reina-petrova · 9 months ago
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You Have My Word ・❥・ Elejah
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“Elena, you don’t have to just be a doppelgänger… you have to be a virgin. So, theoretically, if you lost it to someone, the ritual wouldn’t work.” “Are you serious?” “Yes, but there’s a catch…” “Of course there is. What is it, Bonnie?” “It has to be with an Original.” ↳AU where Elena discovers that Klaus’s hybrid ritual requires a virgin doppelgänger sacrifice and Elena never lost the V-card. Now her only hope is a certain Original. Set around season 3 during ripper!stefan and pining!Damon, post Elijah!haircut and post Elena's 18th birthday.
↳Warnings: Smut, virgin kink, dirty talk, light dom/sub undertones if you squint.
↳6.7k words
↳Cross-posted to AO3 here
↳Song rec: Terrible Thing by AG (A/N: this is just a silly AU fic that popped into my head, it’s only a vehicle for smut so be forewarned the canon details/timeline may be off 🤪)
・❥・
[text: 2:48pm] I found something. Call me l8tr. - Bonnie
Elena let out a shaky breath at the text in front of her. She finished putting the last of her books into her locker and slung her bag over her shoulder. She could hardly look away from the text as she shut the metal door closed, typing a quick response to Bonnie in the meantime.
[text: 2:49pm] I will. Thx B. - Elena
It almost seemed too good to be true, and as Elena returned to her car, she allowed herself a brief moment to envision a happy ending where Bonnie's new plan would actually work and they'd kill Klaus. Stefan would return to her. The Originals would be gone. Her town would be safe. She'd live.
Still, after so many run-ins with the supernatural, she'd learned to keep a healthy dose of reality mixed in with her positivity. Every plan was sure to work until it wasn't, and unfortunately, the last few indeed hadn't. It wasn't her life she was so worried about saving, it was everybody else's. With Klaus gone, they would be safe. But while Bonnie searched for any answers she could find, putting in all this time and effort, Elena had to at least try.
The moment she arrived home, she called Bonnie.
"Hey Elena,"
"Hi Bonnie, you said you found something? What's going on?" Elena sat down onto her bed with a small sigh.
"Yes and no. It's more of a loophole than anything else." Bonnie seemed a bit unsure, which gave rise to uncertainty in Elena. She prepared herself. Nothing was out of the question anymore.
"Okay, I'm ready."
"Like I said before, most of my grimoires don't go back far enough for the hybrid ritual, it's way too old. But I did find something in my oldest one, a description of it that included a word I've never seen before - virgino, in Latin."
Elena paused at that. She couldn't be hearing this correctly.
"As in...?"
"Yep. Virgin." Okay, so she had heard correctly.
"So what does that mean?"
“Elena, you don’t have to just be a doppelgänger… you have to be a virgin. So, theoretically, if you lost it, the ritual wouldn’t work.”
Elena's brows furrowed in confusion. She'd never heard that part of the ritual before. She wondered how accurate this description of the ritual could possibly be.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, but there’s a catch…” She heard Bonnie's voice grow more dim, and she knew it was nothing good.
“Of course there is. What is it, Bonnie?”
“Well... in order to ensure total loss of purity... it has to be with an Original.”
・❥・
“Thank you for meeting with me, Elijah.”
Elena’s fingers fidgeted around the coffee mug, her nails tracing over the width of it with anxiety. Elijah inclined his head politely, sitting opposite her at the Mystic Grill. It was far from a private place to speak, but Elena chose it for that very reason. Though the conversation was awkward at best, she didn’t know how she’d react if the two of them were alone. She didn’t even know how he’d react.
Despite all his wisdom, she knew he’d never guess why she’d asked to meet here.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Elena?”
He cut a handsome figure, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit that accentuated his shoulders with a matching black collared shirt underneath. The shirt opened at his throat and exposed the smallest peek of his clavicle. His hair was shorter now, brushed back and away from his face. A gold ring encircled one of his fingers. Noticing these details certainly wasn’t helping her nervousness. She swallowed the dryness in her throat at sound of the word pleasure.
Their “relationship” was built on shifting sands and she knew that, a tentative trust that both she and he tested the boundaries of. This would certainly cross the next three boundaries.
“Well, Bonnie was reading more into the hybrid ritual, trying to find a loophole. Trying to find our opportunity to kill Klaus.”
Elijah’s eyes searched hers but he said nothing in response, patiently waiting for her to continue. The words seem to spill out of her mouth as slowly as possible, yet her heart rammed in her rib cage. She was grateful he couldn't read her mind but doubtless he heard that at least.
What if he says no? How embarrassing would that be? And if it happened, how would she even explain to Stefan and Damon why suddenly the ritual wouldn’t work? Why it had to be Elijah?
“Yes.”
His smooth voice broke her from her reverie. She cleared her throat and tried again, taking another sip of her coffee. Matt had courteously slipped an extra something in her coffee when she’d asked, figuring even a drop of liquid courage would do her some good. It burned like a low ember in her stomach. Elijah’s tea stood in front of him, untouched.
“She found one other way that the ritual could be dismantled, apart from all the other options.” The other options being actually dying, becoming a vampire, etc. She’d gladly give her life if it meant her friends and town were safe, but killing Klaus would ensure safety forever. She had to at least try.
“Apparently, it’s not just the sacrifice of the doppelgänger… it’s the sacrifice of a virginal doppelgänger. So if the doppelgänger is no longer... you know, it won't work.”
Elijah’s brow furrowed, and she held some small victory in the fact that she was able to catch him so completely off guard. It made her feel less ridiculous in suggesting this, but also showed that not even the Originals knew all.
