#i have so many thoughts about this scene 👀 the way his voice is so sincere when he tells tweak to take care of ✨ their ship ✨🥹

[octoagentmiles]

sobbing crying i love them so much-

aaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—

[novaursa]

good evening I saw that you were still taking requests

I had an idea where fem!targaryen is Aegon's twin sister, she was sent at the same time as Daeron to Oldtown She was always extremely close to her twin brother but his character didn't match the court.

She looks a lot like Daemon, a bit of a rebellious princess and her grandfather sent her to their house to help her recover. but arriving in Oldtown she created a more than close bond with her uncle Sir Gwayne.

If we could have the complexity of their relationship, like the first time their outlook on each other changed, first kiss but they are still consumed by the fact that it's not right

They would have a very close relationship, Gwayne is someone who is very teasing and even a little arrogant. They would probably marry under the old and new gods like Targaryen and for many years no one else knows except Aegon

then when Aegon was made king, Alicent contacted her brother again but at the same time would hear about several children with white hair and purple eyes who would be in Oldtown, she would immediately think of bastards but she would never have thought of her brother and her daughter

Otto and Alicent would be angry and even disgusted by Gwayne's behavior but when they return to King's Landing they are welcomed wonderfully by Aegon who is more than happy to see his nephews and nieces again 🫶🏼👀

A Flame in Exile

- Summary: Your mother and grandsire have sent you away to Oldtown. You were too unruly like your uncle Daemon, they said. But Gwayne never shied away from fire.

- Paring: niece!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are closed!

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The wind bites at your face as the ship draws closer to the towering spire of the Hightower. You shiver slightly, though not from the cold. Oldtown is a world away from the Red Keep, and though you’ve heard much of its grandeur and history, the thought of calling this place home sits uneasily within you. Yet, the unease is nothing compared to the aching emptiness left by your separation from Aegon.

Your twin. Your other half. His tear-streaked face is burned into your mind, his voice—trembling and desperate—echoes in your ears. "Please, don’t leave me," he had cried, clinging to you with a desperation that had nearly broken your resolve. His arms wrapped around you so tightly that it felt like he was trying to fuse your very souls together, as if by sheer force of will he could keep you by his side.

But your mother had intervened. Alicent’s voice had been cold and firm, like steel wrapped in velvet, her eyes flashing with something you couldn't quite place as she pried Aegon’s arms from around your neck. "Do not make a scene, Aegon," she had hissed, her grip on him as unyielding as her will. And then, with one last pained look, you had been pulled away, ushered towards the ship that would take you to Oldtown, to the Hightower. To your new life.

Even now, as you stand on the deck, the memory haunts you. Aegon, your other half, left behind in the Red Keep, with no one who truly understands him. The thought that you are the only one who ever did brings you little comfort, for what use is understanding when you are not there to provide it? 

You glance down at Daeron, your little brother, standing beside you. His wide eyes are filled with awe, and a hint of fear as he stares at the looming city before him. He is too young to understand the full weight of what has been done, but you see the uncertainty in the way he clutches at your hand. You squeeze his hand in return, offering what little comfort you can, though the gesture feels hollow. 

The ship finally docks, and the crew is quick to lower the gangplank. As you descend, you are met by a small party of retainers, dressed in the colors of House Hightower. At their head stands Gwayne Hightower, your uncle, and eldest son of Otto Hightower, your grandsire. His presence is commanding, yet there is a warmth in his gaze that eases some of the tension coiled within you.

“Welcome to Oldtown,” Gwayne greets, his voice smooth and gentle, with a hint of the formality you’ve come to expect from a Hightower. He bows his head to you first, acknowledging your status, before turning to Daeron with a softer expression. “Prince Daeron, it is an honor to have you here.”

Daeron blinks up at Gwayne, unsure of what to say, but Gwayne’s easy smile seems to relax him. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” Daeron finally replies, his voice small but polite.

“And you, Princess Y/N,” Gwayne turns his full attention to you, his grey eyes meeting yours with a curiosity that is hard to miss. “It has been many years since we last met, but I can see the blood of the dragon runs strong in you. You have grown into a fine lady.”

You offer him a nod, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. His words are kind, but you see the caution in his gaze. You are a stranger to him, a puzzle to be unraveled. And in this moment, you feel more alone than ever. Yet, there is something in Gwayne's demeanor that draws you in—an undercurrent of understanding, as if he too knows what it is to be caught between duty and desire.

“We have prepared quarters for you both within the Hightower,” Gwayne continues, gesturing to the towering structure behind him. “Your retainers will find all the accommodations they require as well. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask.”

You incline your head in thanks, finally finding your voice. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne. Your hospitality is appreciated.”

As you follow Gwayne through the streets of Oldtown, Daeron trailing close behind, you cannot help but marvel at the city around you. It is a place of ancient history, where every stone seems to hum with the weight of the ages. The Citadel looms in the distance, a symbol of knowledge and power, while the Starry Sept stands as a beacon of faith. Yet, despite the grandeur, you find no comfort here. This is not your home. And though Gwayne’s presence is steady and kind, you know it will be some time before you can truly trust him, or anyone else here.

When you finally reach the Hightower, you are led through its winding corridors to your chambers. They are lavishly appointed, far more luxurious than anything you expected, but the opulence feels cold, impersonal. You cannot help but think of the warmth of the Red Keep, of the fire-lit chambers where you and Aegon would hide away from the world, finding solace in each other’s company.

Once you and Daeron are settled, Gwayne excuses himself, leaving you alone with your brother. Daeron, still so young, looks to you for guidance, for reassurance. And though you ache to give it to him, you feel the weight of your own uncertainty pressing down on you.

“Do you think we’ll be happy here?” Daeron asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look down at him, his innocent face so full of hope, and force a smile. “We’ll make the best of it,” you reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. “We have each other, and that is what matters.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and you pull him into a hug. But as you hold him close, you cannot shake the feeling that something has been irreparably broken. You are no longer whole, no longer tethered to the one person who understood you completely. And as you close your eyes, you wonder if you will ever feel at home again.

As the night falls and the Hightower grows quiet, you sit by the window, staring out at the city below. Somewhere out there, in the vastness of this world, is Aegon, your twin, your other half. You hope he is safe, hope he knows that you did not want to leave him. But hope feels fragile in the face of the reality you now face. 

In the distance, the Starry Sept’s bells toll, their mournful sound carrying on the wind. You wonder if Aegon can hear them too, wherever he is. You wonder if he is thinking of you, as you are thinking of him.

And as you drift into an uneasy sleep, you cling to the memory of his tears, of his desperate pleas. For they are all you have left of him now, and you fear that, without them, you may forget what it feels like to be whole.

The days in Oldtown have blurred into a monotonous routine, a far cry from the vibrant, if chaotic, life you once knew in the Red Keep. The city, with all its ancient grandeur, has become a gilded cage, and you find yourself suffocated by the very walls meant to protect you. Daeron, though still young, has adapted better than you expected, throwing himself into his lessons with the maesters. You, however, remain adrift, seeking solace in the only companionship that has begun to mean anything in this new life—Gwayne Hightower.

From the moment you arrived, Gwayne has been a constant presence, hovering at the edges of your life in Oldtown. At first, you found his attentions burdensome, a reminder of your exile from King's Landing. But over time, the sharp edges of your resentment dulled, replaced by a begrudging acceptance of his company. Now, months after your arrival, Gwayne’s presence has become something you not only expect but anticipate. His arrogance, his teasing remarks—they no longer irritate you as they once did. Instead, they have become a strange kind of comfort, a link to a life that feels farther away with each passing day.

On this particular afternoon, you find yourself in one of the Hightower’s many courtyards, the sun hanging low in the sky. The air is cool, the first signs of autumn creeping in. You sit on a stone bench, watching as the shadows stretch long and thin across the cobblestones. Gwayne is beside you, his usual smirk in place, though his eyes are softer than usual.

“You know,” he begins, his voice light with mockery, “I never thought Oldtown would see the day a dragon would be caged within its walls.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Caged? You speak as if I’m some kind of beast, Gwayne.”

“Aren’t you?” he retorts, though there’s no malice in his tone. “You have the blood of the dragon in you, after all. And from what I hear, more of Daemon’s fire than Viserys’s... whatever it is he has.” He leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “That’s why they sent you here, isn’t it? To keep you away from your dear twin. To keep you from burning down the world.”

You bristle at his words, even as a part of you knows there is truth in them. “And what would you know of such things?” you snap back, though there’s little heat behind it. “You Hightowers are always so certain of yourselves, always so sure of your place in the world.”

Gwayne laughs, a low, rich sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “We are sure of our place because we make it so. That is what my father taught me. But you… you are different, aren’t you? You don’t fit neatly into anyone’s plans, not even your own.”

His words sting because they cut too close to the bone. You are different, an anomaly in your own family. Not quite the dutiful daughter Alicent hoped for, nor the rebellious one like Daemon that Viserys once admired, you have always straddled a line that leaves you belonging nowhere. And here, in Oldtown, that difference is magnified, a glaring fault line that Gwayne seems all too eager to point out.

But today, something is different. The way Gwayne looks at you, the way his voice lingers on your name—it’s all sharper, more intense. He’s leaning in closer, the space between you shrinking with each passing moment, until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. The tension between you crackles like lightning before a storm, dangerous and thrilling.

“Why do you do that?” you ask suddenly, your voice softer than you intended. “Why do you always bring up my uncle? Why do you always remind me of why I’m here?”

Gwayne’s smirk falters, just for a moment, before he straightens up, the teasing mask slipping back into place. “Because it’s the truth, and I’ve found that you prefer truth over the pretty lies most would tell you.”

You can’t argue with that, but it doesn’t ease the knot in your chest. “It’s a bitter truth,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

“Perhaps,” he agrees, his tone shifting, becoming more serious. “But it’s the truth nonetheless. You are fire, my lady. Wild and untamed, just like Daemon. And it scares them—all of them. My father, your mother, the king… they don’t know what to do with you.”

“And you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do I scare you, Gwayne?”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for the first time, there’s no arrogance in his gaze, no teasing light in his eyes. “Yes,” he says quietly. “But I find that I’m drawn to the flame, even knowing I might get burned.”

The admission hangs between you, heavy and charged. The world seems to narrow down to this moment, to the space between you and Gwayne, a space that feels both too vast and too close. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he fights against something he doesn’t fully understand. But then, so do you.

“I should go,” you say, the words an echo of what you think you should say, but not what you want. 

Gwayne’s hand reaches out before you can move, his fingers curling around your wrist with a gentle pressure. It’s a small touch, but it ignites something within you, a spark that quickly flares into a dangerous blaze. His touch feels like the first real thing you’ve felt since you left King’s Landing, since you left Aegon behind. 

“Stay,” he says, his voice a soft command, a plea wrapped in steel. “Just for a little while longer.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know this is wrong, forbidden, and dangerous. The Seven would condemn it, your family would disown you, and yet... there’s a part of you that doesn’t care. A part of you that craves this, that wants to feel alive again, even if it means stepping into the flames. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you look into Gwayne’s eyes, seeing the same conflict mirrored in his gaze. And then, slowly, you nod. 

He pulls you closer, his hand moving from your wrist to your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch. For a moment, neither of you moves, the world suspended in a fragile balance. And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Gwayne leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss.

The contact is electric, sending shockwaves through your body, waking something within you that has been dormant for too long. You respond without thinking, without caring, your hands moving to his shoulders as you press closer to him. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more desperate, as if you are both trying to fill the void that has been gnawing at you for months.

When you finally pull back, breathless and trembling, Gwayne’s eyes are dark with something you’ve never seen before. “This… this is madness,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion.

“Madness,” you echo, your own voice shaking. “But it’s the only thing that feels real.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, the weight of what you’ve done pressing down on you. You should feel guilt, shame, regret—but all you feel is a strange kind of relief, as if a burden you didn’t know you were carrying has been lifted.

Gwayne’s hand still rests on your cheek, and he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch lingering. “We can’t do this,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his words, no real intent to stop.

“I know,” you reply, though you don’t mean it. You both know the truth—you will do this again, and again, until you’ve burned through all the self-control you have left. It’s inevitable, like the pull of the moon on the tide.

But for now, you just sit there, in the fading light of the courtyard, your hands still intertwined, the air between you charged with a promise of something more. Something dangerous, something forbidden, but something that, for the first time in months, makes you feel alive.

It's a night that feels suspended in time, where the old gods and new alike seem to hold their breath, watching, waiting.

You stand beside Gwayne, your heart pounding in your chest, each beat a thunderous drum in the stillness of the room. The decision to marry in secret, away from the eyes of the court and the judgment of the realm, was one made in the quiet moments between stolen kisses and whispered confessions. It was born out of a love that neither of you could deny, a love that defied the rules of blood and duty, a love that could only be sealed in the shadows.

The septon who stands before you is not one from the grand Starry Sept of Oldtown. He is an ostracized man, a septon fallen from grace, his robes frayed and worn, his face lined with the scars of a hard life. But his eyes are sharp, and there is a solemnity in his bearing that speaks of a deep connection to the gods, both old and new. It is this man that Gwayne sought out, a man who would not only marry you in secret but who would bless this union under the eyes of both the Seven and the Valyrian gods—an acknowledgment of the blood that flows in your veins, the fire that binds you to your ancestors.

The chamber is small, tucked away in the bowels of the Hightower, a place known only to a few trusted souls. The only witnesses to this union are the flickering candles and the ancient stone walls that have stood through centuries of history. And here, in this hidden place, you are about to make a vow that will bind you to Gwayne for eternity.

Gwayne turns to you, his eyes soft and filled with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. The man who once teased you with sharp words and arrogant smirks now looks at you with a love so profound it feels like it could consume you both. He reaches out, taking your hands in his, his grip firm and warm. The callouses on his palms are a testament to his life as a warrior, but the way he holds you is gentle, reverent.

"My love," Gwayne begins, his voice steady but thick with emotion, "before the eyes of the Seven, and in the presence of the Valyrian gods, I take you as my wife. You are my fire, my light, my salvation. In you, I have found not just love, but a purpose, a reason to be. I vow to protect you, to cherish you, to stand by your side, no matter what trials we may face. From this day until my last, you are mine, and I am yours."

His words send a shiver through you, the weight of his vow settling deep in your heart. You can feel the truth of them, the way they resonate with the very core of who you are. When you speak, your voice is soft but unwavering, carrying with it the depth of your own love and conviction.

"Gwayne," you begin, your eyes locking with his, "you are my heart, my strength, my true companion. In a world that seeks to tear us apart, you are the one who has always stood by me, who has seen me for who I truly am, and loved me all the same. I vow to stand with you, to fight for us, to love you with all that I am. We may walk a dangerous path, but I choose it willingly, because I choose you. Now and always, I am yours, and you are mine."

The septon steps forward, his voice low and gravelly as he intones the ancient rites. "Before the eyes of the gods, both new and old, I bless this union. By the light of the Seven and the fire of Old Valyria, may your love be eternal, may your bond be unbreakable. What is done here in secret, let it be known in the hearts of those who bear witness."

He raises a small vial, pouring the contents—a mixture of oil and salt—into a shallow basin. The scent of it fills the room, sharp and cleansing. He dips his fingers into the mixture and anoints your foreheads, first Gwayne’s and then yours, marking you with the symbols of both faiths. The coolness of the oil against your skin is grounding, a reminder of the gravity of this moment.

"By the authority granted to me by the gods," the septon continues, his voice carrying the weight of the ages, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You are bound by blood, by love, and by the will of the gods. Go forth as one, in strength and in unity."

Gwayne pulls you to him then, his hands cradling your face as he kisses you deeply, passionately, in a way that speaks of all the love he has kept hidden from the world. The kiss is a sealing of your vows, a promise made flesh. You melt into him, your hands gripping his tunic as you pour every ounce of your heart into that kiss, into this moment that is yours and his alone.

When you finally part, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting together as you share the silence of the moment, the weight of what you’ve just done pressing down on you. There is a quiet reverence in the room, a sense that something sacred has just taken place, even if it is a secret that must be kept from the world.

Gwayne doesn’t release you, his hands still holding you close as if he’s afraid to let go, as if by doing so, this moment will shatter. His eyes search yours, and what he finds there makes him smile, a rare, genuine smile that softens the edges of his features. “You are mine now,” he whispers, a note of wonder in his voice. “And I am yours.”

“Always,” you whisper back, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “No matter what comes.”

The septon quietly gathers his things, his presence now a shadow in the background, but before he leaves, he pauses at the door, looking back at you both. “May the gods watch over you,” he says softly, and there’s a hint of sadness in his voice, as if he knows the dangers that lie ahead for two who dare to love in defiance of the world.

And then, he’s gone, leaving you and Gwayne alone in the dimly lit chamber, the only witnesses to your union now the flickering flames and the silent walls. 

Gwayne takes your hand, leading you to a low table where a small feast has been laid out, simple but thoughtful. The food and drink are symbols of the life you will now share, a life that must remain hidden in the shadows, but one that is no less real for it.

You sit together, the silence between you comfortable, each of you lost in your own thoughts. When Gwayne finally speaks, his voice is quiet, but there’s a fierceness to it that makes you look up.

“We will find a way, my love,” he says, his hand reaching out to cover yours. “No matter what, we will find a way to be together.”

You nod, squeezing his hand in return, your heart swelling with love for this man who has become your everything. “Yes,” you agree, your voice filled with the same determination. “We will.”

The night stretches on, and eventually, Gwayne rises, pulling you into his arms once more. He leads you to the bed that has been prepared, and as you lie down together, the weight of the world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by vows spoken in secret but no less sacred.

In the quiet darkness, Gwayne’s fingers trace the outline of your face, his touch tender and full of love. “Sleep, my wife,” he murmurs, his voice a balm to your soul. “For tomorrow, we begin the rest of our lives.”

You close your eyes, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm that lulls you into sleep. And as you drift off, you know that no matter what the world might say, no matter what the future holds, you and Gwayne are bound together by something far stronger than duty or blood. You are bound by love, a love that defies the gods and the world alike.

And that, you think as sleep finally takes you, is all that matters.

