supposed to know when I was downplaying it so much? I didn't want you to worry and it's ended up in a bigger mess." She rested her head on his shoulder and momentarily shut her eyes, both the physical and mental tiredness washing over her. "She has enough to deal with, with Ricky and the baby. I mean, she has to know, but maybe wait a few days. I don't know. This is going to fuck up everything." Her eyes slowly opened again, looking up at him. She wasn't sure why it was the thought of losing her hair that did it - much a minute aspect of the whole situation - but she felt tears prickle at her eyes and before she could stop herself, she was crying, hiding her face in Gale's shoulder. "This isn't fucking fair".

Gale: He refrained from answering, though he had a lot to say. He knew it wasn't on him, but it felt like it. Still felt horrible the doctor had sent him out of the room too, but he wasn't going to tell her that. If anything, he had to collect himself and be there for her. When she wanted people to know, he'd allow himself to confide in his best friend and bawl his eyes out, but not before, not in front of her. And God was that hard to do. "We'll tell her after the baby is born, maybe... I don't know." He sighed, looking down at her just in time to see the tears well. Instinctively, he held his arms tighter around her, lips pressed against the top of her head and he closed her eyes, slightly swaying them from side to side. "It's not.. But you've made it this far, we've made it this far. We will make it through this too."He whispered, fingers running through her hair. They were going to have to be positive about it, actively positive, if not for Sarah's sake, then also for Klaus', find private moments to keep it in between them, like they used to underneath the sheets and just speak their minds with no judgement from the other. That was something to suggest later however. "I believe in you."

Sarah: Sarah's head was filled with so many thoughts, questions and worries that it became a constant stream of white noise. She felt like she was drowning, completely overwhelmed with the implications of everything she'd heard from the doctor that day. "She's going to know something is wrong, and I don't want you to have to lie to her." She was good at that, but she didn't want to make Gale have to pretend to his loved ones as well. She sniffled against him as he held her, wanting desperately to go back to the bliss they had been feeling only mere months ago. "I'm terrified, Gale." The words held so much more meaning than he would yet realise, and she so wished she could be completely honest with him, but she didn't want to see his heart break all over again. She wouldn't be the cause of even more pain.

Gale: “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” He stated, not wanting to worry about that now. There were plenty of things they had to focus about first. Triage was important in situations like these, he’d make sure they would. “I know.. you can lean on me.” He murmured, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. He really did think there were no more surprises and knew what to focus on. They would be okay. They had to be. “Let’s go. The sooner we have this behind us the sooner you can go home.

-- END --

#c: gale #tw: discussion of serious illness #hospitals #diagnosis

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equallyshaw · 2 years

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The Medicated Series: features OC’s with medical issues such as depression, anxiety, physical disabilities such as MS or Rheumatoid Arthritis as well as any other autoimmune disease such as Crohn’s, endometriosis, infertility, etc. (not an autoimmune but you get it)

I feel, as a person with a physical disability, that there is a lack of representation and have always wanted to see myself in y/n stories. Always have and always will.

Cale Makar Medicated Series Master Post:

triggers/warnings: angst, lots of angst im sorry, shaming/degrading disability, medications.

Original Character: Eliza Nicole James, 23 years old. Brunette Hair, Blue Eyes, short and curvy.

Word Count: 5.5k

Part Four:

—

Eliza's POV:

—

Today marked a week since I had seen Cale, and I was nervous to see him. He had been gone since last Saturday after we had brunch together. It was no nearing the end of the month and I had still yet to make a decision for Joe Sakic. However, tonight I was going to see a game with Becca and I was hoping to not run in to him. Yet, I knew with my luck- we would run into him.