“But how can this be? I’ve never heard of such a requirement.”
“I guess it’s just one of the old failsafes from that era, tied in with the idea of innocence and purity in the face of…” She trailed off hesitantly.
“Evil.” He finished for her with a slow smile. She allowed herself a small smile in return.
When silence settled upon the conversation once more, Elijah took up the mantle, shifting to lean closer to her across the table. “And I assume you are a-“
“Yes.” The word was barely a whisper but she knew he heard it loud and clear.
Elijah raised his brows in some surprise, a smirk crossing his lips for the briefest of flashes. His hands quickly moved the teacup to the side of the table, the drink long forgotten. His fingers tapped slowly at the wooden table in thought, and Elena took a small breath into her lungs and held it.
“Forgive me, but with both Salvatore’s at your heels, and if I recall their history with Katerina-“ Elijah’s palm turned upwards, his eyes casting downwards for a moment.
“I am not Katherine.”
Then his gaze flickered up to hers, amusement clear in his warm brown eyes. She thought she saw a small look of admiration somewhere in those eyes.
“No. You are certainly not, Elena.”
Elena took another sip of the coffee, begging for the alcohol to provide some inspiration. As it was, her words were failing her and they hadn’t even gotten to the brunt of it. Part of her hoped he’d ascertain it himself without her even needing to say it. Though she wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to hear he’d say it either. Elijah was a noble man, and he ensured any and all terms of a deal were clear. He was the key to their plan to kill Klaus, and innuendos would never do, not when there was so much on the line. Thankfully, he wasn’t one for vulgarity either.
“So, if I’m understanding correctly, there’s only one thing left for you to do.” The amusement still never left Elijah’s eyes and it made her squirm in her chair. His gaze was so intent and heavy on her, his presence commanding. He was a man unlike she’d ever known. “But I’m assuming there’s a reason you called me here.”
"Yes." Here goes nothing. "The only way to ensure the total-“ she cleared her throat again. “-loss of purity is for it to be with an Original.”
Realization dawned on his features in the blink of an eye. Then, ever so slowly, she watched his face darken with something else. Her eyes dropped back to her fingers, nails digging into her nail beds. She wanted to disappear, to melt right into her chair.
“And further ensure the division of the family.” Elijah murmured. “If it can only be an Original, then only Niklaus’s own family can betray him.”
A small knot of fear tied itself in Elena’s stomach. If he refused, if he changed his mind about killing Klaus, all hope was lost. She tried her best to gauge his reaction, but he was unreadable at best, a stone statue at worst. Elijah never let his hand slip, and she could no more understand him than she could an ancient language.
Suddenly, her nerves got the better of her. The caffeine outweighed the alcohol, and she felt herself standing to her feet, grabbing her bag from the back of the chair.
“I’m sorry, this was a ridiculous idea. We’ll find another way-“ She took no more than a step away from the table, prepared to flee the building when she felt his hand take hers gently.
“Elena.”
He pulled on her hand slightly, just enough that she stepped back towards him and towards the table. Even in the smallest, most delicate of gestures, she felt his strength thrumming in his fingertips. She turned to face him, and he’d stood to his full height, his broad frame dwarfing hers.
It was then that she allowed herself the opportunity to even process what she was asking. She’d been so caught up in trying to kill Klaus, prevent any more innocent lives lost, that she hadn’t thought about what this would. mean. Her and Elijah. Together.
A flash of their bodies intertwining appeared in her mind, the heat of his hand on hers suddenly feeling like a searing flame on her skin. The knot of fear began to dissolve, and something else pooled in her lower stomach.
The same feeling she saw in his eyes just then.
Four little words, and despite herself, she felt her heart flutter.
“You have my word.”
・❥・
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Bonnie repeated for the fifth time that evening. Elena shot her a half annoyed glance, to which Bonnie grinned in response.
“I know.” Elena repeated for the sixth. All too well. Though she had a feeling she had no real idea.
Elena sat down into the bed with a quiet sigh. Bonnie had brought the grimoire where she found the loophole so Elena could see it for herself. Though her Latin was nonexistent, there was no denying that word. Virgin. She'd even brought a few extras she didn't have time to go through earlier in case they had any other information to offer. So far, nothing. The books shifted slightly towards Elena in their careful piles as her weight settled into the covers.
“What about Stefan? I thought you guys were waiting.”
The reminder of Stefan struck a chord in her heart, but one that had been struck too many times lately. She believed in her and Stefan’s love, but with him firmly in Klaus’s grasp, she could hardly recognize him. As it was, she had little time to wait.
“Stefan’s lost right now, Bonnie. And if this could get him away from Klaus and save his life, I’m going to try.”
“And Damon?” Bonnie offered quietly, with some note of derision in her voice. Elena knew how she felt about him, but there was also no denying Damon's obvious feelings for her, and how protective he'd become. It was almost too much to think about. Instead, she stood up and began aimlessly tidying the room, putting things away in random drawers. What does one do to prepare for this situation?
“He doesn’t know- he can’t know. He’ll lose it. He’ll say it’s a bad plan.” Along with a few choice words for Elijah and maybe a dagger dipped in white oak ash. Then they’d have no plan.
“Well I wouldn’t say it’s a good plan.” Bonnie responded sardonically.
Elena’s mouth dropped in fake disbelief as she put her diary away.
“This was your idea!”
“You’re the one going through with it! And I mean, Elijah? He’s kind of scary.”
“As opposed to who?” Elena responded with a mirthless laugh. “And he’s not that scary. He’s just… aristocratic."