The night outside the Red Keep is eerily still, as if the very air is holding its breath, waiting for something momentous to happen. Inside the queen’s chambers, the atmosphere is equally tense. Alicent Hightower sits at her desk, a single candle flickering beside her, casting shadows on the stone walls. Her hands tremble slightly as she unfolds the letter she has just received, the familiar sigil of House Hightower stamped in red wax at the seal. She has been waiting for this letter, though she dreads what it might contain.

Otto Hightower stands nearby, his hands clasped behind his back, his face an impassive mask. His eyes, however, are sharp, watching his daughter closely as she reads. The silence in the room is oppressive, broken only by the soft rustling of the parchment as Alicent’s eyes scan the contents.

As she reaches the end of the letter, her face pales, and her breath hitches. Slowly, as if the action costs her all the strength she has left, she lowers the letter to the desk. Her hand lingers on it for a moment before she crumples it in her fist, the delicate paper crinkling loudly in the quiet room.

“What does it say?” Otto asks, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

Alicent doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stares down at the crushed letter in her hand, as if by squeezing it tightly enough, she could somehow undo the words it contains. But no amount of denial can erase what she has read. Finally, she raises her eyes to meet her father’s gaze, and the look she gives him is one of profound unease.

“He’s coming to King’s Landing,” she says, her voice low and strained. “Gwayne. With… his family.”

Otto’s brows knit together slightly, though his expression remains carefully controlled. “His family?” he echoes, the words heavy with unspoken questions.

Alicent swallows hard, a sense of dread settling deep in her gut. “Yes,” she whispers, her mind racing as she considers the implications. The rumors she has heard, the whispers that have reached her ears in recent months, suddenly take on a new and terrifying significance.

She looks back at her father, her voice trembling as she asks, “Have you heard the whispers, Father? The rumors coming from Oldtown… about bastards walking the halls of the Hightower? Children with silver hair and purple eyes?”

Otto’s gaze narrows, a flicker of something—concern, perhaps—passing through his eyes before he schools his features once more. “Rumors, nothing more,” he replies, though there is a carefulness to his tone now. “Gwayne married a noble lady, a match arranged by our family in Oldtown. It was a quiet affair, nothing that would draw too much attention. The children you speak of are likely theirs, legitimate, though the Hightowers have chosen to keep their names and details discreet, to avoid unnecessary scrutiny.”

Alicent’s heart hammers in her chest, the dread in her stomach deepening into something closer to panic. She stands abruptly, pacing the length of her chamber as she tries to make sense of the situation. The image of those children—silver-haired, violet-eyed—flashes in her mind, and with it, a terrible realization begins to take root.

“The only woman who could give birth to children with those features,” she says slowly, her voice thick with fear, “is a Targaryen. A woman with the blood of Old Valyria. And the only one who has been close enough to Gwayne… is her. My daughter.”

Otto remains silent, his eyes following his daughter as she paces. He understands the gravity of her words, the implications of what she is suggesting. But he is also a man who has spent his life navigating the treacherous waters of court politics, and he knows better than to give in to panic.

“Alicent,” he begins, his voice firm but not unkind, “we do not know for certain. These are only rumors, whispers in the dark meant to sow discord. We cannot act on mere speculation.”

But Alicent is not so easily reassured. She stops in her tracks, turning to face him with a look of desperation. “And what if the rumors are true? What if she has given Gwayne children? What if those children come to King’s Landing with him? What then?”

Otto exhales slowly, his mind already working through the possible scenarios. “If the children are indeed of Targaryen blood,” he says carefully, “then we must ensure they are seen as legitimate. We must present them as the offspring of Gwayne’s marriage, no matter the truth. If they bear the look of Valyria, it will only serve to strengthen their claim as trueborn heirs of House Hightower.”

Alicent shakes her head, the fear in her eyes now mingled with a deep, gnawing guilt. “But what of her, Father? What of my daughter? If it becomes known that she has married her own uncle, that she has borne his children… it will be seen as a scandal, a sin in the eyes of the Seven.”

Otto moves toward her then, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “We will deal with it as we must,” he says, his voice resolute. “We have always been able to navigate the complexities of power, and this will be no different. But for now, we must be calm. We must wait and see what Gwayne brings with him to King’s Landing. If the whispers are true, we will control the narrative. We will ensure that whatever happens, our family remains strong, untarnished by scandal.”

But Alicent can’t shake the image of her daughter, the girl she sent away so many years ago, now grown into a woman whose life has taken a path she never anticipated. A path that has led her back to the very heart of the storm that Alicent herself helped create.

As she looks into her father’s eyes, she sees the determination there, the cold pragmatism that has always defined him. And she knows that whatever happens, Otto Hightower will do whatever is necessary to protect their family’s legacy. But as for her… Alicent is no longer sure where the line between duty and love lies. And the thought of what might come to light when Gwayne arrives sends a fresh wave of dread coursing through her.

Because deep down, Alicent knows that the rumors are more than just whispers. They are the truth, a truth she has tried so hard to deny. And that truth is coming to King’s Landing, wrapped in the guise of her brother’s family—a family that should never have existed, yet one that now threatens to unravel everything she has fought to preserve.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm golden light over the sprawling courtyard of the Red Keep. The air is heavy with anticipation, the kind that prickles at the back of your neck and settles uneasily in your stomach. Dowager Queen Alicent stands with her father, Otto Hightower, at her side, their eyes fixed on the great gates that lead into the heart of King’s Landing. Today, Gwayne Hightower returns to the capital, and with him, the secrets that have festered in the shadows of Oldtown.

As the gates creak open, the first thing Alicent notices is the Hightower banners, fluttering proudly in the breeze. A small company of knights and retainers rides in, their armor gleaming in the late afternoon sun, followed by a carriage flanked by more soldiers. But it is the figure on horseback at the head of the procession that draws her attention, making her heart skip a beat.

Gwayne Hightower rides in with all the confidence of a man who has nothing to hide, his expression calm, almost defiant. But it is not just his presence that sends a chill down Alicent’s spine—it is the woman who rides beside him. Her daughter, the princess she sent away so many years ago, now a grown woman with the unmistakable look of her Valyrian heritage. Her silver hair, cascading down her back in loose waves, catches the light, and her purple eyes, sharp and discerning, seem to pierce through the crowd.

But it is not just her presence that shocks Alicent and Otto—it is the way she and Gwayne sit side by side, unashamed and unafraid, as if daring anyone to question their union. Behind them, four children trail on smaller horses, their features a striking mix of Hightower and Targaryen—silver hair, purple eyes, and faces that mirror the legacy of both bloodlines.

Alicent’s heart sinks. The whispers, the rumors, they are all true. Her worst fears have materialized before her very eyes. She can barely breathe as she steps forward with Otto, her voice trembling with barely contained fury.

“Gwayne… what have you done?” Alicent’s voice is sharp, almost a hiss, as she locks eyes with her brother. “How could you be so reckless? So shameless?”

Otto steps forward as well, his usually composed demeanor now laced with anger. “This… this is an abomination,” he declares, his voice low but filled with authority. “You bring shame to our house, Gwayne. And you—” he turns to his granddaughter, his voice tightening—“you have brought dishonor to your name and to the memory of your father.”

But before either of them can say more, there is a sudden movement, a blur of silver and gold as someone rushes past them. Alicent barely has time to process what is happening before Aegon, now king and clad in his royal finery, sweeps forward. His face lights up with pure joy as he closes the distance between himself and his sister.

“Sister!” Aegon exclaims, his voice filled with delight. Without a second thought, he pulls her into a tight embrace, laughing as he buries his face in her hair. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”

You return the embrace just as fiercely, the years of separation melting away in an instant. Aegon’s warmth, his familiar scent, it all feels like home, like a piece of your heart has been returned to you. When he finally pulls back, he keeps his hands on your shoulders, his eyes scanning your face as if to reassure himself that you are truly there.

Aegon then turns his attention to the four children standing quietly behind you and Gwayne, their wide eyes watching the scene with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. His face softens as he approaches them, kneeling down to their level.

“And who are these fine young dragons?” Aegon asks, his voice gentle as he ruffles the hair of the eldest boy, who looks so much like his mother.

“They’re my children,” you say softly, pride evident in your voice. “Your nephews and nieces.”

Aegon grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief and affection. “I see they take after you, sister. They have the look of Targaryens—strong, bold.” He then looks up at Gwayne, his smile never wavering. “You’ve done well, Uncle.”

Gwayne inclines his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s face drains of color as she watches the scene unfold, her worst fears confirmed. She steps forward, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Aegon… did you know about this?” Her eyes bore into her son, searching for any sign of deceit.

Aegon straightens up, turning to face his mother with an expression of calm amusement. “Of course, Mother. Did you truly think my sister and I would not stay in contact? We’ve always been close. She wrote to me often from Oldtown. I knew everything.”

Alicent’s hands shake, her nails digging into her palms as she struggles to contain her emotions. “And you… you approve of this? Of this union?” Her voice breaks on the last word, the full weight of what has happened crashing down on her.

Aegon’s smile only widens, a hint of defiance in his eyes. “Approve? I rejoice in it. They’ve done nothing wrong. They’ve followed their hearts, and that’s more than most in this wretched world can claim.”

Otto’s face is a mask of stone, but his eyes burn with anger and frustration as he steps forward. “This is not just about following one’s heart, Aegon. This is about the sanctity of the family, of the realm. A marriage like this… it will bring scandal, division. It goes against everything we’ve worked to build.”

But Aegon only laughs, a sound that echoes in the tense courtyard. “What scandal? The Seven Kingdoms are mine, and I will decide what is scandal and what is not. My sister and Gwayne are married, and their children are legitimate in my eyes. That is all that matters.”

He turns back to you and Gwayne, his expression softening once more. “Come,” he says, extending his hand to you. “Let us go inside. You’ve been away from home too long.”

Without waiting for a response, Aegon takes your hand and leads you toward the entrance of the Red Keep, Gwayne and the children following closely behind. The knights and retainers part to let you pass, their faces a mixture of shock, confusion, and respect. As you walk, you feel the weight of your family’s judgment pressing down on you, but with Aegon at your side, you feel an unshakeable sense of confidence.

Alicent and Otto remain rooted in place, watching as you and your family disappear into the castle. Alicent’s face is ashen, her eyes wide with disbelief and horror. She opens her mouth to say something, to call out to her son, but no words come. The truth of what has happened, the reality of the situation, is too overwhelming.

As the doors to the Red Keep close behind you, you can feel the walls of the castle seem to close in, suffocating in their familiar embrace. But there is also a strange sense of liberation, of triumph, in walking beside Gwayne, your husband, with your children in tow, and the support of the king himself.

Whatever the future holds, you know that this moment—this homecoming—will be the beginning of something new. Something that, for better or worse, will change the course of your family’s history forever.

[websterss]

TILL DEATH DO US PART — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

REQUEST: okay so i’ve thought about sending requests your way and my mind came up blank except for a reversed-roles kinda thing for lockwood & co, in which that scene from the last episode where lucy goes to george to save him from the crazy lady (forgot her name) with the bone mirror, instead it’s reader but she doesn’t handle it as well as lucy and pass out or something (your choice, i just want angst) and although lockwood has been shot in the shoulder, he doesn’t care. all he cares about is if reader is gonna be okay 👀 (i just want some good ol’ angst written by you so i can die a little bit inside but also thrive in reading your writing 🥺🫶🏼)

WARNING(S): angst, some fluff at the end

WORD COUNT: 4,214

PAIRING: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader    

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

You didn’t quite know how you three had managed to end up locked in an underground cellar with Pamela. You couldn’t so much as put the fault onto George. He had put his sole faith and trust into their supposed friendship. He was too swayed by what he thought were good intentions, only to realize they were nothing but sick twisted purposes. Purposes that were going to put so many others at risk. 

“Please!” George begged. “Lucy, don't he’ll kill you.”

“Don’t you dare look, and whatever happens this wasn’t your fault. This was my choice.”

“Lucy, don't you dare.” You groan after having been jostled and shoved to the ground as George had. 

Lucy just turned to you, her features softening as she whispered with pure sincerity and concern in her voice. Her soft-as-the-sky eyes glowed in the darkness like twin lanterns and with a little sigh she replied, “…I have to.”

"No. You don't. We all get to make choices, and I'm making mine now." You walk up to her and hit her with the hilt of your rapier.  You hold your breath as she falls unconscious. You're quick to drag her over to George where he remains on the ground. "S-Shield her eyes, and whatever happens...don't look." You nod firmly at George.

George didn’t hesitate, shielding Lucy from the horror unfolding before them, but couldn’t help looking back to you. He seemed both concerned and terrified at the same time. “Lockwood won't like this!"

"He'll get over it!" You take your place in front of the mirror. Eyes flickering back and forth between Pamela and the covered mirror.

The air around you feels thick and oppressive. You feel sick and dizzy as the sense of impending doom and horror fills your body with a paralyzing chill. You look at the mirror, at Pamela, and the thought of what is to come sears across your mind.

You take a deep breath. With shaking hands, you await her response. “Tell me everything you see, what you feel, and what you hear.” She yanks a pin out from her hair. Then points the recorder towards you. “Every detail.” She says as a final word, then yanks back the cloth. You turn around immediately, feeling a rush of air and suction claw on the back of your hair and shoulders. “Look, look, look. Damn you, look!” Pamela exclaims.

You gasp as you reach forward, grabbing the silver-glass jar, the skull, and hold it out behind you to look at the mirror in your place.

"If you can talk to it, tell me what it says.”

You groan, closing your eyes tightly, trying to fight off the urge to look into the horrid mirror. You growl as you yell back to the damned skull. "Talk...Take it all in and tell your master what you see." Lockwood and George, even Lucy had been astonished when you all discovered that you could also communicate and hear the type three ghost. Your heart plummets as you hear the skull begin to wail.

“No, no, no, this isn’t right! Something’s changed!” Your breath shudders upon the information he has given you. “They’re trapped!”

“What? What? What is he saying? Speak, girl Speak!” Pamela grips her recorder tighter.

“It says something is wrong!”

“More!”

“It’s a trap. We have to destroy it!” You begin to whimper as it all grows to be too much for you to handle. You hold your breath as glimpses of your past flash in your mind. Stills of your parents before your tenth birthday. Finding them ghost-locked after coming home from Fittes. Horrid wretched flashes and faces of previous visitors you and the boys were called on to take a job about. Being pinned by a type two. Your breath grows cold upon being nearly ghost-locked yourself. But the one vision that struck you the most, that made you lose your grip on making it through this was seeing yourself hold Anthony in your arms as his eyes were milky, his brown irises glazed over white and still. You could see yourself crying and begging him to come back to you. Your eyes shot upon with a startle. You could feel yourself loosen your hold on the jar before you took it down with you to the ground. All you could hear was a faint yell of your name before you slipped into the dark void that clouded your mind.

“Y/n!” George hadn’t even hesitated to get onto his feet to tackle down the stand holding the mirror. 

“No!” Pamela cries out. George ran back over to where you lay unconscious. His hands were still tied behind his back but he still attempted to check for your pulse. He visibly relaxed as he came to feel your pulse thump against his skin. 

“You’re alright, you’re alright now...Lockwood will come soon and it’ll all be over soon.” He flinched, looking over his shoulder as he heard shuffling to his right. Lucy groaned, clutching at her head as she pushed herself off the ground. 

“Blood hell...” She complained, but one look at your unmoving body had her scooting closer to the two of you. She reached forward, brushing a few strands out from your face. Her palm resting against your cheek. “Is she...” She raised a brow at George. Thinking the worst of the worst. Your death at the hands of Pamela.

“No. She’s alright. Assumed the mirror struck her energy a bit. It was too much for her to handle.” 

“Lockwood is gonna-”

“Kill us.”

“I was going to say put her on house arrest but sure let’s assume the worst reactions possible. 

“Before we arrived. He practically begged her to run off and call DEPRAC. She was top priority...” Lucy muttered to herself thinking back on what Lockwood debriefed before they came to face Pamela. 

“Top priority?” George questioned. “Y/n?”

“Before we left, he mentioned how the mirror came close to being our second priority. I asked him out of curiosity what the first priority was. He didn’t answer me.” Lucy looks down at you with a new sense of understanding. The bond you and Lockwood shared was one like no other. Two souls brought together by unfathomable circumstances. Orphaned from the same cause, the same path that lead your loved ones to be unalive. To halves that made a whole. Who understood what was put at risk every day you stepped out into London��s busy and haunted streets. You both knew the sacrifices that were the hardest to make, but you both took them on over Lucy and George having to. The little family you both found yourselves, you put your whole lives and trust into. You were everything to one another, and that was a risk in itself. “Lockwood is going to have our heads...” She breathed out in realization.

“I think he knows that already.”

“What?” George gestured behind her with a grimace. Lockwood was standing a few feet away, clutching his shoulder. His eyes rotated from Lucy and George and onto your unmoving form. 

“Shit...” Lucy swallowed nervously as he let his rapier clatter to the floor. 

“Is she?” Lockwood swallowed his words down, not having the stomach to contemplate whether you remained with them or if you had finally joined alongside your parents and his. Lockwood took a few more agonizing steps towards your motionless form, his expression looking both exhausted and afraid. His fingers reach out but fall back down to his sides. He was only thankful you couldn’t see him tremble, as he held back on the urge to break down crying.  

“She’s okay...swear it.” Lucy nodded, a timid smile on her face as her eyes watered. 

Lockwood's eyes began to water from the sight. For an agent, death would be nothing more than a common occurrence. However, this was a different scenario, as a few tears streamed down his face. Before he could take another step forward, George finally free from his zip ties, carefully lifted you in a gentle motion, trying to prop you upwards. Lockwood hurried forward then, hands trembling as he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into a seating position. Your head lulling sideways at an uncomfortable angle. Lockwood's eyes darted all across your form, desperately hoping to find some kind of response from you.

"She took on the mirror...It was too much for her to handle. She fainted from it." George filled him in on what occurred.

Lockwood's breaths grew out of rhythm as he kept your body in place, trying to keep his hands from shaking. His fingers trembled at a furious pace as he placed his hand against your neck, needing to feel for himself for a pulse. To reassure him that you weren’t taken from him. It was a moment that felt like hours had passed. He spoke. “Did she look at it?” They could hear the panic in his voice.