"Hey-" Becca walked in softly knocking and seeing me in somewhat of a fazey in and out nap. She frowned coming over and sitting on the bed next to me. "You ok? Exhausted?" She questioned pushing some hair out of my face. I softly nodded, with a wave of nausea over taking me. She saw the second it happened, because my face turned even paler and I froze as I groaned. "are you sure you still wanna go? I can call Cale and tell him." She offered and I shook my head. "No, we have been or I have been planning on coming to this game all month. I can't back out now." I responded sitting up and feeling a wave of dizziness overtake me for a second before I settled back down. "No, you look miserable. I know you are having a flare up." she stated. I didn't listen to her and instead threw away my comforter and moved out of the bed to grab my maroon sweater that I would be dawning. I did not have a jersey or anything Avalanche related and had settled on a pair of dark jeans, black boots and a knitted sweater.

Becca eyed me as I made my way over to the mirror and saw the under eyes that were transculent to my pale skin. How my eyes were half sagging, and you could visibly see the exhaustion. But no, I was gonna push myself tonight. Even if it meant I'd be stuck in bed tomorrow. "Looks like, we will need to make a coffee run." I mused looking at Becca through the mirror who only slightly nodded.

We had finally made it to the arena with 20 minutes left to spare before puck drop. We had gotten coffee from a local coffee shop near out apartment and then cut stuck with traffic trying to get across the city. It seemed like everybody was out and on there way to the game between the Detroit Red Wings- there apparent rival. We walked in through the gate and we proceeded to make our way to the elevator that I saw in my side vision. "Hi, is that elevator able to take us to the suite level?" I asked a worker who was near us. "Yes it can, third level. Do you guys have a wheelchair that needs to be transported?" The innocent worker asked and we shook our heads. "No I have a disability and need to use it but if not, I can take the stairs. No problem." I stated. They nodded, escorting us over to the elevator themselves and I smiled gratefully through my mask. Yes, I still wear a mask. Covid aint done yet, people! Anywho, we got into the elevator and they wished us a good game. "Well that was easy." Becca said sarcastically and I nodded. People never think to realize that I may be the one needing extra assistance and what not. "Thankgod they didnt make a fuss. I would of gone off on them, if we had to take the stairs." I nodded at her sentiments. I had a hard time with stairs, especially going back down them. Let's just say you get a wonderful view of my behind, not very flattering. We walked towards the suite that Cale had left us room at.

It was the family, friends and WAGS booth. When I objected to it, he told me that I still had the option of sitting in the crowd if it was too much for me. I then explained to him, that since we weren't 'official' because quite frankly, I dont even know what we are but- I told him that it might look weird and feel weird since I did not know anybody. He waved me off, and told her me I could bring whoever I wanted to. He knew I would choose Becca, anyday. "Im nervous B." I said stopping a few feet from the door. "Hey, let me get us some free drinks and then we can go to our seats in the stands. Ok?" she said and I nodded leaning back against the wall outside the door. My phone buzzed with a text and I knew it was Cale.

[Cale: Did you make it okay?]

[Eliza:Yes! Becca is currently getting us some drinks and we are gonna head down to the stands.]

[Cale: Did you decide not to sit in the suite? It's okay if you didn't just curious. I'll tell Mel you aren't coming.] [Eliza: Mel?]

[Cale: Gabe's wife. I was gonna have her greet you and Becca, since she is the Captains Wife and she accepts everybody so I thought it would be nice of you two to meet. I thought you might of been more comfortable, thats all. ]

awe, so sweet.

[Eliza: What does she look like?]

[Cale: Blonde hair, has two kids with her. She's average height.]

[Eliza: okay, thanks. Ill see if I see her, if not were gonna head down. But don't worry about us. I'll touch base later, good luck ☺️]

[Cale: Never, i'll always worry about you. I'll let her know you are there. Are you wearing a jersey?]

[Eliza: ☹️ no I don't have anything avalanche related. I just wore a maroon sweater under my coat. and seariously, focus on your game. Ill survive.]