“No? Oh.” Bonnie teased coyly. “I forgot how well you’re acquainted…" She cocked a brow at Elena's pattering around the room "Are you actually cleaning right now?”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” She admitted. “How does one seduce an Original?”
Bonnie started flipped some of the grimoires closed, and Elena looked up nervously at the clock. He would arrive in 30 minutes. Anticipation buzzed through her veins at the thought. Bonnie slid off the bed once the books allowed a path and stood in front of Elena, taking her hands in hers as a show of strength.
“I'm sorry, Elena, this is a big deal. Your first time but it comes with the caveat of saving your life and everybody else's. Not to mention it's happening with a thousand year old vampire. Just be your normal, charming self. This is a common interest of killing Klaus and nothing more.”
“Right,” Elena smiled. Nothing more. Right?
“But-“ Bonnie reached behind her and pulled one of the drawers she’d just shut open and retrieved her hair brush. With a shrug, she handed it to Elena. “Couldn’t hurt.”
Elena smirked and took the hairbrush from her hands, combing it through her locks gently.
・❥・
After Bonnie left, Elena paced for another ten minutes incessantly. She'd brushed her hair, done minimal makeup, but left herself in her usual outfit of jeans and a tank top. Anything else felt like it was trying too hard.
She sat down onto edge of the bed and glanced at her phone. A few messages from Damon and Caroline. Nothing from Stefan. She dropped the phone onto the bed and waited. With each passing minute, she felt her heart beginning to race faster and faster.
This is insane. How is this my life?
The fact that it was happening in her bedroom was even stranger. Elijah had been inside of her house before but this was something else entirely. He'd been perfectly gentlemanly in allowing her to choose the location, but there weren't many options. Elijah had no permanent domicile as of yet, and a hotel room felt too seedy, even the nicest one in town; though he'd even assured her he'd take care of the cost.
Only after she ensured Ric and Jeremy wouldn't be home did she suggest her place, a small level of familiarity in this situation. She wasn't afraid per se, but the way her body reacted to his was jarring. There was something deeply forbidden about it, and she couldn't help but be drawn to it. Being home would help ground her.
His knock came, short and sweet. Elena's heart nearly jumped out of her chest as she stood up and walked down the stairs to let him in. Her fingers curling around the knob, she took one more quiet breath. No going back now.
She opened the door to Elijah standing on her porch, clad in his usual tailored suit. The black fabric looked heavy and luxurious with the way it laid on his shoulders, accentuating his broad frame. The dark shirt he was wearing that afternoon was replaced with a crisp white one, and the tie he wore was black to match the jacket. There was stubble on his jaw, she noticed with a note of appreciation. It gave him a slightly more disheveled look than usual. Her nervousness began to melt away at the sight of his handsome face and his calm demeanour.
He was wearing the same gold ring as before, and she only noticed when she spotted the crimson red rose in his fingers. With a smile, he extended it to her. "Elena."
"Elijah." Elena reached out and took the rose from his hands, giving a slight smirk. "A flower. Very symbolic of you."
Elijah let out a quiet laugh. "I assure you, I meant no such innuendo. It didn't seem right to come without a gift."
"Well, it's beautiful. Please come in."
He stepped in as invited and she shut the door behind him. Now that they were well and truly alone, her heart picked up the pace once more, but she busied her fingers with the stem of the rose so as not to betray it. The man was a thousand years old and undoubtedly had known countless women. Her experience to his could not pale more in comparison. "I'm sorry, this is a bit... overwhelming."
"Undoubtedly."
Elijah stepped towards her slowly, closing the distance between them more than they ever had before. Elena stared upwards at him, her eyes barely at the level of his lips. His gaze was compelling but warm as it fell upon her, and she felt a breath hitch in her lungs at the nearness of him. "I want to make this experience comfortable for you, Elena. Your terms."
Elena nodded slowly, swallowing back her saliva. "Should we go upstairs?"
Elijah inclined his head with a small smile to which Elena smiled back. As intimidating as he could be, he was trying to put her at ease, and she appreciated it. She led the way up the stairs and to her bedroom, Elijah trailing behind. Once upstairs, she placed the rose delicately on the top of the dresser and then turned to face him.
Elijah looked incredibly out of place in her bedroom. Finely dressed and with an air of sophistication only a thousand years on earth could garner, he was like an ancient relic pulled straight from the history books. He looked better suited to a battlefield than a modern-day bedroom. But if he was ill at ease, he certainly never showed it.
His eyes met hers again and Elena's stomach flip-flopped. He had barely even touched her yet, and she was already reacting so viscerally to the vampire in front of her. Again, snapshots of their bodies entwining flashed in her mind like a promise of what was to come. Amusement crossed his chiseled features and he raised a hand to gently place his thumb and forefinger on her chin. "I can hear your heart beating, Elena."
Beating was an understatement. It felt like it was about to pop out of her chest. His touch on her face certainly wasn't helping that matter.
"Are you nervous?"
She thought before answering, their eyes searching each other, trying to gauge the other's feelings. But despite what she'd initially thought... she wasn't. Excitement thrummed within her, her arousal beginning to simmer at the seductive way he seemed to be looking down at her. He knew exactly what kind of power he held, and he enjoyed it. It was unnerving, but it was thrilling.
"No."
"Good. I want you to enjoy yourself, Elena. To let go and give in." To me, his eyes seemed to say. Give in to me completely. She managed a nod but found that words had escaped her completely. Was he moving in closer?
His fingers never dropped from her chin and she had nowhere to look but directly at him. Warmth bloomed from inside her stomach, her body signalling just how much she wanted to give in.