"N-No. She used the skull." Anthony glanced over to where the type three ghost swirled around, displaying its very much livelihood. He wished the same for your state.

Lockwood's sigh of relief was palpable in the atmosphere. He withdrew his head from your shoulder and pressed his head gently against yours, his eyes closing shut. The only thing keeping him from losing it was the slight thump against his fingertips on your neck, it had his entire demeanor relaxing. Though it didn't calm his nerves. "She'll be alright," he promised George, who seemed to be on the verge of panic himself. "She'll be quite alright." He muttered softly as though the tiniest change in his tone would cause him to fall apart. 

Lucy was at a crossroads, her instincts screaming at her how badly she wanted to rush into Lockwood's arms to comfort him at this moment, but she had her priorities straight. You had taken her place. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for you and it angered Lockwood because you never stopped putting yourself before others.

"She knocked me out and took my place. I wouldn't have let her if I knew-" Anthony retracted from you and looked over to Lucy, having her own breakdown.

Knowing of your bond, she knew what losing you would do to him. The last thing she wanted was to add any more stress to his plate and his already heavy heart. “I know. It’s alright Luce...” Lockwood gave her a firm nod. He then turned back to you. Lockwood was staring at what you referred to as your imperfections, a freckle here, a scar against your temple there, and the crease in your brows, to him they were what made you simply perfect in his eyes. He couldn’t help the frown on his lips, the frown on your own lips not sitting well with him. Had you fainted in pain? Were you still in pain? It didn’t shake him as badly as your closed eyes did. He wanted nothing more than to peer into them again. Find a home in them once more. He willed and hoped them to finally open so that he could see that you were alright. 

He lied, your pulse hadn’t been enough, he needed to see you awaken for him to even function correctly. He needed his mind to think about anything else, something else so he asked.

“What marvelous object did she acquire this time...” He scoffed. “My first encounter with her was with the end of an umbrella.”

"The butt of her rapier," Lucy said. "Shit hurt..." She rubbed against the side of her temple.

“A rapier?” He breathed a small laugh. “I see you weren’t quite original this time...” A small smile appeared in Lockwood's eyes as he leaned forward again. His hand lowered to wrap around your fingers, all the while as he carefully placed your head upon his shoulder. His other hand brushed against your cheek, making note of your temperature. “Her hands are getting cold.”

"Is that bad?"

“Y/n. Can you hear me?” He lifted your head from his shoulder. “Her circulation is slowing. Our time frame for waking her up is shrinking.” It's always an internal struggle for him to remain composed, but he had to be strong for the lot of them.

"Where did Pamela go?" George began panicking. He grew weary seeing her hunched over the broken mirror.      

“Leave her, George!" Lockwood let out his frustration at the situation. “She’s not our priority right now.”

“You stupid boy. You broke it!” Pamela whined.

Lockwood turned to look back at Pamela, who was whining about the broken mirror as Lucy’s attempts to bring you back to consciousness were becoming more futile. Lockwood’s patience was wearing thin, and Pamela’s words were doing nothing but adding fuel to the flames.

“We need to go! Now!” Lockwood urged the two of them. As he was already attempting to pick you up, especially with his bad shoulder still bleeding out. The exhaustion hadn’t yet reached him, his adrenaline running rampant. 

Lockwood's words were cut short as he stumbled, dropping you to the ground. His bad shoulder had given way to the exhaustion that now began to consume him. He was losing his grip on everything. “Lucy...” he was pleading now. 

“We’ve got her, let’s go!” Lucy assured his panic, and swung your arm over her shoulder, George taking your other arm.

“Don’t drop her…” Lockwood barked out, as he struggled to maintain a standing position. The exhaustion finally started to take hold of him as his knees buckled beneath him. With his body starting to tremble and lose its grasp, he let out a deep groan, his breath shallowing from the physical exertion.

"Go!" Lucy ordered out of frustration. She admired his concern and care about you but not when their lives were currently on the line and a crazy bitch was staring into the mirror she tried forcing them to look into.

He didn’t want to allow any room for arguing.

-

Anthony had fallen unconscious as the lift back up. His body lay next to yours as George, Lucy, and Kipps adjusted the both of you. The last thing Anthony recalls was lightly pressing his hand on top of yours before he succumbed to the exhaustion that ransacked his body. He felt as though a train drove right into him, though at least now he could say he’s faced down the barrel of a gun and lived to tell the tale. You’d find it humorous. You always thought highly of his jokes and gave him a laugh when most never bothered. He’d give anything to hear you bubble out of joy. See you double over from the loss of air in your chest. He’d give anything...everything.

After the paramedics patched him up and reduced him to an arm sling, he hung back as you lay on the gurney behind him. He twisted in his seat, keeping a watchful eye on you, waiting, willing the universe to spare him and have your fingers twitch, or have you shift around. He needed some peace of mind.

Though the universe was not kind, your body remained lifeless in a state of deep slumber. Lockwood’s heartbeat grew heavier the longer he waited on the back of the ambulance, his mind flooded with the worst-case scenarios. That this would be the last time, that that smile of yours that could charm anyone with ease would be lost. If he was to lose you, then he had nothing left. Nothing and no one. His hand continued to shake as he felt himself become more and more of a wreck. He couldn’t breathe...he wouldn't be able to breathe...and he knew he’d whole himself in his room if you didn’t-

“Will the Mrs live to see another day?”

Anthony looked over at Inspector Barnes. He gestured to your stilified state. He had hoped his joke would upturn the tension but if presumed he hadn’t after Lockwood scoffed and rolled his eyes, adverting his gaze away and back where they longed to remain, solely on you.

“What’d the paramedics say?” He asked again.

“She’s alright...Nothing we couldn’t figure out ourselves. The pressure from the mirror exhausted her to the point of fainting. She’s stable...she’s surpassed every checkup they ministered with flying colors...”

“Yet...” Barnes trailed off.

“They don’t have the slightest clue as to why she won’t wake up. They already tried to but...” Lockwood didn’t want to say it out loud, but speaking it into existence confirmed his worst fears, that even though your vitals were good, and your body reacted well to the fluids they gave you, something was seriously wrong, if not physically, then mentally and that scared him more than anything else. “I have this inclining...”

"Lockwood-" Barnes began.

“I know what you’re going to say. Have hope. Remain optimistic as we’ll continue to observe her, monitor her vitals, hell test her blood. But what good will that do when we’ve done it already…” He paused, the exhaustion growing with every passing moment. “What if she never wakes up?” Lockwood’s breath shudders.

“You both know of the risks–“ Barnes tries to reason.

“We’ve been in the business of risk exposure for years. We don’t expect ourselves to survive from the first encounter. But this–this feeling...” Lockwood’s voice was breaking. He couldn’t keep himself contained any longer. “I’m aware!” Lockwood snaps, his voice breaking, his eyes reddening. “All too aware, but if I’d known this would happen I’d…” His thoughts trail off, unsure of what to say anymore. His eyes kept darting back and forth between you and Barnes. He’d succumb to begging. He would. Just to see you move a little. Any kind of movement. Just one would be enough to quell his panic. 

“Taken her place?” A small knowing smile reached Barnes's brows.

Lockwood couldn’t bring himself to deny it. He took a deep breath, as he spoke in a hushed and gentle tone “I would hand myself over to death without question. Any given day.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’d rather she lose me, than I her. So yes, I’d have taken her place.” Barnes's eyes slowly flickered past his shoulder with an easing smile. He looked down to the rubble. 

“Over my dead body-” Anthony had never turned his head faster. He instantly froze. The relief that had started to wash over him at seeing you had given way to embarrassment. His own injury was forgotten. You sat up and your eyes landed on him. “Hand yourself over to death, or you mad- What the hell happened to your shoulder?” 

“That would be my leave...” Barnes pointed to his left and swiftly left the two of you.

“My shoulder? Oh, it…I was shot.” He answered as simple as that, it contained no other details, nothing to ease your concern, which led you right into interrogating him.

“Shot?” You were taken aback by his nonchalant reply. “What do you mean, shot?” You exclaim. 

“Nothing worth troubling yourself about. How do you feel?” There was an air of tension between the two of you, where everything had become so fragile. After everything that had happened, a simple statement or action would break the illusion. You were awake and animated, and giving him a piece of your mind. It didn’t feel real in the slightest.

“I…” A wave of exhaustion was still coursing through your body, a result of the exhausting ordeal that you had just undergone. The ordeal had exhausted your body so much that your brain shut down. But your physical exhaustion also masked the emotional exhaustion you were feeling. You felt out of your element; overwhelmed by everything that was now around you. Everything felt unfamiliar to you, as though you had been transported into an unknown dimension, one where your mind felt trapped. Anthony’s ghost locked body in your arms. “I don’t know...I couldn’t wake up.”

"I know- The paramedics tried everything and-"

It was impossible to say what you did and didn't remember. But from what you recall, the events of the evening were a blur. "The mirror..." You attempted to scoot closer to him. Your hands grazed against Anthony's hair. Your eyes caught sight of his shoulder, wrapped in bandages and the sling that secured it together. Was it bleeding? But it wasn’t your primary focus. You just needed to feel him. “There were so many faces, so many faces.” You breathe out a gasp. Your eyes watering. “I saw you...”

“Me?”

"You were ghost-locked. I had lost you..." Your breath hitched.

"It wasn't real. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. It wasn't real." Anthony reassured, pressing kisses against your temple.

"But what if it was...What if what the mirror showed me becomes true?"

He paused, taking a moment to contemplate your concerns. Anthony had already spent the evening playing out the worst-case scenarios, but to hear you state them verbally had somehow made them more palpable. However, a small part of him was curious whether you saw your future by the mirrors doing, or if it was just an illusion to break you mentally.

"Then I'll make sure that doesn't happen." He whispered. His voice was tinged with emotion. His hands reached for yours and intertwined his fingers with yours. A sign of his promise to you.

“You can’t promise that-”

Anthony looked down at your hands, his eyes flickering between them as he attempted to focus on anything other than the overwhelming amount of emotions swirling within him, the emotions threatening to consume him whole. So he focused instead on your hands being intertwined with his, and the sight warmed him in a pleasant way he hadn't felt in many months, as the thought of possibly losing you had him filled with dread.

He leaned over and kissed your knuckles. “Did you not hear my declaration of my love for you?”

“Oh, the one where you give yourself to death- Like hell!” You yank your hand out of his with a scoff.

“Hand myself over–” He corrected you. “I’d hand myself over to death.” He continued.

“I’m about to hand you a right hook.” You throw a playful punch to his bad shoulder, forgetting his injury and rippling with regret instantly. “Oh!”

“Ow.” He groaned. “What’s the big issue?” He laughed softly. “What’s wrong with giving up my life for yours?” He teased. “You know I’d die for you.”

"You don't have my permission." You mutter softly. Bringing a hand up to brush back his hair.

As your hand brushed back his hair, Anthony couldn’t help but smile at the small gesture. He grabbed the hand you used to brush back his hair and lightly kissed the back of your hand again. “If I wanted to I would give myself over to death this very instant. I’d do just about anything for you, you know.” He replied. His gaze was now fully on you. His eyes were a deep amber, shining like two gemstones.

"And that's what scares me the most." You hum.

“It shouldn’t.” He scoffed with a smile. “Besides, I thought you valued my loyalty.” He raised a brow playfully.

"Yes. When I'm not there to defend my word. That’s when I put my whole faith in your loyalty to me...but when death comes knocking. I don't want it." Your eyes soften.

He looked away briefly, then back at you with a teasing smile. “I wouldn’t give my life to save just anyone, you know.”

"Oh, I'm aware." You fight back an amused smile. He noticed it though, he caught the smile that you attempted to mask. You were never able to conceal much around him, and that was all right. He liked seeing your emotions on full display. You were your truest self when you let your guard down around him. It made you all the more adorable that way. “And you?” He asked. “Would you give yourself to death for me?” He teased, but you knew he was serious.

Your smile widened for a moment before you caught yourself, and answered without taking a beat. You would allow him to know your fears, for the fear of seeing him suffer on your behalf was the worst feeling one could endure. That was something you hated the thought of. You didn’t quite see yourself as the more vulnerable one out of the two of you. Deep down Anthony conquered his inner demons through you, shared his past, his troubles, and confessed his deepest fears to you. You’d help him without any hesitation. You would do anything for the bloke, even if that meant going as far as sacrificing your own life for the sake of him getting to keep his, you would do it, and you’d do it in a heartbeat no less.

“Any given day.” One glance into your eyes and Anthony knew. He knew you would keep that promise till death tethered on whose hand to take. When? Well, you’d never truly know for sure.

Content with your answer, he leans in and kisses your cheek softly. You relax into his touch, your lashes brushing down on top of your under-eyes. He pulls away with a stupid grin. His eyes filled with want and mischief, your favorite combination.

[happypotato48]

Century of Love EP 1 Unhinged Tangent Thoughts

Well well well what we do have here, a BL about a homopobic century old granddwink and his long quest to find the reincarnation of the woman he lost. but too bad for him cause the heaven is a genre savvy BL writer and they know what's up. they says "you know what this bitch just ate our magic rock, let's fuck with him for a little bit and make this shit gay. it's better that way baby!"

History time, welp didn't want to start with this but here. tldr during this period it's very much sucked to be non central thai person and it's also extra sucked to be a chinese or indian person during this time. i never hear first hand account from my grandparents because they both passed before i was born, but the long lasting effect of it still very much present in my mom.

He's so beautiful and without the bad wig too, i'm so happy.

I will support heterosexuality this one time and one time only cause i liked the way this lady girl bossed her way through those pigs.

Magic gay rock! and thank you show for letting Daou take his shirt off this early.

Ok i'm not that emotional invested cause we just got here but damn, Daou is very good in this scene.

Severus motherfucking snape! ya'll can call me backy with the good ears cause just from this one line i instantly recognized him as a prolific voice actor whose dubbed a lot of C-dramas/movies and many hollywood movies without googling him. and yeah the first role of his that came up for me was snape lol

I love this family already.

He's cute and a ซินแส too. this is a kind of boy that i can take to show off to my chinese side of the family and they would be all over him.

You leave my future husband alone old man! he just a cute little candid man.

this dorky family is everything 😭

literal red herring.

Perfection 🤞

Ok show stop it this is too cute. god i love red thread of fate in my romance!

Awwww he so cute! nobody can resit this smile. mark my word this smile will be the dead of that old man.

Ok plz don't have another kinky sex in the supermarket cause that is nasty and i'm pretty sure a health code violation.

👀 i'm looking respectfully

Someone better BE!

ok that was a cute first ep. grumpy old man in denial vs the cutest sunshine that ever live, i'm seated. this show is more camp than initially what i thought it was going to be but hey it seems fun so i'm not complaining.

[fandoms-writings]

Okokok so this could be for knight bucky 👀

(if reader is like a queen or princess), Bucky is in charge of your safety, he's always near and one day he escorts you to the gardens for a walk and him and reader are alone and he's so tempted to grab your hand!!!! It's aching to know what it's like to feel your skin against his (hand scene from Pride and prejudice iykyk🤭)

carrot you genius

i definitely followed this prompt pretty loosely and it kinda took on a form of it's own but i hope you enjoy it <3

Yes, Your Grace

Part 2 | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Knight!Bucky x Queen!Reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: a little bit of angst, but that's honestly about it.

You never lasted too long at galas, especially when they weren't in your own kingdom. 

Not having the familiarity of your staff. The smell of salt in the air as the ocean breeze washed in through your open corridor. The certain click of your shoes against the marble floors. It was all yours and safe and commonplace. 

Being in someone else's kingdom, at an event where everyone wants a chance to dance with the unwed queen was exhausting. You almost never left the dance floor with how many suitors were trying to win you over, to take the seat of King next to you. You never enjoyed any of them though. You knew they were just in it for the title, the power. Most of them not believing you should be able to rule on your own. That it was sacrilege that you still remained unwed. 

But you put on a brave face, a large fake smile to appease them and to keep the peace. If you didn't provoke them, it gave them no reason to storm your castle's walls. 

The exhaustion was evident on your face as James watched you from the sidelines. He was to have eyes on you at all times, especially since you weren't in your own home. He was your protector, hand picked by your father before he passed to be your personal knight until you relieved him or reassigned him. You had yet to do either in the five years he'd been by your side. 

His armor clinked as he made his way to you, mindful not to bump into anyone with the bulky metal. Expertly moving through the sea of royals, he paced his steps with the musicians playing in the corner - he'd practiced this dance with you too many times to count. You'd wanted a partner to brush up on your skills and you'd asked him one day during your breakfast. That was the closest he'd ever been to you for that long.

Your dance partner spun you out from their arm and towards James, who gave you a knowing look when you spotted him. He smirked at the pleading in your eyes and quickened his pace, stopping next to you. 

"Pardon me, Lord Wilson, I was wondering if I could steal her grace for a moment," He requested, the tone in his voice really leaving no room for argument. He watched as you curtsied and the lord bowed to you before you turned and grabbed James's elbow, allowing him to lead you outside. 

"I thought you might like a breath of fresh air," He leaned down a bit so you could hear his whispers as you passed other attendants. "I could tell you weren't enjoying the way Lord Wilson was spinning you around the floor. 

The noise that left your lips was a mix between a scoff and a laugh and it pulled James lips into a smile as he looked down at you. 

Your hand slipped from his elbow and he let you walk just a step in front of him. You glanced over your shoulder, "I appreciate the concern, as always, Sir James." 

"I thought we discussed this," He started, following you as you wandered the gardens that, in his opinion, could never rival your own, "I requested you not to call me James."

"You did," You smirked, stopping at a stone railing that overlooked the small pond as you turned to face him entirely, leaning against the stone, "but I do love seeing you in a fit over it." 

"I'd hardly call me reminding her highness of my request a fit," He chuckled as he stood just out of reach, which you took notice of. You always did. 

"Why are you standing over there," you asked, your smile slipping, "I won't bite." 

He gave you an easy smile, soaking in your attention, basking in it. 