[Cale: We are gonna change that, but that'll be for another day. I'll check in with you soon. Don't fall please ;)]

[Eliza: I'll try my very best, Makar ;)]

I locked my phone and saw Becca walking out with drinks and a blonde in toe with her, almost identitcal to the shade Becca has. "Uh, who's this?" I quietly whispered to Becca as I took the bottle of water. "This is Mel, Gabe's wife. The captain's wife." Becca explained and my eyes went wide at the realization. "Oh right! Cale mentioned you. Sorry, for causing all this confusion but we actually aren't sitting in here tonight." I explained, trying to move back a few feet so the conversation would end. Mel shook her head and frowned, "Oh no! The girls and I wanted to meet you. But if you prefer to sit in the stands, we aren't going to stop you. Whatever you feel comfortable with." she responded and I was taken back uncomfortably. She knew that I had arthritis and the way she almost said it, came off with a sympathy tone. I really wanted to take her offer, but felt weird since I was not the one to tell her I had arthritis. Sometimes, when people know it before I tell them- I feel weird. Like, somebody had said my business. But I know Cale or Gabe meant well, but still. "How about we just go in and see the view, and then we can leave?" Becca offered and I looked at Mel who was waiting anxiously for me to respond. Becca has been so desperatly trying to get me out of my comfort zone for the past year slowly, and this was just another step I needed to take. I nodded, "Yeah, let's check it out." I smiled and Mel beamed reaching out her hand. I took it, looking back at Becca who smiled at me as we walked in. "I promise we won't bite." Mel joked as I looked around as saw a lot of girls and some kids. I nodded, feeling my breathing pick up a bit. "Hey, Im gonna go grab those two seats and I'll be back. Ok?" Becca said putting a hand on my back and pointing to the seats. I nodded, giving her my water.

"So Cale told me that this is the second in person game you've been to, right?" she asked as we looked out towards the ice. I nodded, "Yeah, I was here earlier this month for the Denver Medical Center tribute." I responded and she nodded smiling. "Yes! It was so heartwarming to see all of them on the jumbotron! and then to hear from Gabe and the team the work that is being done, cannot tell you how inspiring the work that you do is. It was honestly a wake up call for us parents in the group." She exclaimed and I was taken back for a second as I look towards her. She dawned a smile, one that was inviting and warm. I smiled back feeling a little at ease, "Mel! Don't hog her! I wanna say hi." somebody exclaimed pulling me out of my comfort zone.

Another blonde appeared in my view and I stood there as Mel and her laughed at the girl's comment. "Hi! I am Sydney- J.Ts' girlfriend." She exclaimed, holding out her hand for me to shake. I nodded, shaking it. "So I gotta know, how long have you and Cale been seeing one another? We can't seem to get an answer from cheeks himself." She mused and Mel nodded in agreemant. "Yeah, he won't even tell Nate or Gabe. Those three are some of his best friends." Mel added and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. This was overwhelming. "You and me both. I'd like to know too." I said non chalantly looking back towards Becca who was on her phone. I really hope she could save me from this conversation. "Wait what!?" Sydney asked in disbelief. I nodded, putting on a fake smile. "Yeah, I don't know what we are." I said honestly. "Im gonna go sit down." I added quickly, moving out of there embrace and moving back towards Becca. As soon as I sat down, I began to chug my water. Feeling dehydrated. "You good?" She questioned looking up from her phone and I nodded. "They wanna know about Cale and I but I don't even know what we are." I told her. Shore, we had kissed a few times, but other than that it seemed like we still were friends. Nothing more. And most like nothing more.

I shifted in my seat, pulling my phone out of my bag after taking off my winter jacket and checked in with the fam who were currently all over the country. My parents were in Southern California for a quick getaway at my aunt's home near where some of my family lived. My oldest sister Jessica lives in Chicago and my middle sister Olivia lives in New York, so we were all over the place. Our family groupchat was very unhinged tonight, seems like we had many texting and drinking happening.

The crowd began to get louder as the players began to take the ice for the national anthem and face off. The family and Wags began to sit in there respective seats, and I sighed as the lights were dimming down. As of right now, nothing in my body hurt. But I was for once, so I was hoping to be able to focus on the game for the most part. Besides the constant nausea waves, that kept coming and going.