Using his other hand, he lifted a single finger to trace over the curvature of her neck, beginning from her collarbone all the way up to where her jaw began. His finger pressed just so behind her jawbone where her pulse was strongest, and she felt her blood sing in response to him.
"I meant what I said. Your terms. You're in complete control."
"I know..." Closer still. Their lips were a hairsbreadth apart.
"Yes?" She could feel the smile in his lips.
"Yes."
His lips met with hers and she felt herself crumble. His kiss was as captivating as she could've imagined, without a trace of insistence. He was telling the truth; the pace was in her hands. At first, shyness won out. Elena returned the kiss slowly at first, but as her lips deepened, so did his.
His hand had fallen from her face and instead, he pressed his palm to to her mid-back. It dipped no lower. Ever the gentleman, she thought, unable to supress the smile between their kiss.
He seemed to sense her amusement because his hand fell lower not a moment later, placing itself into the small of her back. He pressed her body closer to his, her chest landing flush with his as though he were challenging her.
Something sparked within Elena as the warmth of Elijah's hand spread through her hips. A need to know, a need to discover. She found the courage to touch him back, raising her hands to slip over his shoulders, fingers delicately tracing over the back of his neck. The fabric of his suit was soft to the touch, his skin softer still.
She'd done some things with Matt and Stefan before, but with Elijah, it felt as though she knew nothing at all. In this, she wanted him to take the lead. It seemed he intended to to some degree as both of his hands came down to her waist, the large expanse of his hands burning through her shirt. Desire began to take over, and their kisses grew deeper still. She ran her fingernails along the nape of his neck, coming down to scratch over his shoulders.
His hands pressed into her hips again before he broke the kiss. Elena felt how flushed she was, cheeks pink and lips swollen from his amorousness. She saw a muscle work in his jaw and he regarded her with half-lidded eyes. He raised a graceful hand and indicated towards the bed with a half-smirk.
"Please."
Elena pulled herself away from Elijah and obeyed, sitting on the side of the bed before lying down. Not once did she look away from him as he shrugged his jacket off, then loosened the knot of his tie. Desire pooled in the deepest parts of her at the sign of him so untidy. He looked like every woman's dream as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his white shirt and rolled them up slowly, exposing tanned forearms corded with lean muscle.
He returned to her, eyes appreciatively slipping from her neck downwards to her chest and her hips. "Good girl."
Slowly, he leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss again, his arms on either side of her head. The night had fallen in earnest now, the single lamp she left on providing a faint warm glow in the room. Elijah’s body swallowed her, the broadness of his shoulders and the dimness of the room entombed her in what felt like an eternity of him.
Elena reached up and twirled her fingers around his tie, giving an experimental tug to pull him down closer to her. He chuckled against her mouth and she did it again, pleased with the way his weight settling on her felt.
"Not that good." She whispered against his mouth.
"No? Show me."
Passion reignited, his mouth was suddenly everywhere. On hers, trailing kisses along her jaw, her collarbone, between the valley of her breasts. When his mouth stopped where her shirt ended, his fingers tugged upwards at the bottom of it, and she broke the kiss to pull it over her head.
With practiced ease, he unbuttoned her jeans and began to tug them down. She sat up slightly to help pull them off, then fell back in only her bra and underwear. Just before he could continue, she reached for one of his hands and tentatively placed it between her legs. Elijah raised his brows at her but acquiesced.
One arm outstretched between her thighs, the other bent as he hovered over her, he gazed down at her with darkened eyes. "I think you'll be good for me."
Elena's breathing pitched into a soft moan as she felt Elijah's fingers press against her underwear. Moving softly but with intent, his index and middle finger rubbed upwards, careful to barely brush against her covered clit, just where she needed him most. Her hips shifted at the pleasure, lips parting as another moan escaped her lips. His fingers were trained and precise.
"Won't you?" He asked, and she could hardly piece together a sentence. His voice was deep enough it reverberated in her chest. She felt herself growing wetter and she knew he could feel it too.
"Yes, Elijah."
"Mm."
She reached for his tie again to pull him down into another kiss. In the meantime, his fingers brushed the edge of her underwear aside and as his fingers slipped against her pussy, she gasped into his mouth. Finally, after a few moments, his fingers slowly came to her clit, and she felt every nerve sizzle in her body at the feeling.
He pressed another kiss to her lips as his fingers slowly slipped inside of her, and she suppressed another moan into his mouth. They moved slowly, collecting her wetness and teasing her. Her hips bucked lightly, chasing the feeling.
"So innocent... What do you want, Elena?" His fingers paused over her clit and she let out a soft whine at the cessation.
"I want you to touch me, Elijah. Please."
His touch felt like electricity as his fingers returned to run against her clit, and her body tensed as the pleasure swam through her. She already felt spent and yet he was still fully clothed.
Her hands reached for his shirt, but his hands captured hers before she could even the score. "Not yet. Not until I think you've had enough."
Her head and shoulders fell back onto the bed as his fingers picked up their pace. He alternated between slipping inside of her and pressing his thumb against her clit, until the energy building inside of her threatened to spill over. Her hands found his shoulders and her fingernails dug into his shirt at the pleasure, brow creasing as it threatened to overtake her.
Finally, with one last roll of his fingers, she felt the wave crash into her, sending ripples of sparks down to her very fingers and toes. If he were a mortal man, the grip she had on his body would've left marks. Elijah's mouth swallowed the last of the moans escaping from Elena's lips as his fingers rode out her orgasm, his thumb occasionally brushing against her sensitive clit, causing her to jump.
"I like the sight of you like this, sweet Elena. Undone, writhing. Your pleasure in my hands."
"And yours in mine." She panted.