It wasn't that you never gave it to him or that you were stingy with it. In fact, it was quite the opposite. You were always speaking with him. He accompanied you everywhere you went, so why wouldn't you? What kind of queen would you be if you didn't speak with your personal knight at all while he protected you? 

You two had grown close over the years, your relationship becoming more of one between friends rather than one of subordinate and superior. And James didn't mind one bit. He'd never tell anyone, for risk of being reassigned away from you, but he loved you. 

He was in love with you. 

He had been for years and it was one of the many reasons that he was so persistent about protecting you, even when you told him to get some rest - he'd just sit on the floor outside your chamber doors those nights. You started having Steve switch with him at night so he could sleep too, but he'd only sleep for a handful of hours and get washed up before coming back to switch again. 

You held your hand out to him, waiting for his gloved fingers to gently grasp yours. He did so, but at the expense of the tug in his chest. 

In all his years of serving you, he'd never touched you. He always made sure something was between the two of you, his gloves, your fur coat, something. 

It wasn't that he didn't want to touch you, he was actually dying to do so. He dreamed of the day that he could feel your skin against his, but he didn't want to taint your perfectly smooth complexion with his dirtied callouses. You deserved someone with a softer touch than his own. You deserved someone's hands who hadn't been covered in blood and dirt and grime and sin. 

He let you guide him to stand next to you, waiting for you to drop his hand, but you continued to hold on to it, absently fiddling with the leather covering his skin. God, what he wouldn't do to be able to actually hold your hand. To brush elbows. To feel your fingers on his arm as he led you around town. 

"Jamie?" He glanced up from your fingers to see you staring at the still water of the pond. 

"Yes, your highness?" 

It was a moment before you responded, but you didn't look over at him. Instead, you gazed down at the stone under your fingertips, scratching your nail along its surface - something he knew you did when you were nervous. 

"Do you think they're right?" If he hadn't been waiting with baited breath, he would've missed the question with how quiet you were. He figured you didn't want anyone else hearing your conversation so he dipped his head lower towards your ear. 

"What about?" 

"About me," You glanced up at him then, causing his heart to almost leap out of his chest. He'd never been close like this. Close enough to speak in hushed tones, sure, but never enough to see the details in your irises, the individual lashes that brushed against your cheeks when you blinked. "Do you agree that I'm some - some mad woman to not be married? To not have a husband to do the ruling while I give him heirs?" 

"Well," he started, testing the waters and giving your fingers a gentle squeeze, "I guess that depends on why you have yet to wed someone." 

You were silent at that as you refused to look away, but you squoze his fingers back, gripping his hand as you pulled it closer to you. 

He wanted to pull away from you, surely this close proximity would bring more talk about you to the other royals. Someone of your standing shouldn't be this close to him, holding his hand, noses almost touching. 

Yet, here you were. 

"I fear someone may already have my heart," You stated, glancing between his eyes. A pit formed in his chest and he had to ignore the ache as he steadied his breathing. 

Of course you had your eye on someone. With as many potential suitors as you had, how could you not already have a certain person in mind? But that left the question - why hadn't you wed them yet? Surely, whoever had caught your eye would be pleased to wed you. Who wouldn't was the better question. 

"Why haven't you wed them yet, your grace?" He gruffly asked, swallowing down the sudden surge of emotion in his throat. He was your personal knight - he couldn't let something like this break him down. Especially when you were not within your own palace walls. He had to remain calm and collected, at least until you retired for the evening. Then he could let the cracks spread until morning. 

You tipped your head down to look at his chest as you placed your free hand over the armor there, your nails gently tapping against the metal. "That's a sensitive conversation that shouldn't be held outside of our home walls, don't you think?" 

You looked back up at him, almost craning your neck with your proximity. He nodded, dazed at how your voice sounded when you said 'our home.' It wasn't the first time you'd referred to it like that, you did both live there. But there was something about the way your voice lightened when you said it. Like it was lifting a weight off your chest saying you wanted to tell him your secret. And though he may not be ready to hear who'd stolen your affections, a sense of pride filled him. You trusted him enough to tell him this secret of yours. 

And even if he wasn't ready to hear it, he'd protect that secret with his life if need be. Because it'd be for you.

He nodded, muttering a word of agreement and you smiled, but it lingered longer than usual. The corners of your mouth stayed lifted as you pried your gaze from his and released his hand, turning back to the path. You took a couple steps away before looking back over your shoulder at him, your smile ever-present. 

"Let us go home, shall we?" You asked. 

He shoved his nerves down as far as they'd go, steeling himself in preparation for your secret, and nodded once.

"Yes, your grace." He stepped away from the pond to follow you to the waiting carriage. 

He knew the time would come when you'd find a proper suitor, he couldn't expect you to stay unwed forever. 

He just didn't expect it to hurt as much as it did.

[cryobabyy]

Tbh I don't think it's that Storer is against Syd and Carm moving past a platonic relationship, he probably just doesn't want to reveal too much about what goes on in the writer's room and what they're cooking. You gotta throw people off with some misdirection - it's pretty standard for keeping the plot a surprise. No one wants to watch a TV show when they already know what's going to happen.

That being saaaaaiiid 👀

The decision to use Strange Currencies; first when Carmy and Claire see each other for the first time in the supermarket, and then again but distorted and backward when he's thinking about Claire, and then clear and forward when he thinks about the first time he met Sydney; that was pretty heavy-handed symbolism. It was a deliberate choice. From a narrative standpoint, there are not many ways to read that juxtaposition of Claire and Sydney other than Claire triggering anxiety associated with his past and Sydney representing the future and stability. Claire reminds him of who he was and what could have been. Sydney reminds him of who he is; More so who Sydney believes he is. "You're the most excellent CDC, at the most excellent restaurant in the entire United States of America". Her voice literally and figuratively cuts through the chaos, the thought of the first time he saw her and how she came back when he thought he was irredeemable brought him down from the panic attack.

I literally can not come up with a platonic justification for such blatant imagery. I guess you could say his vision of Sydney represented the restaurant as a whole? But if that were the case, why not include any of the other staff in the montage? Why choose a romantic song for this sequence? WHY IS IT THE SAME SONG THAT PLAYED WHEN CARMY MET CLAIRE???

"These words; you will be mine all the time." LIKE??? HELLO???

Anyway lol

I can only think of two logical explanations

1.) This scene was a massive oversight in the writer's room. They unintentionally framed Carmy's feelings for Syd as romantic by making the creative decision to Juxtapose her with Claire (his actual love-interest at the time). What was written did not translate well to the screen. So basically "Oops we didn't mean it like that".

2.) Storer is slowly laying the groundwork for Sydney and Carmy's relationship to evolve past friendship, or at least experimenting with that narrative possibility.

Now, I do think it will literally take forever - like multiple seasons forever - but I do think it will happen. The build-up is so important. Well-developed and satisfying romance (especially in television) takes time. Don't lose hope y'all!!

[tj-dragonblade]

hello hello, how about #6 for the spotify wrapped 👀

6 - Arwen's Vigil by The Piano Guys This is an instrumental piece evoking steadfast hope and sweeping passions, and I think it calls for a Knight!Hob AU. Visually, Hob will be a tidied-up version of 1389 and Dream will have Tom's Hollow Crown look.

(Synopsis bled into scene-drafting oops)

Dream, the ruler of wherever, has sent his best men on a dangerous quest of some sort. Including his unspoken favorite, his most faithful, the man who holds his heart, the man who will never know it. Dream cannot abuse his station; he is the king; Hob is his knight. They cannot be together. But nothing can stop him holding vigil each night as he waits for news, his thoughts circling on Hob, praying for his safe return.

The news when it comes is bittersweet; the quest was successful but at great price. Only three of the ten men remain to return home; the message does not tell who. Dream paces endlessly, frets endlessly, heart perpetually in his throat as he grapples with the not-knowing, the fear that his Hob has perished.

When the men return they are only two; the third fell to bandits on the road and the second is gravely injured. The first, Dream sees with a relief that threatens to overwhelm him, is his Hob.

The injured man is seen to, rushed to the medics; Hob is tired and dirty but unharmed, and Dream calls for a bath to be drawn in his private quarters. He will tend to Hob himself, with the viable excuse of debriefing him re: the quest.

So before long we wind up with Hob dozing quietly in the warm bath in Dream's quarters, Dream watching over him, letting him doze and making sure he doesn't slip underwater, keeping the fire roaring, etc. Ooh, ooh, there should be a hair washing scene first, Dream washing Hob's chest and shoulders and beard for him, gentle and intimate and Hob protesting his king serving him this way and Dream shushing him with something like 'My noble steadfast Hob, my most loyal and enduring friend (dangerous, so daring to admit aloud he considers him thus), let me take care of you for once' and so Hob quiets, and lets him, and Dream moves on to the proper hair washing and by the time he's finished Hob is drifting asleep.

So Dream lets him sleep, keeps watch, tends the fire etc, and after a bit he's sitting on a chair by the tub lost in thought when there's a wet touch to his hand and he looks up to find Hob's warm brown eyes fixed steadfastly on him.

"My liege," Hob says softly, gaze unwavering, and brings Dream's hand to his lips, lets them graze over the knuckles.

Dream sucks in a breath, shaken, filled with such ardent longing that he fears to speak, lest he give himself away. But Hob is still speaking.

"I have faced death many times, but none more certainly than this last."

"Hob—"

"And I'm alright with that." He sits up, leans forward, still holding Dream's hand. "I will go where you send me; I will serve you to my last breath and die gladly if it means you're safe. But having faced that possibility so starkly—" he turns Dream's hand, presses his lips soft to the cup of Dream's palm "—I have realized. There are things I do not wish to take to my grave." He arches Dream's hand back gently, places a softly-heartfelt kiss to the inside of his wrist, lifts his eyes back to Dream's.

"My lord Dream. It is not simply my sword and my service which are pledged to you, but my heart as well."

Dream cannot help the gasp that escapes him; neither can he manage words, which is just as well as Hob is still speaking.

"I know we can never be, and I do not expect any return of my feelings. I am happy to love you silently from afar, as I always have. This—" his lips brush the pulse beating furiously in Dream's wrist "—is more than enough, your care and consideration of me here, they are more than enough. If I am to die in some future endeavor, then I will die at peace knowing you are aware that you were loved by me. And that is enough."

"You dare." Dream finds his voice at last, though it trembles terribly. "You. Dare. To speak so carelessly of dying, when I have spent days sick with worry of your welfare, when I have not slept for fear I had lost you this time, when I have only just had those fears assuaged by your return—"

Hob is quite taken aback, but still he holds Dream's hand. "My liege—"

"Dream." The tremor in his voice matches the wavering of tears filling his vision, the way his fingers tremble in Hob's gentle hold. "You will call me Dream when it is only you and I, and you will not greet death so cavalierly should it come for you. You will exercise every caution, you will fight with your all to return to me, for I could not bear to lose you, not now, when you tell me that the heart I so long for is pledged to me in truth, I could not bear it—"

He is cut off by the soft touch of Hob's fingers to his lips, wet and wrinkled from the bath water, beseeching his silence. He meets Hob's eyes, tears spilling over soundlessly, and finds Hob's gaze wide, wondering, warm and hopeful and dark enough to drown in; when Hob's fingertips move gently from his lips to touch his tears, to reverently stroke a single droplet away, Dream shivers. And when Hob releases his hand, moves closer, when both of Hob's hands are gently framing his face, when Hob is gazing up at him with naked adoration, Dream knows he is lost. He does not fight the way Hob leans up and draws him down; he cannot fight his own desires any longer and he cannot deny this man any wish.

The kiss is tentative, soft, Hob's lips sliding across his, between, pressing gently until Dream gasps—

And Hob draws back, eyes searching Dream's, seeking permission, confirmation that his forwardness is welcome, and Dream can think of no better assurance than to kiss him again.

He lunges forward, mouth finding Hob's unerringly, and it is Hob this time who gasps, whereupon Dream brings his tongue into the kiss and then Hob moans. Dream touches him, as he has longed to do for years, strokes through his wet beard and wet hair, touches the wet curves of his shoulders and the glorious mat of wet hair on his chest, heedless of the drag of his own sleeves in the bathwater.

"My lord Dream—" Hob barely pulls away, lips brushing Dream's as he speaks.

"Not here," Dream interrupts. "Never here, think me not your lord when we are alone, I beg—let me be just a man, let me be but the one who would hold your heart dear and trust that you hold mine the same—"

"Dream," Hob says then, tremulous, wondering, and the blossoming familiarity of Dream's unadorned name on Hob's lips has him swooning back into a kiss.

It quickly grows desperately impassioned, fierce and frantic as emotions rise and inhibitions fall in their wake. Hob flounders about in the tub and stands, bringing Dream up with him, pulling Dream to him and picking him up, cradling Dream bridal-style as he steps out of the tub, naked and streaming wet and still kissing his king. Dream clings around his neck, lost in the ardent warmth of Hob's mouth, uncaring of how Hob's wet hirsute body makes an absolute ruin of his clothing.

He will not be wearing it much longer, regardless.

So I guess this will be going in the wip pile but there is no telling if or when I'll get back to it. The rest will just be smut; Hob carries Dream over to the furs spread on the stone floor in front of the fire, lays him down, strips him bare of his wet robes with reverence, tenderly fingers him open and then makes love to him over and over, ardent and adoring and attentive until tears of joy and pleasure are streaming from Dream's eyes, until his heart and body sing with the love Hob bears him, the love he bears Hob in turn. Or something equally purple-prosed and sappy. This will be smut to rot your teeth on I assure you.

Inevitably this art and the third one here ended up rotating in my mind even if they don't quite apply to what I scribbled down - they convey the same kind of mood.

Spotify Wrapped Askmeme Post

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: IN A NEW POST, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you like)

Tagged by @probadbatch (LOVING your last lines) and a highly suspicious tag from @meshurkaan/@theproblemwithstardust who may have known exactly which two WIPs I had open last night...

So how about I post the actual Last Lines from each WIP, and then below the cut I'll post a bit more of the scenes for certain people 👀 who may have begged for spoilers (can you resist the keep-reading button...?)

1/ Whatever it was, it felt good. 2/ "I’m going to take you apart bit by bit."

Tags for @indigofyrebird @morethansky @wolveria @rendomski @huntressdarkness if you want to play! :)

And if certain people are absolutely sure they want more expansive sneak peeks at upcoming stories from the Beach Days timeline...

Cloneshipping beyond here, don't like? Don't click!

BDHB Laundry Day

Crosshair came up behind him, so close that their bodies brushed. His right hand bracketed Hunter’s hip, whilst with the left he reached past him to retrieve a second mug, placing it next to Hunter’s where the other clone spooned caf powder generously into both. As he leaned back, it was easy to press his lips to Hunter’s shoulder, then to the sensitive spot under the hinge of his jaw. With a soft moan Hunter melted bonelessly against him, and it didn’t take much coaxing to encourage him to tilt his head so Crosshair could draw a long, lazy kiss from him. “Go back to bed,” Crosshair murmured when their mouths parted, as Hunter reclined his head back against his shoulder. “I’ll take Omega out for the day.” “I’m fine. ‘M not that tired.” Crosshair merely mouthed another kiss to the tattooed edge of his jaw, smiling at the rasp of stubble he found there. He felt the shiver of delight that ran through Hunter’s body. “Caf in bed, and a lie-in?” he prompted, voice low and alluring. “Come on.” His only answer was the weight of Hunter’s body relaxing into him, a sleepy hum escaping him. “Perhaps. It does sound nice.” Crosshair squeezed his hip, grinning fondly as he nuzzled against his face. “Go on. I’ll bring your caf through.”

BDHB Smut

“So… how are we gonna do this?” Crosshair gave a shaky exhale and licked his lips, finding his throat suddenly dry. “I… don’t know. Stars, Hunter, I’ve dreamed of all the ways I want to fuck you. I just never thought about how one of those times would be our first.” Hunter took a deep breath, fixing his gaze deliberately on Crosshair. “Whatever you want. Just–” Seeing Crosshair’s reserved mask fracture at his hesitation, Hunter leaned forwards to grab his wrists urgently. “I trust you,” he said quickly, words tripping over themselves in his haste to get his reassurances out. “It’s just… my senses. It can be a lot. And it’s been a while.” His cheeks heated at the last part, but the frightened look had left Crosshair’s eyes and instead he was regarding Hunter cautiously. “You really think that’s going to affect you?” Hunter shrugged. “It might.” Now Crosshair was looking at him with renewed interest, and he reached out to trace his fingertips gently along Hunter’s tattooed jaw, down his throat, his chest, dropping his hand to tease just above the fastening of his trousers. “I’m going to make you feel everything,” he whispered, an ardent promise which, spoken in his most intense voice, make Hunter moan softly and press forwards for a kiss. Crosshair quickly captured him with an arm around his waist, pinning Hunter to his body whilst his other hand raked through his hair, devouring him greedily. “Fuck, Hunter, I want to make this so good for you–” “And you,” countered Hunter into their kiss, pressing himself more tightly to Crosshair’s body, shifting his weight to straddle his lap. “I want it to be good for you, too.” “It will be,” Crosshair promised him, pulling back to fix him with a wicked smile. “I get to fuck you at last. How can it be anything but perfect?”

[zutaranation]

Talking about The Search with some moots on twitter, got me thinking some really interesting potentials.

It’s in character that Zuko would forgive Ursa for forgetting him and want what’s best for her and intellectually understand why she did what she did, but I think emotionally, beneath the surface, he would feel deep pain at that.

Ikem and Kiyi’s existence clog up the plot. It’s too many cooks in the kitchen. Dont get me wrong, Ikem is a fine dude, he seems chill, and I love the dadko moments that come from Kiyi, but it’s too much going on directly linked to the main cast’s lives. That’s why it’ll never be addressed, which feels cheap and makes the reader feel cheated. Like Zuko has a STEPDAD now?! That should be a huge plot and discussion, but it’s not. It’s glossed over. There’s too many characters.

The whole gaang could’ve looked at Zuko, remembered what Ozai looked like, and laughed at him for thinking Ikem was his bio dad. That made no fucking sense. Sadly for Zuko, he’s the spitting image of Ozai. I could see Zuko being in denial, but Aang should’ve laughed at him tbfh.