Middway through the second period, I left to use the washroom in the hall and that's when I heard some whispers in the next stall. The voice was neither Mel's or Sydney, so it was a complete stranger. "Dude, he's seeing somebody who has a disability. How pathetic is that? I know right, he should of been with you still. They have no future together. I mean, she can't do anything! God, I hope he wakes up and smells the coffee. No I know, god, she's probably faking too." The voice talked and talked and talked for minutes on end as I stood in the stall shaking and feeling tears pour down. I whipped open the stall door, and made my way back to Becca. We were leaving. I whipped off my mask, as my cheeks were becoming redder. I didn't care a this moment about not having it on, I just wanted to breathe a bit better.

As soon as I walked in, I went as quickly as I could to grab my jacket and purse. Becca saw the two flying up behind her and she shuffled around quickly seeing me without my mask. She saw the tears in my eyes, the red cheeks that were not from the mask, and she saw the death glare I only sported every so often. Somebody had made me mad. "Who do I need to kill?" She questioned standing up and looking around for any signs. "No, not right now." I said turning around almost bumping into Mel and Sydney. "Hey, are you okay?" Sydney questioned- genuinly concerned. I shifted away from them and walked past as Becca said bye to both and that she didn't know what was happening. I made my way to the elevator and as I stood there shaking from foot to foot, I saw the girl who had made those comments. She had warm bruntte hair and she was gorgeous. Everything a hockey player would want. Everything I was not, and everything Cale's ex or whatever was.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, I hopped on and shut the doors quickly hoping nobody else would followed besides Becca. I looked down at my phone and turned it off, I did not want to hear from Cale and did not want to see the good times my family was partaking in this evening. Becca grabbed my hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as we exited the elevator walking over towards the door. We heard the faint horn of the second period ending, and I held back tears as we walked out of the arena. I just wanted one evening, where everything went smoothly, but no. That couldn't be. My luck would not allow it.

"Miss James!" I heard behind me as soon as we were about to exit the arena. I turned around and saw Mr.Joe Sakic himself. He walked up to us, leaving whoever he was talking to behind for a quick moment. He smiled his famous and warm smile, pulling me back into the arena. "How are you enjoying the game?" He asked nervously, looking between Becca and I. He could tell I was visibly upset about something, but I didn't want to lead him on. "It's going great! We were just stepping out for some fresh air." I lied, hoping he'd walk away soon. He nodded not really believing what I had to say, and I knew when he opened his mouth next- what he would be asking. "Have you thought about my offer anymore?" He questioned, a hopefuly glint in his eye. I nodded, "Yes, I currently just need a few more days. I promise I will let you know by March 1st." I said truthfully and he nodded. "Well, I will hear from you soon. Have a great evening, ladies." he smiled going back to whoever he was with. I let out a long sigh, as we walked out. We walked all the way to our car without stopping because I just wanted to get home and forget about everything. I wanted to forget that face of the girl who talked shit about me, about the game, about the job. Especially wanted to forget about cale. Even though he didn't do anything wrong, it was only by association. Becca turned on some old disney channel songs, and we drove on out of the parking lot. Let's just say, this playlist was a comfort playlist. No shame in it. We headed out towards the other side of the city, towards our apartment and on the way there, Becca got a call from Cale but she declined it. She declined the three other calls he did, and put him on mute so she didn't see the messages he was sending.