Elena pushed up on Elijah's shoulders and he allowed it, the positions reversing until she straddled his hips. His hands came up to her waist, gripping it as she slowly rolled them over his. His desire was evident in the bulge of his pants, and it gave her immense satisfaction to know she had the same effect that he did on her.
Her fingers made quick work of his belt, unbuttoning while pressing her hand against the outline of him. He released a quiet groan at the feeling of her touch, and she wanted to hear more. His fingers came away from her hips to divest himself of his tie properly, slipping the satin from around his neck.
She slid from off his hips and stood at the foot of the bed, leaning over to tug him towards her by the loop of his trousers. He stood, his shirt half unbuttoned and creased, and his belt hanging around his hips. Elena felt herself grow wetter as she sank to her knees in front of him, and he watched with dark eyes as she began to pull his trousers and underwear down, just low enough to release his cock.
He was long and thick in her hand, and his head fell back as she leaned forward and licked a trail from shaft to tip. Slowly, she took him into her mouth, licking and sucking his heavy length until she could take him no more.
A deep growl emanated from Elijah’s chest, his hand coming up to rest against the back of her head. He let her set the pace, but his fingers knotted themselves in her hair as she swirled her tongue around his tip, tasting every last inch of him.
“You wicked little thing.” He sighed, his jaw clenching and his muscle tensing. She could see he desperately wanted to move his hips, but stayed in full control as she pressed him deeper into her mouth.
She placed her hands on his thighs, gripping the fabric of his trousers to give herself more balance, and she felt his fingers brush the hair away from her face and behind her ear before lightly collecting it into his grip. The small gesture made her heart skip as she set a quick rhythm.
He groaned again in pleasure, allowing himself a few more moments before delicately tugging on her hair to bring her back up to standing position. In a flash, the moment she stood, he had her trapped against the wall, his chest pressing into her shoulder blades. Her fingers bent and scratched against the wall, seeking purchase as her lungs seemed to give out. His scent enveloped her. His mouth was hot against her ear.
“So innocent and yet so wicked. So ready to be defiled. Will you give into me, Elena?” Give in, her mind whispered.
She found herself pushing back against the wall to be closer to him, the outline of his body providing delicious heat against hers. She felt his strength emanating from every muscle, both hands pressed on either side of her. Using one hand, he tilted her jaw until her neck was exposed to him. For a moment, she thought he would drink from her, but instead, he placed gentle half-kiss-half-bites along the slope of her neck. His hand then dipped to her back where he quickly unhooked her bra and slipped it off her shoulders. Her underwear was tugged down until it fell. Goosebumps rose all over her skin at the thought of being fully naked in front of Elijah Mikaelson.
“I want to give in, Elijah. Give me all of you.”
Her back was pressed into the mattress before she realized, her body softly settling on the bed. Elijah undid the last of the buttons on his shirt and pulled off his trousers.
“So beautiful.” He murmured, his hand coming up to cup her breast, thumb tracing over her pebbled nipple. Elena sighed at the feeling.
Elijah’s body was just as beautiful, she thought. The expanse of his chest was strong, his abdomen and arms both lean with taut muscle. A deep V-line followed into his hips, his cock erect.
Just as their lips moved to reconnect, Elena’s eyes met his again. Suddenly, this became more than just breaking a ritual. Both were entrenched in their desire, desperate to for release in the other’s body. Nervousness bubbled up inside of her again as she realized it was time. Everything else she had done before, but not this. She knew generally what to expect of sex, but certainly not when it came to a thousand year old vampire being her first.
“I’ll be gentle.”
Elena nodded at his kind words, fingers reaching up to his shoulders again. He balanced on one arm as the other reached out to touch her slick heat, and instantly, she felt the unreleased desire come flooding back. Satisfied, Elijah slowly guided himself between her legs.
Her chest arched upwards at the feeling. Heat spread from her hips as her pussy stretched to accommodate his length. True to his word, he moved slowly as he rolled his hips towards her, sinking deeper into her with every breath. She could feel him gauging her reaction and moving only so long as she allowed it.
Elena felt as though she might burst from the feeling, her breathing devolving into moans as he settled himself to the hilt inside of her. One of her legs was bent, the other laid straight, and one of his hands gripped her thigh as he used the other to balance himself over her, watching her face.
Once the burn of the stretch passed, pleasure began to trickle in. He felt immense inside of her, overwhelming in every aspect of his body as he stilled his hips against hers.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes- yes.” Her eyes fluttered closed.
“Does it feel good, Elena?”
He slowly rolled his hips back and she let out an involuntarily moan at the feeling of him moving inside of her. When he rolled his hips forward again, pleasure erupted from within her, and her nails dug into the skin of his shoulders.
“Yes, yes!“
Elijah pressed a kiss to her lips, and obeyed. He set a slow but sensual rhythm to his hips as he moved in and out of her with deliberate care. Any discomfort long forgotten, Elena felt her own hips moving in tandem, hissing in delight at the friction their hips created.
He chuckled at her reaction. “So good for me.”
The praise was like an extra douse of kerosene to the flame.
“Please, Elijah- more.”
“More what? Hm?”
All the while, he never stopped moving, his hips picking up a faster pace. In that moment, the hand resting on her thigh slipped between their two entwined bodies. His fingers immediately located her clit, and the combination of him pumping in and out of her, and his thumb pad rolling against her clit, her moan nearly turned into a scream. She could hardly think past her own name.
“Use your words, Elena. Tell me what you want.”
But she couldn’t. Her body shook with pleasure, her nails digging crescent shaped impressions into his skin.
“I’m so close, please…”
His fingers and hips slowed down ever so slightly, and she whined at the feeling of her release slowly ebbing away.