Like Kiyi and Ikem wouldn’t come up in a gaang adult movie they’d be forgotten and that’s why they shouldn’t have existed.

Kiyi also just feels like some weird bandaid consolation prize for Zuko to toss Azula aside ??? It’s weird idk.

Like why are Ursa’s parents presumably dead? They easily could’ve been alive 💀 Ursa should’ve been vibing with them and zuko meets normal grandparents that were hidden from him for years … it feels less cluttering of a story than making up Ikem and Kiyi and then you would just presume the grandparents are old and rickety and have to hang back in Hira’a most of the time so it’s not like bugging your mind with questions and adding more unaddressed storylines!

I’m okay with the Ursa forgetting her kids plot. I do think it makes her shitty, but I’m okay with the tragedy of it and her being kinda a shitty mom.

Ikem is low key a freak for helping Ursa forget her memories then settling down with her like NOTHING HAPPENED

I wish that Ozai and Ursa once had feelings for each other and he slipped into “madness” in an “absolute power corrupts absolutely” kinda way. It’s more interesting than “he’s always an evil big bad gonna tie you to the train tracks” vibe and eliminates the need for stupid ass Ikem. I remember Bryke mentioning this once too in some old ass trivia bit or something for “Zuko Alone”.

The worst part about The Search is the glossing over the emotional scenes. What readers had wanted for years so badly was the emotional payoff of either Zuko facing his mother was dead, or actually seeing them reunite. Also— the most emotional— Ursa reacting to Zuko’s scar is entirely skipped. It sucks.

Not letting Zuko and Katara have a single conversation when Sokka and Zuko do and Aang and Zuko do is insane. Katara had so much to feel and bond and hurt over Zuko with (yes platonically in this case I’m not that in denial @ antis). It sucks so bad they cut this entirely for shipping bs hatred because BRYKE are 6 years old emotionally.

This would’ve been a much better and emotionally charged story on screen. It was really cheated by being done on a limited page comic. It needed more time, voice acting and music.

It’s implied heavily, as many of us always assumed, that Ursa was SA’d.

If zutara was canon, I think Katara would be furious at Ursa and it would be an interesting conversation and story. Maybe I’ll write that fic

Regardless of these many flaws, the story is much more in character than The Promise or Smoke & Shadow. I hate those comics so bad for making the theme let’s all kill Zuko and be nonchalant if he dies! And making it so that it’s like he never had a found family and still no one loved him and also the weird submissiveness they gave to Katara and the retconning of everything and the repetition and recycling of plots and it all is so bad… 💀😭

What thoughts do yall have? Happy to discuss 👀

[unitchiefs-blackbirdphoenix]

17x06 Reaction/Spoilers Pt. 1 (aka the Jemily Episode of S17/Of All Time)

TW: not much however, there is a blood/gunshot wound warning (around 03:20-03:46) and drug use (edibles in each jemily scene pretty much)

Also if you want my jemily watch thoughts, I bolded them in this post haha (also thanks to @blackbirdsaltzman for our predictions for jemily stuff this ep haha!) I had to split this into two posts bc I have so many thoughts about this ep especially with jemily haha

Tara and Rossi teaming up together again!

Voit's cell

LUKE! MY BOY!

Tara's voice omg 😭

Noooo nooo omg Emily's singing 😭😭

Fuck it's not what we think!!

Voit fuck off!

You let go of her you fucking son of a bitch

Emily's singing is breaking my heart fuck nooooo

I know it's a dream but noooo Emily's pained singing broke me 😭

Why do they have to repeat her singing on the title card?? Damn it CME

Love Paget's voice but fuck

Aww Penelope leaving a bucket for Emily. She was drinking the other night hahaha

I've been wanting to say this since the promos came out but JJ's hair is wavy again, but her sleeves are still long and covering her hands :(

Rossi's seeing a bunch of Voits around the bullpen, including him as the others

Zach Gilford, I hate your character but I love you as an actor

JJ already being worried about Emily and her looking at Penelope

Not Emily's singing again fuck. I swear if her singing this song is foreshadowing the next eps...

JJ following Penelope to her lair. Omg JJ and Penelope's bestieism in this very lair 🥰 I miss them! It's like the early seasons them!

"You profiled that. I did not tell you" but JJ knows Emily inside and out hehe

JJ's little look at Penelope's keys

"Please I'm a mom. I've seen worse" hahahaha

Oh- Tyler's ex huh? Teresa Campos

Garvez!

Hahahaha Tyler calling Luke to talk to his ex

Exes in a room, whatcha gonna do

"She's the woman I dated.... right before you."

The walls shaking in Rossi's office. I'm sorry but the effects is kinda making me laugh

Tara being the second one to call out Rossi on not going to mandated trauma therapy lol

Tara just being there and holding Rossi's hand and talking him through 😭 I liked that moment

Tara's voice is so soothing, hold my hand next please.

Jemily scene #1 wooo!

JJ's cheetos obsession never dies! Also a mutual and I predicted before this ep on something that happens with JJ with these very things... 👀

Damn it. JJ I know you're making Emily comfortable but I needed the lights on!

The sneak peek!

Emily, although high, loves salt and vinegar chips!

Chopsticks is definitely going to be a jemily thing now. I may or may not have a one shot idea about that 👀

"Sooo what have you been drinking?" AJ's giggle is so cute

"Emily Elizabeth Prentiss, are you high?" "I'm not not high" "Oh my god" god I love them

"I didn't know super-hot Latina was your type. My name is Garcia..." Garcia um... I hate to tell you this...

Teresa's got a thing for army guys oh- is this... Luke's also an army guy

I have a feeling that they might set up Luke and Teresa together to try and stop Garvez from happening I fear 😔

Tommy Yates is all I could think of for Rossi rn

It's risky but I guess it might help Rossi

Tyler did that from last season and it got Penelope somewhat in trouble when her uh... predicament with him happened

"Message in a bottle" title mention!

"Sticky chemistry" omg 😭 Penelope

Teresa and Penelope and Luke and Tyler. Ooooh this should be fun!

Jemily scene #2

"I can feel your disappointed stare on my back" Emily knows her wife so well

JJ eating more... cheetos... omg girly you're gonna get fucked up

"Not disappointed, just... didn't know you smoked" JJ, you already knew Emily had some sort of a past with smoking and yet this surprises you? 😂 But also the way she sounded so amused with a huge smile like ahhhh I love them so much

When you need to focus or contemplate life, you just have a bag of cheese puffs with you, Emily? Like at any time JJ comes over to your place or something, you think she wouldn't try to go for that bag??

"tame the PR beast" liaison JJ hello??

JJ the voice of reason yesss

Not Emily talking about the Catcher in the Rye like she doesn’t know wtf that is omg 😭

"We need to talk"

Oh shit. "Why are the walls closing in?" JJ's realization and Emily's realization 👀

JJ's "Emily?"

That bag was like full earlier. Omg JJ 😭😭

Not Emily taking the last one omg. She said "solidarity" lol

"Those are edibles? 🥺" "You're gonna need to lie down" "Nooo" I just- they're so funny and adorable

JJ's on for a ride (or a trip if you will hehe)

Also I'm taking it that Emily has a bag of edible cheetos and a bag of regular cheetos, and hides the edibles from JJ hahaha

Back to Rossi. And this is the elevator scene from the trailer with the walls closing in on him. Ooooh JJ just said that earlier too

"past paramours" Penelope-

Pheromones? I swear... do not cm

Hahaha that's a long story Teresa

Luke and Tyler oooh 👀

Not to be encouraging ideas... but why do I have a feeling some people might start shipping/making fanfics of Tyler and Luke now? hahaha

Ooh they're bonding over movies now??? I might like this actually

I hate hearing Emily's pained voice :( hasn't she been through enough?? Apparently not in this season or ever

Tommy Yates

"Am I haunting you?" Yes

Subtext ok Elias

So only three people know about Gold Star: Voit, Doug, and possibly Gideon’s ex-wife?

Damn. "We build a profile" Zach Gilford

Sebastian Gasper from 17x03

Jemily scene #3

JJ is soooo out of it omg

Her little dopey (stoned) smile when she hears that Emily's reinstated as unit chief. JJ's still a supportive wife through her high world lol

JJ: "hell yeah let's goo🤘" that was 1000% AJ for sure like girl we know you've been high before irl hahaha

JJ already shaking her head and going "no" when Emily said she’s sending an email to reject the offer back

Gideon, Morgan, and Hotch mention

"the longer you stay in this job, the odds is that you're going to lose yourself or someone you love or your sense of honor. It just takes and takes and takes" Emily :(

Omg BAU-Gate mention!

Oh 😭 JJ's deep-seated fear is exactly what we thought. That Henry or his friends come across the website.

I appreciate the mention and I swear if it wasn't the website, I love AJ's delivery of "yeah I found out" like "yeah duh", that was kinda funny actually

"You know what bugs me the most, is that you- you didn't tell me." JJ wasn't mad at her (or maybe she was but not enough to hate her of course) but she was just more hurt that Emily hid it from her since she found out. JJ just wanted answers!

AJ's little shaking hand when JJ says "you didn't tell me."

"Did you think I couldn't handle it?" I had a feeling JJ would say this when she confronted Emily

"No, I knew you could handle it. That doesn't mean you had to." I know I saw some opinions on how Emily said that, but I don't think she made it about herself tbh. I think given their state of mind rn, Emily was trying to say she thought she could try to protect JJ by doing what she did. Ik there's been discourse on if Emily did the right thing or not and I don't wanna get into that either but I think if they were both sober, then it would've delved into a more emotional conversation about the website and Emily could've explained in full why she chose that decision. That's at least my thoughts on it for now.

"It's not about protecting us. It's about being honest with us. With me." JJ 😭 She was so hurt that Emily had to do that and just wanted her to be honest with her. I might have some thoughts on her saying this

Also the way she says "with me." Ohhh I love them 😭 Also the fact that JJ's more worried about Emily having to lie and hide from her. JJ hates when people lie and hide stuff from her (funny enough when she does the same lol)

[whatsnewalycat]

acting lesson

pairing: dieter bravo x ofc louella

Summary: Dieter convinces you to roleplay with him.

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Content Tags/Warnings: LDR, roleplay, bar, drinking alcohol (casual), dirty talk, swearing, public bathroom sex, D/s elements, fluff, impact play, pet names, hair pulling, blow job, unprotected piv sex, graffiti, football mention

Word Count: 4.3k+

Notes: In the Psychomanteum universe between Ch 12 & 13. Could be read as a one-shot. Based on this ask from @frannyzooey:

Dieter and Lou — roleplay He’s an actor, she’s….not 👀👀 How does he indulge her? ❤️

The idea first came up during one of your many phone calls with Dieter.

It was the kind of call that works as a surrogate for sitting in the room together, despite the some-odd 2,600 miles keeping you apart. Comfortable silences between organic conversation, running parallel to your evening routines. In LA, Dieter hummed to himself while rifling through his kitchen cabinets for snacks. In New York, you stared at up the marigold painting hung above your bed, and you asked him, “How do you act?”

“When I’m with you, like a fool.”

His voice purred through your phone speaker, low and warm. Heat bloomed in your chest and crept up your neck.

You giggled, “I mean, like, for your job. How do you do that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I try to channel the character and pretend to be them. You ever do plays in school or anything like that?”

“In fourth grade I got to play a munchkin in The Wizard of Oz. I had one line and I completely butchered it.”

He laughed, “Seems about right.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“You’re just… very good at being yourself,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his words, “It’s not a bad thing, doll. I like that about you.”

A smile spread across your face. You hummed in acknowledgement.

“If you want, I can show you how I do it. Give you an acting lesson. You could be my scene partner,” he lowered his voice an octave, “We could make it fun.”

Something about this pricked your skin with excitement. You twisted a strand of hair around your finger and smirked, “How’s that?”

“Have you ever done roleplay?”

“Oh no,” you laughed, shaking your head, “I would be terrible at that—”

“Wait wait wait, hear me out,” he protested, “What if you got to play yourself?”

You quietly pondered this, then asked, “Who would you be?”

“I would be… a stranger at a bar. You’d just have to play along,” he rumbled, “Treat me like one of your hookups.”

Warmth trickled down your spine and pooled between your legs. You licked your lips and traced your collarbone over your shirt, “You’ve thought about this before.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m not opposed to the idea. It could be… hot.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe next time I see you,” you conceded.

And so, this morning, while sipping coffee together out on his patio, he brought it up again.

“Do you remember when we talked about… an acting lesson?”

Your eyebrow quirked and you glanced over at him, “You mean roleplay?”

He shrugged, draping an arm around your shoulders, working his thumb against the starfruit tattoo on your arm, “How do you feel about it?”

“I wondered what it would have been like to meet you like that.”

“Me too,” he said, then scooted closer and murmured, “You know, I’ve always thought that was something so fucking sexy about you. The way you chew men up and spit them out.”

“Really?” you studied him.

The corner of his mouth tucked up in a smirk. His gaze bore into yours, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Not you, though,” you brought your hand to his cheek and smoothed your palm along his cheek, “I like you.”

“No, not me,” he agreed, nuzzling into your touch, “But we can pretend. It’ll be an acting lesson, remember?”

“An acting lesson, yeah, that’s why you wanna do this. Not because you wanna fuck me in a bathroom stall, right?”

“It can be both,” he said, a devilish grin playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile as you stared at him. His dark eyes flicked around your face, searching for an answer. When you released a reluctant sigh and frowned down into your coffee cup, he continued.

“I’ll give you some pointers beforehand, love. It’ll be fun. You just be you and pretend you don’t know me,” he purred, his voice growing lower and more persuasive, “I wanna see what it’s like to be used by you, Lua. Please. Let me be your piece of meat. Chew me up and spit me out.”

How could you say no?

When you step inside the door, it slams behind you. Outside, the sun still douses Los Angeles in daylight, but the underground bar shows no signs of it. Your eyes sting as they adjust to the darkness, and you find yourself momentarily blinded.

Slowly, things start to come into focus.

Neon beer signs and pucks of dim, golden light studding the low ceiling make their surroundings glow, reflecting off the dark wooden bar and high-top tables. A few clusters of people are scattered around at the tables, and one androgynous person sits at the bar, scrolling on their phone while taking occasional sips from a tall glass of beer. Over the speakers, “You Make Loving Fun” by Fleetwood Mac plays just a decibel too loud, but you have a feeling this is the standard music volume here.

It’s one of those places that seems unchanging. Static. You bet that if you walked in here at any moment, on any day, it would look and feel mostly the same.

You approach the bar and take a seat in one of the tattered barstools. Its red pleather sticks to your legs and back. One of the advantages and disadvantages of wearing your most fuckable dress: it’s really goddamn short.

“What’ll you be having tonight, miss?”

You look to the portly bartender and smile, “Vodka cranberry, please.”

He walks away, returning a minute later with your drink. You slide a twenty across the counter and thank him.

When the bartender brings you your change, he nods at the man pulling out the barstool next to you, who says, “Old fashioned.”

The bartender makes his drink and brings back your change. You leave a few bills on the rail as a tip, then lean back in your chair and look up at the TV. Two college football teams slam into each other on the screen.

The man sitting next to you is not discreet about his ogling. His eyes burn your skin, but you pay him no mind. You lift the drink to your lips and take a few quick gulps to hush the excitement bubbling up your neck.

He does the same, then you feel him lean towards you and ask, “Why do bars always play the most boring shit on TV?”

You look over at him, looking up and down his very expensive looking, and thusly very out-of-place, navy suit, obviously tailored just for him. The top three buttons are undone, revealing his smooth chest that gleams gold in the dim lighting. A lusty ache twists at your center.

You smirk and meet his deep brown eyes, “What, you don’t find the underlying threat of concussion-induced brain injuries to be exhilarating?”

The handsome “stranger” laughs, exposing this big, contagious smile, dimples tugging at his cheeks and everything, “I guess I never thought about it that way.”

You grin, staring down at your drink for a moment, then say, “I’ve found that if I go into it pretending it’s the first half of a horror story I’ll never know the ending to, it’s not as, umm,” a giggle escapes your throat, “fucking boring, y’know?”

“Wow,” he chuckles and shakes his head, “I’m not sure if I want to run for the hills or ask for your hand in marriage.”

“The first option is probably safer,” you wink, then take a sip of your drink.

His gaze lingers on you for a beat before he stammers, “I’m Diego, by the way.”

“Louella,” you take his outstretched hand and shake it.

He holds it there, grazing his thumb along your knuckles before pulling back, “What brings you out tonight? Meeting friends or something?”

You tilt your head at him, dragging your eyes across the broad expanse of his body, “Just, you know… seeing what’s out there.”

His throat rumbles and he drops his gaze to your lips, “Find anything?”

“Maybe,” you grin and take a sip of your drink, “What about you, Diego?”

“What about me?”

“You’re here, having a drink, talking to me. Is your evening going as you’d hoped?”

“Much better, actually,” he murmurs, leaning close, “Didn’t think I’d come across someone as gorgeous as you.”

You smile, and find yourself restraining laughter. Not because he’s doing bad or anything, but because he’s doing so good.

“Quite the smooth-talker, aren’t you?”

He grins, bobbing his shoulders in a shrug, “Is it working?”

At this, you do laugh. You tuck your hair behind your ear and depart from his lustful gaze, glancing down at your drink. A wide palm slides onto your back, warming the skin between your shoulder blades. The magnetic force of his body drawing close makes your breathing stutter.

“Listen,” his voice seems to melt, low and heated, into your ear, the baritone dripping down your spine, pooling between your legs, “If this is too forward, feel free to tell me to fuck off, but… do you want to have sex with me?”

You turn to find him just inches away, hooded eyes dark and heavy with want, flitting around your face like he’s brainstorming ways to make it contort with pleasure. You love seeing him like this. Needy. Aching. Putty in your hands.

“Tell me what you want to do to me, Diego,” you tell him in a throaty whisper, “And I’ll consider it.”

A flash of his pink tongue breaches his lips. He glances around as he scoots his barstool closer, knee brushing against yours, and murmurs in your ear, “As far as the venue goes, we have a couple options. Bathroom, out back, in my car—”

“Romantic,” you tease.