Becca liked Cale and had gotten along well with him since she came home one day to find the two sprawled out on the couch watching how the grinch stole christmas, with Eliza snoozing during the middle portion. She was taken back at how comfortable Eliza was with him, since this was there second hangout in five days at the apartment. She just hadn't been home at all the other time. But she saw Cale look over and wave, and Becca chuckled softly waving back before walking over and seeing Eliza snoozing away. Even in her sleep, she had looked at ease. No discomfort or tension surrounded her eyebrows as she did so, meaning she was comfortable and that's all she ever wanted for her friend. Cale had softly gotten up from the opposite end of the couch, and draped his throw blanket on her before walking with Becca to the kitchen to Chat. Let's just say that if he ever did anything, there would be no way in hell he'd ever be playing hockey again. Cale took that threat very seriously, not underestimating the violence she would evoke in Eliza's honor. But this, this hurt Becca. She knew things could possibly be different after them two walking out on the game, and simply ignoring him by association. She knew somebody must have said something to her face or in passing, Eliza never got that mad. She never pulled out the James Family death glare, one that could kill if possible.

"When we get home, Im gonna take a hot shower before going to sleep. OK?" I said and looked over at Becca who was unreadable. "yeah, no problem. Ill make sure you sleepy tea is ready." becca responded and I nodded. "Thanks." Was all I said as we neared even closer to our apartment. I was exhausted and just wanted to curl up underneath my comforter and block out the world. Tomorrow was Sunday, so thankfully I would have the day to sleep and possibly do some laundry. But we shall see where the day takes us. I rubbed my eyes, frustrated and feeling on the brink of crying. How dare somebody question my health? How dare somebody mcok and ridicule something that is out of my control? Those questions are one's that I will continue to ask for the rest of my life.

I turned on the shower, letting it warm up to the temperature I liked. It was currently 9:50 pm and had planned to be in bed by 10:15 pm, so I would have some time to read before I went to bed. I wanted to get to sleep sooner rather than later, to forget about this shitshow of a night. I stripped down, noticing the bruises and faint scars on my thighs and stomachs from years of self injections that worked and others that did not. Before I started this infusion medication, I had done self injections with a biological medication for about three years before my body started rejecting the medication.

(Biological Medication: A substance that is made from a living organism or its products and is used in the prevention, diagnosis, or treatment of cancer and other diseases)

Biological's are the most popular choice for autoimmune disorders and to see me go throught three different one's in a span of four years, realyl set me back in my so called 'recovery' goal. Now I at 23, I had finally figured out the medicaiton situation and had been on infusions for the past year. Hoping this one would stick. I moved up closer to the mirror and outline a few lines in particular, immedietly feeling nauseas I looked away and hopped in the shower. Thinking about self injections make me feel sick, and I can sometimes get really upset. Like I will cry, shake, and visibly cringe if I am the one to self inject myself. Now Becca or my parents help if they can, for my vitamin b12 injection every week. Anywho, I grabbed the shampoo bottle, not realizing that my hands were shaking. I froze for a second, letting the hot water fall down my back. Tears pooling my eyes, as I tried to open the bottle. Once I did, I went on to wash my hair and grabbed my conditioner and detangler in place of shampoo. After that I quickly washed my body, and then just stood in my tiled walked in shower. The only other thing that would be perfect right now, is a stool or chair. Then I could just sit here and let the water take me whole. Then I didn't have my feet reminding me to get the fuck off of them, much to my dismay. But I stood there longer than I thought I could, sobbing. I hate the way strangers have power over me, I hate how somebody with no knowledge of who I am or what I have endured, could say things about me. I'll never understand the judgment and back stabbing, words could do. I'll never understand why people think they know everything about me, just because my arthritis is one of the first things they judge me on and think im fragile, weak and that is my whole identity. But I am so much more.

Becca's POV:

I heard sobbing and wailing coming from inside Eliza's bathroom, and I stood at the kitchen counter feeling helpess.Feeling uncontrollable anger for whoever said anything about Eliza. I was not dumb, I know some bimbo of a wag said something. Yep, they are a bimbo if they said something without clear cut facts. They didn't know Eliza, who she was and the heart that she has. And now, no one would have that chance, I just know it. Cale was still blowing up my phone after the game had ended. I didn't have the energy to deal with him right now. All I wanted to do was get Eliza to bed and then kill whoever said what they said. I had Mel's number now and she has been blowing up my phone as soon as we left the game.