“Do you want more?” He asked again.
“Yes.” Her voice was thick with desperation. All she could think about was the way his hips moved in between her thighs. The length of him hit all of the most inner parts, sending shockwaves of pleasure up her spine. She wanted more of anything he would give her.
He slowly pulled out of her, releasing his grip on her and flipped their positions once more. He kneeled behind her on the bed while she lay flat on her stomach, then he slowly moved until his body hovered over hers.
She pressed her thighs together, trying to gain back some friction, frustrated at the loss of him. She felt him press a kiss to her shoulder blade and in the same moment, he lifted her hips and slowly slid back into her.
She gasped at the feeling, her hips rising to meet his, and he settled back onto his knees, gripping her hips as he set a quicker pace. She felt herself dripping between her thighs, moans slipping past her lips as Elijah thrusted in and out.
She was desperate for release, and as his hips stuttered a bit, she knew he was too. He reached forward for her, pulling her back towards him until her back was pressed to his chest once more. One arm encircled her waist while the other hand reached for her clit. She nearly folded at the feeling, but his arm kept her to him, and suddenly she was right at the precipice of her release once more.
“Will you be good for me, Elena?”
She managed a nod, fingers digging into his forearm. His cock and fingers were relentless against her, and she felt like she was about to scream.
“Yes, I’ll be good for you, Elijah, I’m so- so close.”
“So good...” He murmured. “Cum for me.”
The pleasure erupted inside of her, her hips stuttering and her pussy clenching around him as she reached the brink of orgasm. Elijah groaned at the feeling of her coming undone around him, his hand falling away from her clit. He gripped her to him and thrusted inside of her a handful more times before spilling inside of her. Elena relished in the feeling of him in those last moments before he released her.
It was done.
Elena collapsed onto the bed with Elijah close by, unable to move, to think, even to breathe. He shifted himself over so as not to crush her, the pair panting deeply in the thralls of their desire.
The phrase total loss of purity echoed in her mind as she opened her eyes and looked upon Elijah. The shameless way she begged for him, the way her hips moved in search of him. She had corrupted herself entirely. Defiled by an Original.
In more ways than one, they were linked together forever.
After a minute, their breathing settled into silence.
“Do you think it’ll work?” She whispered.
Elijah looked over at her, sitting up slightly. He raised a hand to gently move one of the strands of her hair away from her face. It felt as intimate as anything they'd just done. The heat having died down between them, there was nothing left to do but face the music.
"I have long learned to keep hope at bay whenever Niklaus is involved."
Elena nodded. Of course he was right, but she tried not to look too concerned. He seemed to notice.
"I hope you don't regret this night too deeply if it does not. I recognize what a sacrifice this must've been for you."
Elena shook her head, mirroring him as she slowly sat up as well.
"I don't regret it, Elijah."
He smiled softly, and she returned it.
"Neither do I."
・❥・
The next morning after Elijah left, Damon arrived at her house. She could tell he was relieved that she was indeed alive, but simultaneously annoyed at having been ignored. He wore his usual leather jacket, black jeans and boots, with a few strands of black hair falling into his eyes. She couldn't help but compare the two men that were at her door just a few hours apart. A leather jacket and a suit.
"Oh good, you're still standing. Would've been nice to know." He raised his cellphone up as he crossed the threshold. "You know these nifty little things called cellphones? I called like three times."
She'd passed out almost immediately after Elijah had left, though she'd only been able to sleep a few hours before she couldn't ignore Damon any longer.
"Sorry, I just fell asleep. Bonnie and I were going through some old grimoires trying to find something." I hope that's convincing enough. She'd even made sure to shower and change after Elijah had left, not wanting Damon to risk sensing anything had been awry. She led him upstairs back up to her bedroom, desperate to go back to sleep.
"And? Did our witchy encyclopedia find anything?"
"She did, actually."
"Mhm. I bet."
Elena looked over at Damon with a raised brow at his suspicion and he met it with a smirk.
"You hatched a plan, didn't you?" He did the eye thing. Elena blinked and turned away, giving a noncommittal shrug.
"Not really. It was barely a plan."
"Fine, don't tell me." Damon closed the space between them with a single stride until he was looking down at Elena. He gave another smirk. "Just promise me it wasn't anything stupid."
Elena smiled. "You have my w- I mean, I promise."
Damon nodded once, then reached over her shoulder to grab something from her dresser. Elena's heart dropped when Elijah's red rose came into view. Damon twirled it between his fingers with narrowed eyes and a crooked smile.
"What's this, then?"
・❥・
Fin.
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thesummerestsolstice · 8 months ago
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Headcanon Crafts for Everyone I Missed Last Time:
Idril: a sculptor. She worked with every kind of stone imaginable, and often went looking for new material in Gondolin’s mines with Maeglin. (Look my Maeglin head canons are complicated but they should get to be friends the narrative has hurt them too much already) She actually preferred not to make elvish figures, instead focusing on strangely beautiful stone landscapes and various animal-like figures. She was actually responsible for Middle-Earth’s version of the gargoyle, having carved several to stand guard over Gondolin. Several elves swore that the statues moved, but she never addressed those rumors. She also liked to paint her work with bright colors, which would’ve been seen as odd back in Valinor, but fit right in in First Age Middle-Earth.
Maeglin: a smith, but his craft was more in-line with Avarin practice than Noldor practice; with much less focus on the idea of making gems and heavier focus on understanding natural geology and the properties of various gems and metals. He knew the mines of Gondolin better than anyone, and wrote plenty about the the earth under the earth. His work also had fairly significant Dwarfish influences. He liked to make mechanically complex pieces, with moving parts or even some internal gear work.