He raises an eyebrow at you, dragging his gaze from your face, down your neck, following the curve of your body, “But you don’t want romance, do you, Louella? That’s not why you’re here.”

“Oh yeah?” you tilt your head and bat your lashes at him, “Then why am I here?”

His throat rumbles. He leans so close, his breath scatters across your cheek when he says, “You’re here because you want to get fucked. Hard, preferably. You want me to bring you into that disgusting bathroom and stretch your sweet little cunt out with my fat cock, isn’t that right? You want me to squeeze your tits and use my teeth. You want it to hurt, not a lot, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make you feel something. Enough to make you feel… real,” he pauses here, smirking at you, licking his lips as he drops his gaze to your mouth, “Hmm? Isn’t that right, Louella?”

You swallow hard and nod, and realize you’re holding your breath. When you draw air in, it’s shaky and subdued.

“Will you let me do that for you?”

His touch trails up your bare leg and makes you shiver.

“Yes.”

He stands from the barstool and takes a cursory glance around, then nods at you, “Lead the way.”

Miraculously, the bathroom at this shitty dive bar is one of those no-stall, single-toilet situations with a deadbolt to keep the outside world at bay.

Dieter guides you through the threshold with his hand at the small of your back. You peer around the small, dim room, studying the graffitied black tile walls. Colorful tags, crudely drawn dicks, and witty remarks surround you on all sides. The scent of bleach burns your nostrils, which is a little disorientating, but you suppose it’s better than the alternative.

The lock clicks in place behind you.

When you turn to look at him, he’s already burying his fist in your hair and pushing your cheek against the cool tile wall. You gasp with surprise at the force he uses, exhaling a giddy laugh, and he murmurs in your ear, “What’s your safe word, baby?”

Your eyes dart around for inspiration, and you focus in on a cartoon giraffe wearing sunglasses, a cigarette dangling from his lips, next to a word bubble that reads: Giraffiti is cool!

“Giraffe.”

“Giraffe,” he repeats, and you nod as much as his grasp on your hair will allow.

He slides your skin-tight dress up to your waist and yanks your underwear down to your ankles, rumbling, “Fuck, look at this ass.”

His palm slides warm and gentle across one cheek, then he digs his fingers into the soft flesh and groans when you whimper. He lets go, and the deep, bruising grip is quickly replaced with a sharp, hard slap.

A gasp expands your lungs as heat tingles across the site.

“How’s that?”

“Fucking perfect,” you breathe, eyes drifting closed, mouth falling open. He does it again, same spot. Smack. This time you moan.

When he releases your hair, you stay where you are, with your hands and face all smushed up against the tile. He smooths gentle circles into your unmarred ass cheek. When it draws away, you flinch in anticipation, and he chuckles, “Too hard?”

“No.”

It’s followed by another smack, by pain and heat, and you hiss, “Fuck yes.”

His throat makes this noise that’s somewhere between a growl and a moan. He slides his hand around your front, between your legs, and he purrs, “You fucking love this, don’t you, Louella?”

“I do,” you whimper at his soft, exploratory touch, at the gentle way he spreads your arousal up and down your wet, hot middle. Fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and hold there. The contrast between his two hands is excruciating.

“What’s my name?”

Not thinking, you exhale, “Dieter.”

His gentle hand freezes against you. The other lays down a sharp smack that burns your skin and makes you whimper. He grinds out, “That’s not my fucking name. What’s my name?”

“Diego.”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he coos, putting the hand against your pussy in motion, tracing around your clit, not touching it directly, flooding your body with a tingling, frustrated kind of excitement that makes your heart race and your breathing quicken.

You reach down and grab his wrist, pressing his hand into you harder, rolling your hips against it, and moan at the pressure it relieves.

He yanks his hand away from your grasp and buries it in your hair, pulling the strands taught, smacking your ass again, “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Please,” you pout, arching your hips back towards him, “Please fuck me, Diego.”

All the air leaves his lungs and scatters across your back.

“Louella,” he rumbles, and all your insides clench at his low, patient cadence, at the way your name vibrates off his lips onto your shoulder, then he says, “You are fucking demanding, aren’t you?”

“No—”

Smack

A hot, searing pain from your battered ass cheek makes you gasp, then whimper. Arousal shoots up your spine. Your cunt aches with need.

“I’ll be patient—I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, Diego, please—”

“That’s it,” he coos, “You’re gonna be my little slut, hmm? Let me fuck you the way I want?”

“Yes.”

The word comes out with a throaty, needy force, almost a fucking sob. You want him so bad it hurts. He chuckles at this, at how fucking desperate you are right now.

“Get on your knees, baby.”

He releases you and steps back. You turn to face him, holding his lust-blown gaze as you drop to your knees like he asked.

“Show me how bad you want it.”

You nod in understanding, your shaky hands clambering at his belt buckle, unzipping his slacks, the mechanism all strained with the force of his bulge. You pull his pants and briefs down with a frantic kind of energy that makes him hum with amusement as he watches you.

His cock bobs out as his pants fall to his feet. You admire it for a moment. How it’s so thick and swollen and twitchy with need, delicate skin pulled taught, a sticky little bead of arousal sprouting up at the tip. You test its weight in your palm, grinning when you look up and see Dieter’s lips part and his eyelids flutter.

“That’s it, baby, show me how bad you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy.”

You open your mouth, batting your eyelashes up at him as you drag your tongue up his length. Again and again, painting his cock with your saliva, using flat, firm strokes, until it’s shiny and soaked with spit.

He moans when you stretch your lips out around him, rolling your tongue against the tip, the salty, heady dribble of pre-cum smearing into your tastebuds. You slide your lips further down his shaft and start to suck him off at a steady rhythm, bobbing your head along his length.

“Oh my fucking god,” he gasps, eyebrows threading together, nodding down at you, “You’re so fucking good at that. Do you like sucking cock, baby, hmm?”

You look up to meet his eyes, mouth all full and stretched out from him, and answer anyway, “Mhmm.”

“Fuck yes you do—you fucking love it, don’t you?”

You pull off of him, replacing your mouth with your hand, jerking him off as you whine, “Yes I do, I fucking love it—”

He grabs your hair and forces his cock back in your mouth, gritting out, “Did I fucking tell you to stop?”

A moan surfaces from your guts. His head rolls back and he twitches against your tongue. You take the length of his cock faster now, the stretched-out band of your lips slick and tingling. He pets your hair and holds your gaze, watching you with awe as you work, quiet groans falling from his parted lips.

The doorknob jiggles, then there’s a knock.

“Occu—”

You sit up higher to plunge your mouth down on him, jamming his cock down your throat. His mouth falls open and he moans while you move in short, quick strokes. A wet gurgling noise echoes off the tiles back into your ears.

There’s another jiggle. Another knock. A faint, feminine, “Hello?”

You pull off of him, gasping for air while you wrap your hand around his cock and stroke him as he hollers, “Occupied!”

A beat goes by while he stares at the door before he brings his focus back to you, shaking his head, kicking his pants off over his shoes, “Get up.”

Your underwear tangle around your heels and trip you up. By the time you yank them off and toss them aside, Dieter has grown impatient. He rips you off the floor by your armpits, pushing your back against the cool tile wall.

Beneath you, your shaky legs buckle, but he slips an arm around your waist to prevent you falling.

As if second nature, he looks you over and draws his body close, cupping your cheek with his palm.

And… fuck, the way he stares at you, with this warm, attentive gaze… you know he wants to kiss you. You know he wants to hold you close and whisper sweet somethings in your ear. He wants to tell you he loves you and that he’ll never stop loving you, forever and ever until he’s dust, and maybe even then, if dust has feelings.

It’s all Dieter, not Diego.

You grin and search his face, then whisper, “You broke character.”

He narrows his eyes for just a moment, as if trying to process what you said. When he realizes you’re right, this big amused smile spreads across his face and he chuckles, “You hush.”

You link your hands at the back of his neck, “We can rewind.”

His throat rumbles as he considers this, brushing his knuckles along the side of your face, glancing down at your lips. The grip around your waist tightens and his hips sway a little.

“You just wanna kiss me and make sweet, sweet love to me, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he grins, pressing his forehead against yours.

You giggle and comb your fingertips through his mess of curls, “You big softie.”

His smile falters a little and he shrugs, “Sorry.”

Your stomach twists.

“Hey, no,” you pull back enough to meet his eyes and shake your head, “It’s one of my very favorite things about you.”

He furrows his brow and blinks, “Really?”

“Yes,” you giggle, rubbing your palm against his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch and you tell him, “Diego is hot, but Dieter? My Dee? I fucking love him. And he’s hot.”

A bright, bashful smile spreads across his face. He meets your gaze with those loving, loving eyes and asks, “Can I fucking kiss you now?”

“Oh my god, plea—”

His lips cut you off, pressing into yours with passionate force. From its place pinned between your bodies, his cock twitches. He brings a hand to the back of your head and renews the kiss, pulling you closer, slotting his mouth against yours.

You whimper at the velvet of his tongue. The tug of his fingers clamping down in your hair. The persistent, pulsing current where your bodies meet.

The two of you seem to lose yourself here, in the heated kissing and touching and writhing, forgetting your presence in the restroom has a time limit.

Another knock on the door. Harder. Impatient.

Dieter parts from your swollen lips, his mouth a mess of your red lipstick, and hollers at the door, “Give me a minute!”

Then he turns back to you, his gaze all obsidian want, and mutters, “We better hurry before they ram the goddamn door down.”

“How do you want me?” you ask, batting your lashes at him, trailing a fingernail along his jawline.

“Just like this.”

Sometimes you forget how strong he is.

When he lifts your hips you let out a little yelp of surprise and hook your arms around his shoulders.

“Legs around my back, love, I got you,” he breathes. The wall bears some of your weight as you lean against it and wrap your legs around him. He settles in closer, shifting his hips under yours. The tip of his cock nudges your entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asks, caressing your cheek with the slope of his nose.

Normally, he has to work himself in slow. Let your body adjust to the stretch of him in increments. So you know what he means when he asks this.

But when you nod, and he loosens his grip to let gravity take you down, it still shocks you. The pain is immediate. And exquisite. You bury a deep, guttural moan into his shoulder and dig your nails into his skin. Your eyes flutter shut and you inhale a few sharp breaths.

“Fffffuck,” he hisses when you can go no further, “So fucking tight, holy fuck.”

All you can respond with is a whimper. He holds you here, impaled, not moving, as you start to relax around him and the pain condenses into a gooey ember right at the center of you.

“That’s it, love.”

His hips start to roll slow, dragging his cock along your walls, sending sparks up your spine.

“Fuck, Dee,” you gasp.

He snatches a kiss from your trembling lips and asks, “Too much?”

Your mouth gapes open with a ragged moan and you press your sweaty forehead into his, “Issss perfect—So fuuucking good—“

He lets out a raspy chuckle, “Listen to you, Lua, all fucking cock drunk, fuck—”

The laugh you release is delirious, and quickly devolves into moaning as he starts to fuck you faster. He’s not wrong. You feel disoriented and tingly, like you’ve been launched into space and you’re no longer on Earth, but on Planet Dieter.

You can tell he’s starting to unravel when he pants all kinds of filthy things against your frantic breathes, fueling the fire licking your insides, pulling you closer and closer to your ascent.

“You fucking love when I stretch your cunt out, don’t you doll? Hmm?”

You whimper and nod.

“Say it.”

“I—I fucking love w-when you stretch my cunt out.”

“Who’s my little slut?”

“I’m your little slut, Dee—oh, fuck—”

“That’s fucking right, baby,” he grunts, fucking you harder, faster. You clamber up his body, tugging on his hair, pulling him closer, gasping at the brilliant heat expanding at the base of your spine.

“Don’t fucking stop, don’t fucking stop, fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck,” you sob, drawing one more sharp inhale before you fall off the edge, ecstasy shattering you into a thousand pieces, then bringing you back together whole.

“Fuck yes, baby, there we go—oh my fucking god—”

Dieter’s hips drive up into you with a handful of rough, deep thrusts, while your whole body shudders and you release a choked moan. His echoes alongside yours, harmonizing in this unrestrained, unmistakably feral noise.

Every ounce of pressure held under your sweat-drenched, tingling skin deflates.

“Holy fucking shit, Dee,” you pant, ripping your sticky legs away from his, trying to find solid ground.

He lowers you to your feet, and you both stumble back a little, chests heaving, grinning at each other like mad.

“God, I love you,” he says, shaking his head as he doubles over to catch his breath, then he glances around and mutters, “I need to lay down.”

Three hard bangs against the door make you both jump.

“Are you done fucking yet?”

Your wide eyes meet his for a terrified moment, then you both burst with laughter.

“Yeah, give us a second,” Dieter calls back, then scoops his pants off the ground. After adjusting your dress and collecting your underwear, you walk to the sink to wash your hands and notice something resting between the faucet and wall: a metallic silver sharpie.

A smile spreads across your face. You grab it and hold it up to Dieter, who’s buckling his pants, “Do you want to do the honors, or should I?”

He raises his eyebrows when he glances up at you, and when he realizes what you’re implying, grins like a madman, “May I?”

You hand him the sharpie and he finds an unmarred section of black tile on which to write the message, framing the words with a frilly Valentine’s Day heart: DEE + LUA 4EVA!

[aethon-recs]

(Themed Rec List) 9 Omega Tom Riddle | Voldemort Fics

I recently damn near lost my mind after reading @cannibalinc's new Omega Tom Riddle fic, so it made me wonder how prevalent Omega Tom (or Voldemort) is in Tomarrymort... Pretty rare as it turns out! On AO3, the Alpha Tom Riddle (Alpha Voldemort) tag outpaces the Omega Tom Riddle (Omega Voldemort) tag by a factor of 7 to 1 for Tomarrymort fics 👀

Luckily, there’s been an amazing slate of Tomarrymort authors who’ve dipped their toes into this dynamic, so I was inspired to throw together an Omega Tom | Voldemort themed rec list.

The most interesting theme underlying many of these Omega Tom fics is how Tom manages to find ways to wield power in a world that denies him power, similar to how he overcomes his meagre circumstances in canon. Seeing Tom upend the typical power structures that we see in A/B/O dynamics and break the mould of "weak" Omega expectations results in a very authentic depiction of the manipulative and ruthless Tom (Voldemort) that we know and love 😊

Please mind all the tags and warnings on AO3 before reading — some of these fics contain quite dark subject matter, and this blog abides by the age-old fandom principle of don’t like; don’t read. As always, recs are in alphabetical order by title.

*

Tomarrymort Recs (Omega Tom Riddle | Voldemort)

A Matter of Perspective by lemonchase (E, 3k, WIP)

A PWP featuring a very practical Minister Riddle wanting to spend his heat with Auror Potter who is blessed with quite the generously-sized package. They have a very fun chemistry and banter, and seeing Harry sheepish about his god-given gifts is always a treat.

As It Begins by @duplicitywrites (T, 15k, WIP)

I never knew I needed an omegaverse Bridgerton AU in my life, but after reading this, I realized that I 1000% need an omegaverse Bridgerton AU in my life. It was fascinating to follow along as Tom so meticulously thinks through all the machinations and second-order effects of every ball and courting gift and social interaction — the Regency-era courtship-focused setting maps really well onto Tom's social climbing ambitions. Also, the side characters are such a delight as well, especially the handsome and charming Prince Cedric, who emerges as a viable candidate for Tom’s hand as he proposes a courtship with Tom (I’m now kind of obsessed with Prince Cedric after reading this), and there’s plenty of romantic tension, UST, and juicy gossip/drama to keep Tom and Harry occupied and us readers at the edge of our seats.

complete by @cindle-writes (E, 9k, complete)

I thought this was a clever play on the widespread trope of “Voldemort is definitely an Alpha / the assumed top in every circumstance” within the Tomarry ship. In this fic, Harry also (mistakenly) assumes Voldemort must be an Alpha — after all, that's what everyone had always said his whole life. As a result, he doesn’t bother to confirm before adopting Tom, which results in a loss of control that could prove disastrous for both of them.

Enamoured by @itsevanffs (E, 5k, WIP)

Newly presented Omega Tom takes babytrapping schemes to a whole new level in this fic. He is determined to have Harry as his Alpha, and there’s both a layer of Tom wanting to be with Harry to use him to his advantage, as well as a layer of Tom genuinely wanting Harry and craving his scent, his touch, his attentions — and oh, the pining in this fic was so very captivating, especially the last part where Tom comes undone surrounded by Harry’s scent.

Honeyguide by @cannibalinc (E, 7k, complete)

This was such a wild ride, and Tom’s inner voice is both so coldly rational and absolutely hilarious at the same time. Tom is hellbent on seducing Harry, regardless of anything that stands in the way. The rut scene was so intense — probably one of the most intense things I’ve read in all of fanfic — with Harry losing control and Tom facing the consequences of his actions and manipulations (in other words, of being a little shit). The rut was absolutely glorious in how it was depicted, with the snatches of action filtering in and out giving it a very dreamlike, unhinged quality. For Tom to be happy with the outcome of the rut and still want to be with Harry afterwards shows how resolute and strong his will is, which I thought was a very nice depiction of Tom that will stop at nothing to get what he wants.

pearl by @being-luminous (E, 3k, complete)

A lovely depiction of a Harry and Tom dynamic where they’re not quite together but have known each other for a long time, and it’s very sweet how they have an implicit trust in each other, for Tom to want to spend his heat with Harry. They both clearly care about each other, more than what they reveal in words, and it comes out in their comfortable familiarity with each other’s bodies and how they take care of each other’s needs, and I’m left with a smile on my face and a hopeful feeling about their future.

Prison Blues by @metalomagnetic (E, 48k, WIP)

My reaction to each chapter of Prison Blues published has been incoherent screaming—there is a LOT of knotting, there is a LOT of slick, and there is a LOT of Voldemort being an absolute menace and Harry having the biggest heart of gold in the world. Voldemort definitely wields his power as an Omega in this fic — he’s absolutely dripping in the power he holds over others — strutting about and driving all the Alphas around him crazy — it is QUITE the magnificent depiction of Voldemort at his sexiest. I literally have no words to describe how jaw-droppingly knock-out sexy these chapters were, but after each update, I was left in a stunned daze where I didn’t know what to do with myself for the next few hours aside from read and reread each chapter a few more times. And we even get a whole chapter dedicated to Voldemort’s backstory from the time he was at Hogwarts as a newly-presented omega! (Also, did we know there's only 1 fic on AO3 that uses the Omega Voldemort tag, and it’s this one!?? 👀 Omega Voldemort has so much untapped potential!)