[Mel: Is she ok?]

[Becca: No. Somebody said something, and one of us is going to go off on that person. Well me, since she's really shaken. but yeah, she'll be fine. give her a week.]

[Mel: What do you think happened? and oh no, that makes me sad. For both of you.]

[Becca: Somebody in the washroom probably said something very stupid and for that, im gonna kill them. Nobody hurts her over something she has no fucking control over. None whatsoever.]

[Mel: I would too, but im trying to think who was not in the room.]

[Mel: It was a wife of one of the players. Her name is Kerry Toews, Devon Toews Wife.]

[Becca: Oh looky there, she's got a name and a ring.]

[Becca: Sorry, im very sarcastic when im angry. E is too but she's in no shape to snap back.]

[Mel: All good, I cant even imagine what's going through either of your heads rn. Maybe thats a good thing lol.]

[Becca: Yep, and please have Gabe to tell Cale to STOP blowing up my phone. I do not want to talk to him right now. He's been non stop since he found out we left.]

[Mel: Yeah as soon as I explained to him what had happened after the game, he was upset. He was confused but more upset than anything. I think he had an idea of what happened and then he took off without saying bye to anybody. That was 15 minutes ago, so he might there or almsot to your guy's apartment.]

[Mel: but yes, I will have Gabe talk to him. Im not sure he can be vry persuaded rn though. From the looks of him, he looked like somebody had put a sword through his heart and yet, he had a fiery look to him.]

[Becca: Yippie, thanks for the heads up.]

The buzzer went off from downstairs,signaling somebody was here. "who is it?" I questioned the front desk. "Somebody is here to see Eliza." Jasmine the sweet front desk attendent explained. I rolled my eyes, "tell him to go away, she does not want to see him." I responded hoping he'd go away. "He said he won't leave until he see's her. He said he'll be here all night. And you know, I don't like anybody here in the lobby past 12." Jasmine explained and I sighed, hitting my head against the wall. "Fine, send him up. Thanks Jasmine." I said before walking over towards Eliza's bathroom. She opened the door just as I was about to knock, she looked exhausted. I knew all she wanted to do was sleep, so I would talk to Cale myself. "Who's coming up?" she questioned and I froze once she walked past me. "Oh um, it's Lucy." I lied as she grabbed her tea and sipped it before walking towards her room, "Tell her I say hi. And apologize that im going to bed." She said stopping at her door, before walking in and shutting it. A minute later I heard a knock on the front door, and I walked over checking the peephole to see a very disheveled defenceman.

I opened the door, giving him an icy glare. "Is she here?" was the first thing that came out of his mouth as I opened the door wide enough for him to slip through. "What do you think Cale?" I mocked, shutting the door. He turned around to face me, and bit the inside of his cheek trying to read my face. "Yes. She is here, but she is sleeping." I said and he read right through the lie. Partially, because I heard some cries coming from her room. As soon as Cale heard that, he whipped his head aorund and looked at her door down the hall. His heart visibly broke on his face, his breathing picked up, and he I could see the internal struggle of either walking to go see her or talking to me. I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest as he looked back at me. I nodded my heads toward the hall and he quickly removed his shoes and coat, literally throwing his coat at me making me chuckle. Oh god, the chaotic mess that he was.

Eliza's POV:

I sat down on my bed, setting my tea on the nightstand trying to get comfortable in my bed. I was currently sitting up so I could read some of my book, and drink tea at the same time. As soon as I opened my book I just stared at the page. I couldn't focus on the words as I tried reading them. Romance filled words were lining the page I tried to keep re reading over and over again for a few minutes before I just let out a frustrated cry. This was a long over due crying session, that needed to be had. I closed my book and moved further down into my bed, covering my head with my comforter. More tears fell from my eyes as I continued to sob. In between my sobs, I did not hear my door open because as soon as I felt a soft hand touch the my back I flung my comforter off and shifted away from the hand. It was cale. A very dishevled Cale, who froze as soon as I shifted away from him. He looked overly concerned, uncomfortable and visibly sad. I shook my head, moving away from him and cursed myself for how small my queen bed was right now.