Finduilas: a hunter. Her and her father were both nature people, just in very different ways. She was silent, with all the grace of a dancer, and quick enough to outrun most of what she hunted. She preferred to go after more aggressive animals– wild boar, wolves, bears, even wargs– and leave the deer and rabbits be. She was born in Beleriand, and had never met the Valar, but sometimes, privately, offered up prayers to Orome. She liked to imagine she could’ve been in his hunt, if things had turned out a bit differently.
Celebrimbor: a smith, in the very traditional Noldor sense. Gemworker, specialized in jewelry, made various famously beautiful pieces, etc. Was never quite happy sticking to hairpins and necklaces. Longed to try his hand at imbuing his work with real power, but always talked himself out of it. A whole binder of concepts for works of power sat locked away in a chest in his workshop for centuries. He never talked to anyone about it. He was as ashamed of his feelings for his craft as he was of his feelings for his family. By the end of his life, he’d made peace with only one of those things.
Earendil: a mariner? Alright, he was definitely a mariner, and he loved the ship life– he even built a few boats of his own, in a similar fantastic style to Turgon’s architecture– but he also had a longstanding fascination with the natural world, and filled volumes and volumes of journals with information on various plants, animals, and minerals. But natural lore isn’t a recognized Noldor craft, since it involves learning but doesn’t really produce tangible results. Still, it was a passion he got from afternoons spent learning about geology with “Uncle Mole,” and one he shared with Elrond. Researching the beauty and wonder of nature gave Earendil something to do with his immortal life, and was a big part of the reason Elrond chose to be immortal at all.
Gil-Galad: a king. No, really, he’d been the high-king of the Noldor since he was a child, and hadn’t really had time for trivialities like “finding a life purpose” or “having fun.” He was too busy learning how to stay alive in late stage Beleriand (read: hell) and learning to rule the least cooperative group of elves imaginable. He wanted to be a painter, and while he found enough practice time to get good at his chosen craft; because of how long detailed paintings can take, he almost never had time to actually make anything. He tried not to let it bother him too much. He didn’t always succeed at that.
Elrond: in a bit of a weird spot. Elrond is most associated with lore and healing; but, as discussed, “lore” isn’t considered a craft. And, well. Healing had to be Elrond’s craft, right? He’d been doing it since he was seven, and just about the only person in Amon Ereb who could still use healing powers. And it was good work, and it was rewarding, even if it often left him feeling so burned out and worried that he forgot to eat or sleep. It took him a long time to admit to himself that healing for him was what fighting was to many other elves: a necessity. Truth be told, he’d rather be gardener, working with the earth to create a place of peace and beauty. Also, Elrond is basically a nature spirit. So. It was something he began to explore in the peace of the early Second Age. He found that his Ainuric powers had all sorts of interesting effects on plant life. He also learned how to breed new varieties of fruits, vegetables, and flowers. Still, he never really considered that it could be a proper craft for him. At least, not until he first saw the valley that would one day become Rivendell.
Headcanon Crafts for Finwe and his Children, the House of Feanor, the House of Fingolfin, and the House of Finarfin.
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bluejaysandblackbats · 3 months ago
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Eyes and Ears
Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam
Summary: An AU where Barbara finds Jason instead of Bruce.
It's March and Jason's fifteen in this chapter.
Chapters: 43/?
Characters: Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon, Jim Gordon, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Sheila Haywood, Original Character(s)
Relationship(s): Jason Todd/Original Character(s), Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson
Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Older SIbling Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd-centric, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Jason Todd is NOT Robin, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Has a Crush, Adopted Siblings
Chapter Forty-Three: Barbara's Angels
Jason fell asleep on Barbara’s couch, clutching his stomach. “What’s wrong?” Barbara asked. Dick lifted her chin with his knuckle.
“Who hit you?” Dick asked.
Barbara brushed his hand away. “Don’t worry about it… What’s going on with you and my brother?” Barbara asked. “Has he said anything about—?” Dick shushed her. 
“Let’s talk somewhere private. I don’t need him flipping out again like he did in the car,” Dick whispered. He followed Barbara to another room and sat down across from Barbara and set Jason’s test results on the table. Barbara didn’t touch them. She pushed her glasses up. “Barbara—.” 
“He wanted you to do his blood test?” Barbara asked.
“Don’t take it personally—.” 
“Just a thing between guys, right? Dick, you—.” 
“Crossed a line? I didn’t have a choice. He begged me, Babs… And it was either that or talk about his love life, which I do not —.” 
“What the hell is going on, Dick?” Barbara whispered. Dick frowned. “What’s going on with Jason?” 
“Read the results and I’ll explain how we got there,” Dick answered. Barbara skimmed the pages, frowning as she looked at the anomaly markers. She pushed her hair back and removed her glasses. 
“Shit,” Barbara muttered, “Tell me he didn’t understand this. Tell me you didn’t explain it to him.” 
“Babs—.” 
“What’s wrong with you? He’s a sixteen-year-old boy, Dick. You can’t tell him—.” 
“He asked me… And he freaked out immediately after I told him,” Dick answered, “What do you want me to do about it? I couldn’t lie to him. And that’s the least of his worries.”
“Dick, please tell me everything you know about this situation with—?”
“I can’t tell you everything. Jason made me promise to omit a few details about what happened in Barcelona. This is the only part I’m allowed to tell you. Jason’s functionally immortal, and it’s—. You would’ve thought I told him he had two weeks to live. It wrecked him,” Dick whispered. Barbara held up a finger as she left the room to take a call. 