Tantrums by @crowcrowcrowthing (E, 5k, complete)

Tom is a straight-up brat in this fic, and his chaotic, destructive tendencies are too funny to read about. Harry happens to be the only one that has a hope of reining Tom in, but Harry’s no perfect role model either, as an impulsive teenager that doesn’t have full control over his instincts. This is a rare example of a fic with beta/omega dynamics, and I thought it was an interesting take on how betas without any special A/B/O biology or instincts can, just as much, succumb to their instincts when confronted with alpha or (in this case) omega biology.

The Ethics of Want by @exarite (E, 10k, complete)

This was the first omegaverse I read in Tomarry, and it's pretty much the perfect beginner omegaverse fic, so if you're just dipping your toes into A/B/O — highly, highly recommend starting here. Tom is SO MANIPULATIVE and SO SCHEMING in this fic, and when he sets his sights on Harry, he is absolutely relentless until he gets his way, including some questionable (and hilarious) scent-marking tactics. There's just something Exarite’s prose that feels like drinking from a bubbly well of champagne — their fics are always so engaging and delightful to read, and the smut is so unbelievably hot, top top tier. Each time I reread this piece, it always feels fresh and just as much of a wild ride as the first time I read it.

*

[chans-room]

Craving Connection — 1

Warnings: reader has nickname Sugar Plum, familial drama, self-deprecating thoughts, mentions of anxiety, allusions to abandonment/abandonment issues, discussions of toxic former relationships, discussions of cheating in said former relationship, Chan calls her ex a cunt (derogatory) multiple times lol, a little bit of spice but it’s very mild bc they’re in public but there’s a somewhat staged ~fake dating~ PDA moment I’m earning that tag on this one babes. Tbh that’s pretty much all there is before we swan dive into it 👀

Length: 4k + text conversation

A/n: so I am a backstory heavy bitch and I can’t seem to start my SMAUs without a few written chapters soooo sorry about that? Also I’m sorry this has taken 8000 years, I’m already working on the next part and have a fair amount of future chapters done so hopefully I’ll be able to update this pretty frequently. Thank you @bibbykins and @j-a-nuary for making this legible. also everyone can thank @gimmethatagustd for how the last scene turned out 🖤

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October 1, 2021 — 5:20am

She bounced on her toes, eyes scanning the small crowd of people pulling suitcases behind them for the familiar freckles of her favorite cousin. She knew he — and the friend he had brought with him — had landed, but the minutes seemed to drag as she watched families and friends reuniting all around her, in the dead of the night.

But the crowd thinning made her palms sweat. The fear that her parents had found out, and gone against their self-imposed rule to never speak about her again, and that Felix had changed his mind about her. 

“Felix! You can’t just drop your shit here, mate!” A voice called out, making her stop in the midst of her aimless pacing and her head snap toward the direction of the sound. She only saw a flash of black before someone slammed into her chest, knocking the wind out of her as they crashed into the floor. 

“Sugar Plum, I’ve missed you so much!” Felix’s deep voice nearly reverberated in her chest from where he laid on top of her, deceptively strong arms constricting around her. 

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she giggled, tightening her grip on him, “You have no idea how much I missed you, Lix.”

“I’m so happy to see you,” he sighed, loosening his grip to hover over her, a pleased smile on his face. “Come on, we have so much to catch up on.”

She rolled her eyes, letting him pull her off the ground before wrapping her in another tight hug. It sent a deep pain through her chest, the moment mirroring the last time she’d seen him — standing in that very airport 2 years before, saying goodbye to him before he left for Seoul. They had cried and promised to see each other at Christmas, Easter, and on every overlapping holiday they could find. It was a promise she regretted breaking — but it was one she had no control over. That had been the first of many days she felt truly alone; and if she’d known what would follow, she might have gone with him then. Maybe if she had, she would still have a family. 

“Felix!” The same voice from earlier called out, making them both look over their shoulders to find the source.

He was gorgeous, even if he was angry. His strong brows were furrowed over narrowed, sparkling brown eyes. “Oh! Good, you’re here,” Felix smiled proudly, before gesturing toward him and clearing his throat, “This is my friend, and roommate, he owed me a favor, which is why he’s here. Besides, his birthday is in like 2 days and I’m such a good friend, so I brought him home to see his family. Aren’t I the best, Chris?”

Dread shot through her at the name; she couldn’t seem to escape memories of him. She pushed down the bitter taste in her mouth — she couldn’t be unfairly judging her cousin's friend just because he shared the unfortunate fate of having the same name as her ex. 

Fortunately, her momentary battle with her brain wasn’t noticed by either boy, seeing as Felix was ignoring the way his friend’s plump lips were pulled tight into a grimace, his strong jaw clenching in anger as he dragged three suitcases behind him, his thick arms piled high with various sweaters and a bouquet of flowers. She bit her lip to suppress a laugh as he glared daggers at her cousin, his gaze softening slightly as he took her in, before hardening again as he refocused on the boy next to her.

“Felix, if you abandon me again with all of your shit, I will leave it behind,” he seethed, dropping the pile of sweaters on the ground with a muffled thump, earning an indignant scream from Felix.

“That’s Hyunjin’s cashmere!” He yelped, diving at the pile. 

The glare faded into an endeared smile as he watched Felix dust off the sweater, shaking his head fondly before turning his attention to her. He held out the bouquet, the soft smile on his plush lips pushing his cheeks up to make his eyes nearly disappear into tiny crescents. “He got these for you back in Seoul. He made the flight attendant put them in water for nearly the whole thing so they wouldn’t wilt. I’m Chan by the way.”

She could feel the tears well up in her eyes again as she took the flowers from him, trying to still her shaking hands. “Thank you,” she forced out, internally cringing at the quiver in her voice as she did. She cleared her throat before tearing her eyes off her cousin, willing away her tears, “So… Chris? Chan? Do you have a preference?”

“No, not really,” he laughed with a shrug, “Felix is really the only one to call me Chris, except my family. All our other friends call me Chan.”

The admission put her mind at ease as she nodded absently, staring at the tulips in her hands, as she mumbled her name to him, followed by a shy, “Everyone calls me Sugar Plum though.” she shrugged, making him smile.

“Honestly, you can call me whatever  you like,” he said, feigning indifference before leaning in and whispering in her ear, “and Sugar Plum is cute, but I think I’d rather call you mine.”

She choked on a gasp and a giggle as he backed away, throwing her a wink.

—

—

October 1, 2021 — 1:45 pm

“You really don’t have to spend the day with me, Chan,” she sighed, slipping the sunglasses down her nose to stare at him over the edge of the frame, “I know you want to see your family and spend time with them. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself for one day.”

Chan felt the bittersweet edge to her words, and he hated how they made his chest tingle with unease. The tone of her voice stirred an ugly anger in his gut as he considered why she would be so quick to dismiss herself. It made him want to prove her wrong — to show her that she was someone who anyone would want to spend time with; someone who he wanted to spend time with.

With a big smile, he threw his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side, not missing the way she bit her lip and tried to hide the grin growing on her face. “Nah, it’s kinda nice to get to see Sydney like this, you know? I’ve never stayed in a fancy hotel like the one you’re staying in. But also I’m glad I have the chance to get to know you better,” he smiled, watching her sink behind her hands. “Besides, Felix will be back tomorrow, and seeing my parents for two days is better than the zero I thought I would.”

“I’m just saying if you don’t wanna be with me today you don’t need to. I’m used to doing things alone,” she mumbled, making Chan frown.

“Yeah, well, I don’t wanna be alone, so you’re stuck with me today,” he grinned, scrunching his nose at her hesitant expression. “Come on, we’re almost up and you haven’t decided what you want!” He could feel her heartbeat under his hand resting in the middle of her back, and part of him hoped that it was because of him.

“Are you always this serious about ice cream?” She asked, staring up at him with raised eyebrows.

“Are you not serious about ice cream? I mean, come on, it’s one of life’s most simple pleasures!” He exclaimed, drawing attention from the people surrounding them. The laugh that tore out of her made his heart race; he’d never heard anything so perfect.

“You just have to cause a scene, don’t you,” she giggled, pressing her face into his shoulder to hide from the disapproving stare of the old woman in front of them who was shaking her head and mumbling to herself.

“Only when it makes you laugh like that,” he sighed, pleased that he’d been able to pull her out of the tense, almost sour mood she’d been in since Felix told her he would be gone for the day. He didn’t need to know everything that happened with their family to know that she’d been hurt, and something about that sat heavily in his gut. What he did know was that it was too nice of a day for her to spend it alone in the hotel.

“So tell me about school. You’re on the soccer team with Lix, right? What’s everyone else like? What do you all study?” She asked, pushing her sunglasses back onto the top of her head, “I want to know all the details before I start next week.” 

The attention turning on him made heat flood his cheeks, cursing the pink tinge he knew was creeping up his neck as she stared up at him expectantly. The look in her eyes made his mouth run dry — he couldn’t feel like that about her. There was no way Felix would let him live if he tried, and as his roommate, he needed to keep the peace. 

But the feeling of her fingers curling around his bicep made his head swim and his heart race. He knew already there was no way he could deny the effect she had on him. He could only hope she felt the same.

October 1, 2021 — 4:10pm

“Do you wanna hang out here or walk around a bit more?” Chan asked, shoving his wallet back into his pocket as they wandered away from the counter.

She felt her heart flutter for the millionth time that day as he looked at her expectantly. She didn’t know if she could ever get used to someone caring about her opinion so much — it was equal parts exciting and unsettling. 

“It’s supposed to rain, so maybe we should start heading back to the hotel?” She shrugged, trying to push the unease out of her mind; trying to convince herself that Chan wasn’t Christian. Felix would never have trusted him if he was.

At that moment she realized she’d almost gone the whole day without thinking of him. But the moment the thought of him passed through her mind, it was as if she’d conjured him. Because behind Chan’s shoulder, she watched him walk through the door, arm around the shoulders of a girl she had only seen once — the night she packed her things and left him.

“Fuck,” she whispered. He shouldn’t have been there, he should have been in Singapore, planning his wedding. Not in Australia, not in Sydney, but definitely not in her favourite coffee shop. It made her blood boil and her hands shake — Christian had refused to set foot inside it again after she had dragged him there the first time. He’d even told her that she was embarrassing for wanting to go back there. But now; here he was with Hanako. With the fiancée he’d conveniently forgotten to mention. 

Jealousy and rage clouded her senses, but the crushing sense of inadequacy that filled her made her stomach turn. He never looked at her the way he was looking at Hanako — so full of love and adoration. She couldn’t even blame him; she was gorgeous. Her silky black hair cascaded down her back effortlessly, and a sweet smile seemed to be set permanently on her heart shaped lips. The more she stared at her the more self conscious she became — Hanako seemed to be everything she was not.

She realized at that moment it was never about the coffee shop; he was embarrassed to be with her.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chan asked, crowding her sight as he pulled her toward the wall of books. His hands cradling her face tenderly made the fresh wave of tears sting in her eyes. She hated it — she hated that he could see the cracks in her, hated how Christian could find new ways to hurt her, and hated that there was still part of her that was affected by him.

“Not really,” she laughed sarcastically, pushing the bone crushing hurt back down. “That guy over there, the asshole with the tattoos and the all black, the one with the girl in the dress? He’s my ex. And I don’t want him to see me.”

Chan’s head whipped around to look over his shoulder, finding them with ease before turning back to face her, “That guy?”

She nodded, “Yeah. And that’s his fiancée.”

“What a cunt,” Chan mumbled, shaking his head. 

She grabbed his shoulders, positioning her in front of him to effectively block herself from Christian’s view, using Chan’s broad frame as a shield, “I can’t stand him.“

“Hey, don’t worry about him, just focus on me,” Chan said softly, shuffling forward to cage her against the bookshelf. “What do you wanna do?”

“I just-I don’t want him to see me. He wasn’t supposed to be here,” she mumbled with a pout.

He nodded before he took a step forward, pressing her back fully against the wall, “I’m gonna touch you, is that okay?” He asked, his hands hovering over her waist. The earnestness in his eyes gave her goosebumps; she couldn’t remember a time anyone looked at her like he was right then. 

“Yeah, you can touch me,” she nodded breathlessly, “Can I..?”

“Of course,” he smiled, shivering as her hands skimmed across his shoulders, one hand gently tracing shapes into the muscle of his chest while the other occupied itself with the curly black hairs at the nape of his neck. “God it’s so stupid but I’m just-like-I have so many questions.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes, tugging his hair lightly, “Don’t say it’s stupid, you’re curious. That’s normal. I’ll answer whatever you wanna know.”

“I’m not sure I wanna know honestly,” he laughed bitterly, “Whatever you tell me will probably just make me want to punch him in the face.”

A soft warmth spread through her at his honesty; it was incredibly refreshing after spending 2 years constantly guessing what Christian was thinking or feeling. For a second she imagined how nice it would be to be with someone like him. But she quickly shook herself out of the fantasy — she barely knew Chan, how could she possibly think she knew him well enough to imagine a relationship with him.

“I doubt it, Channie,” she sighed, looking away from his eyes, focusing on the thin gold chain that sat on his collarbones. It caught the light every time she twirled a curl around her finger, making an image of him hovering over her with his chain smacking his chin as he pounded into her flash through her head. Tendrils of lust curled in her belly — she didn’t know how thoroughly and quickly Chan managed to take root in her head but she knew it couldn’t be good. 

“Well, he’s your ex and he has a fiancée, so I think anything I find out about him is going to make me hate him more than I do right now,” he scoffed before adding, “You’re lucky it’s me with you today and not Felix. He wouldn’t even ask, he’d just start swinging.” 

She couldn’t help but laugh at that — he was right. Her cousin was prone to reacting first and asking questions later. “I mean, that’s fair I guess. But honestly it was barely a relationship. I mean, you and I are being more scandalous now than he and I ever were.”

“You’re telling me he had you and he wasn’t showing you off to everyone with eyes?” Chan asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

She shook her head before answering, “We didn’t really do… anything. We didn’t go out, I never met his friends or family and he never met mine. I realize now it’s because I was his side piece and he couldn’t have anyone asking about me,” she shrugged, wishing she didn’t sound so defeated. 

Chan’s body went rigid under her hands, his jaw clenched and his hands tightening on her hips. “What a fucking cunt,” he ground out through his teeth, “If you were mine, fuck, I’d never be able to keep my hands off you. My friends would be sick of how much I talk about you, Sugar Plum — especially Felix.”

The flames of desire surged in her veins again; it was almost overwhelming. She knew Chan was dangerous for her for any number of reasons, but the main one being that he made her want for the first time in a long time. She didn’t realize how much she craved what he was offering until he put it into words. But she didn’t know if he meant it as seriously or as desperately as she wanted it. 

Chan’s voice in her ear made her shiver, pulling her out of the thought spiral that was beginning to consume her. “I really can’t stand this,” he mumbled before a wicked smile spread across his face, “Alright, so, I’m gonna get real close to you, and you’re gonna slip your hand under the back of my shirt, okay? If you’re uncomfortable or want me to back off, I will, but he needs to know what he lost. So he can see you’re not bothered by him.”

Her mouth went dry as she put his plan together in her head, watching the smirk grow as she dropped one hand from where it was resting on the back of his neck, her fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “You’re evil, just like me,” she breathed, splaying her hand across his warm, muscular expanse of skin as both of his grabbed her hips, adjusting his stance so he could tower over her slightly. “I like that about you,” she admitted, making him chuckle.

He surged forward, his nose bumping against hers, “I like that about you too, Sugar Plum,” he smiled, “Now if you wanna really sell it, I’m gonna dip my head down and you’re gonna pull my hair and kiss my neck.”

“Okay,” she whispered back, feeling Chan’s breath on her neck, his hand sliding into her hair to steer her where he wanted her. Her fingers tightened in his hair on instinct as her lips brushed the junction of his neck — making goosebumps spread across his tanned arms. She felt him shudder, giggling an apology into his skin.

“Don’t be sorry,” he argued, resting his forehead against her collarbone, “It was nice, I just can’t control what my body does when someone like you kisses my neck like that. I mean, it’s really not fair.” 

She was about to apologize again when she felt his plush lips make contact with her skin, but where her touch was fleeting and almost accidental, his lips attached themselves to her neck with force. 

The gentle suction ripped a startled gasp from her. He pulled away with a wet pop, smiling innocently, “Now we’re even,” he shrugged. “I’m sure he’s fucking boiling now. I know I would be if I saw that.” 

It took her a second to remember how their little charade had begun, feeling dizzy because of Chan’s presence and proximity. She had nearly forgotten about Christian entirely, something she couldn’t deny made her stomach flip with both anxiety and excitement. She had to fight through the haze in her mind to even think of a coherent response. “Chan I don’t think he’s looking—“

“Why wouldn’t he be looking? You’re the most interesting thing here. Everyone should be looking.”

The absolute certainty in his voice was staggering to her — she knew he meant it. But she couldn’t understand why. He barely knew her, but he was committing near public indecency just to spite her ex on her behalf. Maybe it was because he was so close with Felix, one of the only people she trusted wholeheartedly and implicitly, but she didn’t question Chan’s intentions or authenticity in the slightest.

It made her want him even more.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” she whispered back, the words coming out of their own volition. She knew he meant it — but she needed to hear him confirm it.

He surged forward, his nose bumping against hers — a habit of his that she enjoyed a little too much. “Hey, I fucking mean it, yeah? You’re incredible. And just because that asshole couldn’t see it doesn’t make it any less true,” Chan said seriously, pushing a piece of hair out of her face, “You’re so—“

“Babe, what the fuck is all this? Who the fuck are you letting grope you in our place.” 

The too familiar voice that cut him off felt like a bucket of ice water being thrown on her.