"Go away, Cale." I said putting the comforter over my head again. "I don't want to talk to anybody right now." I spat as I tried to silently cry. "Im not going anywhere." he said softly, and I slowly pulled my comforter off of me and turned around to face him. I met his eyes, from where he sat at the corner of my bed. I slowly sat up and he took in my fragile state. I looked down, putting my crying on full display. I sobbed as he moved next to me, wrapping me in his arms. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, but kissed my head every few seconds- allowing me to cry in peace. I was now laying on his chest, in his warm arms. I looked up to face him, and I saw the pained look on his face as he looked across the room. His mind running a mile a minute. "Hey..." I said softly pulling his chin towards me. I met his hazel eyes, softly rubbing his cheek to comfort him. He could see how distant I was from him, and was slowly coming back down. He pushed some wet hair out of my face, and tucked it behind my ear. He bent down a bit, and placed a forehead kiss. Trying to comfort me, and it was working.

"What happened?" He questioned, knowing he wanted me to talk. To let him in on what I was feeling and what had happened. I shook my head, "Somebody tried to say I was faking my arthritis. Somebody was saying how I wasn't good enough for you and that I couldn't do anything. Hoping that you would wake up and smell the coffee and see that you have no future with me." I explained and he visibly slumped, his eyes looking down past me. "And she's right. She's right cale. I will never be good enough for you or like your ex or who I presume was your ex on the phone." I added and then he met my gaze. "They had no right. No right to talk about you in any shape or form." He started, "They have no right to talk about us. No right to talk about my so called feelings or thoughts. They have no idea about what I think or feel. So if you are thinking that I don't want to be with you or that I think the same, you're wrong." he paused, "And no one could ever compare to you, not even my ex." he finished. I looked down silently, hoping he'd understand without me having to talk. "Eliza, I want to be with you. I want my future to be with you." He said, now pulling my chin back up so I could look at him. "Then why didn't you ask to be my boyfriend? Why did I show up to the suite without knowing what we were? If we are just friends, then I don't think I can be just friends." I confessed and I tried shifting in his arms but he wouldn't move. "But I want to be with you." he stated and I stopped moving and looked at him. "Then why didn't you ask me to be your girlfriend? Say the words, and i'm your's Cale." I said honestly. His eyes poured into mine, "I didn't ask you yet, because I wanted to make sure you were comfortable with me. That's all." He paused softly smiling, "But without further ado, will you be my girlfriend, Liz?" He questioned, using an old nickname of mine as a kid. I smiled widely, "Ofcourse." I mused bringing my lips to his.

He smiled into the kiss, pulling me as close as we possibly could be without my being on top of him. His soft hands on my back, becoming a tad bit rougher or harder. Throwing me for a loop. I pulled away for a brief second, trying to reposition myself and failed miserably. "Yeah, no this isn't gonna work." I said sarcastically pulling away completly, sitting in front of him and smiling. He looked at me with a wicked grin, he sat up more before pinning me down on my back. Making sure I was comfortable before he kissed me. I giggled into it as he pulled my chest towards his, not neccesarily uncomfortable but just so outta of the blue and foreign.

"Well hello there." I mused softly as he pulled away for a second, I put my hand on his cheek and he closed his eyes. He was savoring this moment. I blushed, dragging my hand down to his chest to where his tie was still fastened. I grinned, slowly pulling it looser and he cocked an eyebrow as he reopend his eyes. I pulled him down, reconnecting our lips before paritng. I smiled, as he rested on his arm, lying down with me. "What if I didn't want you to leave tonight." I confessed and he was taken by surprise for a second before grinning. "I would say I didn't want to leave." he mused before giving me one last kiss before he hopped out of bed.

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