She peeked over Chan’s shoulder to see Christian — sans Hanako — glaring daggers at the back of Chan’s head. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Chan’s voice, “Excuse you, mate, but who the right fuck are you? And what business of yours who gropes her where?”

A shocked scoff came out of Christian, his eyes narrowing as he assessed Chan, “I’m her boyfriend, mate, which is why I wanna know why you’re all over her.”

Chan threw his head back, a full laugh tearing out of his throat before shaking his head, “Nah, you’re her ex aren’t you? I’ve heard all about you,” Chan rolled his eyes, turning back to face her, his expression softening as he ran his thumb over her cheekbone and down to her lips, gently pulling her bottom lip from between her teeth. She hadn’t realized she’d begun to chew on it nervously as she looked between them, but Chan’s soft smile and gentle hands made the tension drop from her frame. “Why don’t you leave us alone? Don’t you have a fiancée to look after, champ?”

She saw the rage ignite in Christian’s eyes at his obvious insult, his mouth opening to say something that she knew would slice through her straight to the bone — a skill he wielded like a professional through their relationship. He always knew what to say to inflict the most damage the fastest, leaving her shattered in his wake.

But before he could make a sound, her name was being called out — signaling their order was ready — and Chan was steering her away from him. 

She took a single step forward before a hand closed around her wrist, dragging her out from Chan’s arm. “Don’t fucking walk away from me again, baby. You don’t understand—“

“No, Christian. I don’t need to understand anything. You had a fucking fiancée the whole time we were together. Do you know how much that hurt me? After all that I gave up for you?” She couldn’t seem to stop the words from coming out — but if she was honest with herself, she needed to say them. “And before you say anything, to try and manipulate yourself out of the mess you made — I heard you say that I meant nothing to you; that I was just a piece of ass you were fucking around with before settling down. So get your hands off me,” she seethed, glaring at him. Pain sparkled in his eyes as he opened his mouth to argue but she cut him off, “Just stop, Chris; I don’t want to hear it. Now let me go.” He staggered back as if he’d been slapped, releasing her. 

Chan took her hand, making her turn to look at him over her shoulder, “You ready to leave?”

She couldn’t trust her voice anymore, only managing a nod before his arm was around her shoulders, pulling her toward the exit, grabbing their coffees and passing her drink off to her seamlessly. 

With that, they walked out of the doors, not bothering to look behind them. And for the first time in years she felt in control. She didn’t feel like a pawn being used or a prop in someone else’s life. The rush of it was addicting; the electricity of it seemed to thrum under her skin. Chan made her feel powerful, and she never wanted it to stop. 

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Taglist: @bibbykins @j-a-nuary @eureka-its-zico @gimmethatagustd @here2bbtstrash @lovemepie67 @whiplaaaaaaaaash @enaluvs

[skyward-floored]

.... I'd love to see Hyrule's perspective on that whole scene, if you ever want to write it 👀 (absolutely ZERO pressure tho!!!!)

- hero-of-the-wolf

I didn’t want to fight my way through an action scene, so I actually skipped to a bit later, while their parents are being yelled at interrogated for their version of events. So it’s not the exact moment. It’s technically not even in the movie. But I think it’s good anyway.

For people who haven’t seen the second movie in a while, this is right bear the beginning, when the family tried to stop the Underminer and kind of failed, then get sort of arrested because they’re supers and that’s still illegal.

(tw for discussion of guns, and implied past child abuse)

————————————————————

Hyrule chewed on his thumb nail, pressed into a corner of the small room in the police station they’d been herded into. There was a single table and two chairs in here, no windows, and what was obviously a one-way mirror on the wall. Four and Legend had already claimed the chairs, so everyone else was on the floor, or leaning on the table.

The rest of his siblings were mostly milling around the small space, though Wind and Wild had started a rock paper scissors tournament. They were trying to drag Legend and Four into it, with limited success.

Hyrule maybe would have joined them, but his thoughts were too loud, his hands too shaky for the game. Mom and Dad hadn’t come with them in here, they’d been pulled away to some other room while they’d all kept going. And while Hyrule hadn’t been able to see much, he’d seen Impa around, and the man in the suit who’d followed his parents into the room had looked extremely annoyed.

Were they okay? Were they just getting yelled at, or worse?

Were they going to be put in jail?

Hyrule bit down harder, rubbing his tooth along the pad of his thumb. He used to just suck on it when he was smaller, but he’d had the habit more or less beaten out of him. He knew his family wouldn’t care now, but it still felt safer just nibbling on the tip.

“Hyrule?”

Hyrule jumped at the hand on his shoulder, and looked up at Twilight, who was sitting next to him with a concerned look.

“Are you okay? You weren’t hurt in the fight, right?” he asked, and Hyrule shook his head.

“No. Just some little bruises,” he replied quietly, and went back to chewing on his thumb. “Are... do you know what’s gonna happen?”

Twilight breathed out, and leaned against the wall, watching Wind pump his fist as he beat Legend in a match. “Not exactly, no. But Mom and Dad will be okay. And us too. There’s a reason the whole superhero protection thing exists.”

Hyrule swallowed, and looked away as one of his worries came to the forefront of his mind. “Is there... an adopted super protection thing?”

Twilight blinked, then looked at him, understanding crossing his face. “Oh, Hyrule, is that what you’re worried about?”

Hyrule gave a tiny nod, and Twilight scooted over, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“They can’t take you away from us,” Twilight said reassured, eyes sharp. “They won’t. I remember Dad reading all kinds of laws about it, they can’t do that. And even if they tried, we wouldn’t let them. I’m sure the protection program covers that too, don’t worry.“

Hyrule nodded, relieved at the assurance, but still feeling unsettled. This room was oppressive, and the concrete was starting to dig into his spine. Not to mention... other stuff.

“...Something else bothering you?” Twilight asked after a minute, and Hyrule shrugged.

“I just haven’t had a gun pulled on me in a while,” he murmured, remembering just how many weapons had been pointed at them earlier today. He’d completely frozen at the clicks he’d heard. “I mean, at the island yeah, but that was kinda different. I guess I just forgot how sc—...startling it could be.”

Twilight went very still.

A few feet away, Wild crowed in victory as he destroyed Wind’s rock with his paper.

“Hyrule,” Twilight said in a voice quiet enough that only he could hear it, “how often have you had a gun pulled on you?”

Hyrule went back to his thumb again. He had a feeling Twilight didn’t actually want to know the answer to that question. Especially since Hyrule didn’t really... know the exact number. So he kept his mouth shut, and merely gave him a little shrug.

That was obviously the wrong answer though, since Twilight’s face screwed up, and his jaw tightened.

“Twi, it didn’t happen that often, it’s just bad memories, don’t worry about it,” Hyrule begged, suddenly nervous Twilight would do something. He wouldn’t yell at a police officer, would he?

“It’s not just— you—” Twilight struggled for a second to speak, face tight. He pressed a hand to the bridge of his nose, looking a lot like their father as he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “...you know how messed up that is, right? That you’ve had guns pulled on you by people who were supposed to take care of you?”

“I do. It’s just not a huge deal, Twilight,” Hyrule sighed, going back to nibbling at his thumb. “It is what it is. Or was. Whatever.”

“It’s still messed up,” Twilight muttered, and squeezed Hyrule a little tighter. “...All of this is.”

Neither of them said much after that, and Hyrule set his head on Twilight’s shoulder, relieved at something other than concrete for a cushion. The rest of their brothers continued with rock paper scissors, and Twilight and Hyrule watched in near-silence, Twilight lightly rubbing his shoulder.

The worry for their parents and the situation at a whole sat over the room like a shroud, dampening even Wind’s smiles.

But I’m not alone, Hyrule thought, a brief wave of relief sweeping over him. He leaned a little more against Twilight, and his brother squeezed him in return.

At least we’ve got that.

[ryttu3k]

Thoughts on Space Babies and The Devil's Chord, in no particular order:

So we agree that the overarching storyline for this season is stories becoming real, yeah? Starts with invoking folklore at the end of the universe, is solidified with the Toymaker and his rules of play, used heavily in The Church on Ruby Road, and now children's fairytales and musicals? Fascinated to see where this is going!

Generally ridiculously camp and bonkers and you know what, I goddamn missed that. It had whimsy. It had space babies and musical battles! It was fun and ridiculous and just. Felt good, man.

And it also had far-future dystopias and reproductive horror and slow starvation and suffocation and refugees and a timeline of depression and nuclear winter simply to create the universe's biggest aeolian harp so, you know. Doctor Who is back, baby!

Space Babies

Okay the episode was pretty fun and, at times, sweet (they saved the monster!) but oy the CGI/voice acting for the babies was… not great XD;;

Rani reference!

RTD detractors: "Ew, fart jokes with the Slitheen, so immature." RTD, writing an elaborate snot joke that ends with a colossal projectile shart: "Watch this :D"

Okay yes the projectile shart to get the space station moving is one thing, but, uh. How is it going to stop? XD;;

The nanny filter made me giggle each time.

I actually had to go back and check because I was squinting at the readout trying to work out what's weird and somehow failed a spot check and missed the fact that it had started snowing. Good observational skills, self. Anyway, the snow is definitely a Message. (Is it snow? Like I agree that it's connected with the day Ruby was born, but is what's falling in the church scene snow to begin with?)

Do you. Do you think the butterfly can regenerate now.

The Devil's Chord

Oooh, a Pantheon! Love a Pantheon. There's mention of the One Who Waits, speculation on whether 'the Oldest One' was there the day Ruby was born, we already have the Toymaker -> Maestro line, so maybe we'll be getting others? Also, the way Maestro phrased something earlier was fascinating too - "the Lord Temporal who sealed my father in salt". The Lord Temporal. There's been a lot of references to how the Doctor isn't just a Time Lord, maybe they're part of the Pantheon too, as the personification of time? Regeneration and Time Lord society all coming from this base primordial being?

Anyway I goddamn adore Maestro.

I wonder if we'll get Susan at the end of this season? (See: last link of this section!)

July 2024? So that's a good six months of travelling unaccounted for! Big Finish just going 👀

Semi-related but Ruby saying she was born in 2004 gave me a Crisis. Rose was 19 in 2005 and born the same year as me. Yeah okay I am good with that! Martha born in either 1986 or 1984, yep, fine, all checks out. But now there's a companion who was born when I was already an adult how is that legal.

"He ripped my soul in two." Oof.

The sonic actually did something sonic!

"I thought it was non-diegetic!!" I have so many questions. The walls are getting thin. Yeah, especially the fourth! (Random thought: Doctor Who official ARG?)

Lennon-McCartney saves the world! (I still like Harrison's stuff better.)

Apparently Murray Gold had a cameo but I have no idea what he looks like so it went completely over my head lmao

Missed opportunity to play The Devil Went Down To Georgia or The Devil's Trill, although we did get Danse Macabre and Rhapsody in Blue (which I put on as soon as the episode finished)!

Fun fact about Danse Macabre: "The solo violin enters playing the tritone, which was known as the diabolus in musica ("the Devil in music") during the Medieval and Baroque eras, consisting of an A and an E♭—in an example of scordatura tuning, the violinist's E string has actually been tuned down to an E♭ to create the dissonant tritone." (People hated it when it premiered. It made them feel anxious. Which is... kind of appropriate.)

There's always a twist at the end~ (I thought it was little H.Arbringer, but who knows?)

[star-mum]

Live Star Reaction - The Maze Runner

How did this movie evade me for so many years I have no idea

Stopping to think about it, I actually haven't seen any of the big dystopian teen dramas so now I get to play catch up !!

Was that a pig ?

Okay i know literally NOTHING about the plot so I'm just as lost as you are Dylan O'Brien

"he's all yours" ex-squeeze me? Green bean ???

OKAY NAMES TIME !!! or not i guess... memory wipe looove that

WHO'S THEY ?????

i like Alby, he seems nice (he's absolutely dying ain't he?)

N E W T !!!! I know him 👀 hello accent 👀

if Chuck dies to shift the tone or raise the stakes, I'm gonna personally hunt the producers for sport

MINHO IS SOOOO HOOOOOT !!!! OH MY GOD

Dylan you JUST got here can you listen to this poor kid ? before you get him killed (preferably)

"we gotta stop meeting like this" alright 🍓

is the maze like ... "alive" ?

"light him up" WHY'D YOU SAY HIM ???

you didn't tell me Newt had an accent 🥺

this movie would've NUMBERS in my mind palace at age what 12 ??? how old was I when this came out?

(i was 11 by the way, if you cared)

I can't believe how hot this cast is, EVERYTIME i see Minho I feel the need to scream (THEY KEEP SHOWING HIM FROM FAR AWAY LOOKING COOL AND MYSTERIOUS)

There is so much sexual tension between Will Pouter and Dylan O'Brien sksksksk was it supposed to be this way ?

DYLAN YOU CANT !! HE TOO BIG !!

SKSKSKSK GETS DROPPED ON HIS HEAD -> remembers his name (i fucking love that)

I guess I gotta stop calling him by his actor's name now ;-; fine Thomas

when he gave Thomas the knife I thought we were doing some sort of blood oath (that's for girls in sleepovers only, I forgot)

that's a very shallow grave...

ARE THEY GETTING INFECTED BY THE MAZE ??????

STUNG BY WHAT ???? I hate this movie sksksksk you can have a little exposition as a treat nO TOO MUCH THO PUT THAT DOWN

THERE SHE IS !!!!! I was obsessed with this actress as kid (despite not watching ANYTHING she was in) cause I found out she's half brazilian

is he there as a spy ? Is he supposed to push them all to their limits so only the strongest make it out

"Alby knows better than any of us" HE'S GONNA DIE IN THERE !!!!

(Newt might be my favorite... are we surprised or is this still part of a pattern) (this could change as I see more of the other boys)

HE'S GONNA HAVE TO DROP ALBY NOOOOOO

OH THAT SCENE WAS A THOUGHT WATCH !!! i hate the walls closing in

yeeeaahhh it's Minho time baaabyyyy !!!!

*minho shoves thomas against the wall* 😯🫣

IS THAT A SPIDER ROBOT ????? THAT'S HUMAN MADE !!! I WAS EXPECTING THEM TO BE REAL CREATURES NOT ROBOTS

SUUUNNY YOU DIDN'T TELL ME THERE WERE SPIDER CREATURES !! WHY DO THEY LOOK LIKE THAT

Chuck is so happy they're alive 🥺🥺 he was waiting for the boys outside the maze 🥺🥺

(he's absolutely dying at some point, to make us feel something)

C'mon Gally you're just mad you weren't the big hero of the day

he's soooooo jealous

IS SHE HERE ???? IS THE GIRL HERE ???? IDK HER NAME, KAYA SCODELARIO IS IT YOU ???? (yes it is :3)

oh those other nameless boys are supes dying here aren't they :/

IT'S A CAMERA ISN'T IT ???? TO WATCH THEM ???? or a tracker ?

"you okay, Fry?" oh he's got a name !! thank god !!

took a quick little trip to google and NEWT'S ACTOR PLAYED FERB ???? IN PHINEAS AND FERB ???? THAT'S WHY I RECOGNIZED HIS VOICE ?????

"Throw one more of those thing- OW" KSSKSSKKS SHE'S EVERYTHING TO ME

"for all we know this thing could kill him" he's already dying ! THANK YOU THOMAS

we're only finding out what outside the maze on the last movie aren't we ? ;-;

im so fucking serious, if anything happens to Chuck, Im gonna go crazy (he's my son and I care so much about him)

Noooo he gave the little toy to Thomas !!! he's gonna fucking dieeeeeee

"we call them the blades" that's a different movie

THAT'S SO MUCH BETTER THAN A CAMERA !!!! OOOOHHHHH

WHAT IS THIS PLACE ??? WHO BUILT THIS SUPER MARIO LEVEL LOOKING ASS MAZE ????

"Yeah you've been here 3 years and you're still here" SKSKSKSKS

FINALLY some answers !!!

Why did we leave Alby alone, he's gonna kill himself in there

"the doors aren't closing" *looks directly into camera* i wonder who's dying tonight 😐

so the fire both worked and did nothing ??? at the same time ???

NOOOOOOOOO MY SON !!!!!

OH MY GOD ! LET'S GO ALBY !!!!! WHAT ??? NOOOOO

*poisons himself* Thomas is fucking crazy NSKSKSKS i kinda love it

WE'RE NOT EVEN THERE ?????? ARE WE ???? IS THIS A MATRIX KINDS THING ???? WE'RE IN PODS ?????

"it's not a prison is a test" *Jim's the camera* do i have the world's biggest brain or what ? (the movie has been setting this "twist" up from the beginning)

"this isn't banishing, its an offering" i love seeing characters descend into madness, specially when they speed run that shit the moment a little something goes wrong

I love that teresa is putting her hair up cause obviously this is not the moment to have hair on your face BUT SHE DOES THE WORLD'S WORST AND LOSER PONYTAIL !!!!! THE HAIR IS STILL ALL OVER HER FACE !!!!

NOOOOO MY SON !!!!! STOP TEASING HIS DEATH PLEASE

*Exit door* SKSKSKS what the fuck, that's too easy

ooohh shit ppl are very fucking dead, did we do this? Dylan O'Brien was this you?

THE ENDING IS JUST DANGANRONPA !!!! WHAT THE FUCK SKSKSKS

"he's been stung" eeh he'll survive worst, im sure

YOU WERE THE SPY !!!! BUT FOR THE OTHER TEAM !!!!!

CHUCK WAS GONNA SACRIFICE HIMSELF NO NO NO NO

THAT'S MY SON !!!! NOOOOO FOR REAL THIS TIME !!! NOOOOOOOO

They teased his death so many times !!!! what to hide that he was marked from the beginning ???? I ALREADY KNEW THAT !!! I WAS RAISED ON STARKID DUDE I WILL ALWAYS PICK UP ON FORESHADOWING

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

"Dont worry, your safe now" I dont trust you

IF THEY KNEW WE WERE IN THERE, THEN WHY NOT RESCUE US FROM THE MAZE ???? WHY WAIT ????

WHAT A BITCH !!!! IT WAS ALL FAKE ?????

im gonna have to watch the sequel immediately, I hate it here (i don't actually, but I NEED answers)