“Dinah, hi,” Barbara answered. Dick sank into his chair. 
** 
The dinner table remained completely silent save for the scraping of forks. Jason sectioned off small pieces of his lasagna, pushing it around his plate. Reese stared at Jason, trying to catch his eye. Dick avoided eye contact with Barbara, electing to study Jason instead. And Jim and Barbara . Their eyes hadn’t left Jason since he came home. “Jason, you’re not eating,” Reese whispered. 
“I didn’t know I was supposed to…The way everyone’s staring, I thought I was dinnertime entertainment,” Jason muttered before shoving his plate away and storming out of the room. 
Everyone moved to follow him, but Reese shook his head. “I was the one who detonated him… Do you all mind if I try to talk to him?” Reese requested. 
“Go ahead,” Jim whispered. 
Reese knocked on the door. “Jason? Can I come in?” Reese asked.
“Do whatever you want,” Jason replied. Reese slipped in the room and shut the door. 
“What’s wrong?” Reese asked. 
“Everything,” Jason snapped, “And the one person who can fix it is the one who caused it. No one else can help me, Reese… And I’m pissed about it.” 
“So, you’re going to snap at everyone who cares about you?” Reese questioned. 
Jason paced aimlessly around the room, avoiding physical contact with Reese. “Do you want me to answer that honestly?” Jason replied. Reese stopped him, grabbing him by the shoulders. “You don’t want to do this with me right now. Reese—.” 
“I’m gonna let you go, and I want you to look at me. I want you to admit that you’re not mad… I want you to admit you’re scared… And I’ll stay the night. I’ll hold you. We’ll get through this,” Reese stated. He released Jason, and Jason whimpered and shook his head. His breathing sped up. His eyes filled with water. Reese nodded. Jason hyperventilated as he fought tears. “It's okay. It’s you and me.” 
Jason hid his face in Reese’s sweater. “This is so fucked,” Jason cried. Reese rubbed his back. 
“It is… And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that there’s not much we can do other than apologize. I’m sorry about all the things you feel you can’t talk about,” Reese apologized as he swayed from side to side. Jason sobbed until he was too tired to do anything. He climbed into bed, reaching for Reese, and Reese held him. “I’ll sleep here every night until you feel better.” 
“I’m sorry,” Jason mumbled.
“It’s okay… You had an unbelievable birthday week… How about we go to dinner on Friday night?” Reese offered. Jason laughed. “Sue me for worrying about your empty stomach.” Reese kissed Jason’s forehead. After Jason fell asleep, Reese crept out of the room and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. 
Everyone stared at him, waiting for news. “Oh, um… He’s tired. I’ll leave the door cracked, Mr. Gordon,” Reese whispered. 
“Reese, one thing… Thank you. It’s been nice having you around to help out,” Jim smiled. Reese nodded.
“Thank you for letting me help,” Reese replied.
**
Barbara called Jason after Jim took Reese to school, waking him out of his sleep. “ Yeuughh … Hello?” Jason muttered.
“Are we not going to talk?” Barbara asked. 
Jason looked at the time on his phone and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay,” Jason answered.
“What are you hiding from me?” Barbara questioned. “I know it’s something important. Dick told me about the immortality thing but withheld something else. What could be scarier to talk about than that?” 
“I’m not scared to tell you for my sake. I’m scared because I know you’ll flip out and be worried about me… And you’re gonna say bad things about my mom—.” 
“Jason, that—. I swear I won’t say anything bad about your mom,” Barbara promised.
“Okay… I think my mom is helping Joker manufacture chemical weapons… Actually, I know. He was in the hotel room in Barcelona. I didn’t see him, but I heard him. I told Dick not to tell you about that part. I don’t think he ever saw my face. Mom covered me up when he was around,” Jason explained. 
Barbara didn’t speak. The doorbell rang, and Jason jumped. “Jason, don’t answer the door—.” 
“Barbara, don’t worry about me… Anything that happens to me won’t injure me permanently. My mom said—.”
“Your mom—. Goddammit, Jason. I’m on my way over there right now,” Barbara half-shouted as Jason walked toward the front door. 
“Are you Jason Todd?” a man’s voice questioned. “I’m here at your mother’s request. I know you’re home alone.”
Jason answered the door without hesitation. “Jason, no—.” 
Jason stuck his phone in his pocket. “What did she want?” Jason asked. 
“She said you’d want this… I didn’t open it. I swore I wouldn’t involve myself in her affairs after that incident—. You’re her son. So, whatever it is, I must be partially responsible. I knew helping her would always come back to haunt me,” the man whispered as he shoved a manila envelope into Jason’s arms and left. Jason shut the door and answered the phone. 
“Barbara, did you hear any of that?” Jason asked.
“I’m so mad at you right now… But, I heard it. What was he talking about?” Barbara asked.
“I think he was there the night my mom accidentally killed me,” Jason whispered. “Do you think you could get one of your friends to do us a favor?” 
“If you mean—.”
“I know about the Charlie’s Angels gig you’ve got going on the side. If they can find my mom, maybe they can stop Joker’s thing… And maybe… Just maybe, I can talk to her about her plans for my blood before she gets herself into even more trouble,” Jason interrupted.
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im-probably-crying-rn-ngl · 9 months ago
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my wips
i wanted to organise and share my wips and i am actually sorry to whomever has ever tagged me in a tag game, i actually just don't know how to do them✨ if anyone is curious about any of these please do drop me an ask because i do love the sound of my own voice/sight of my own words and will provide detail 😌
okay so we have britcedes (rip to them ig) to start off, rn trying to figure out how the actual fuck i will write lewis' move to ferrari into them:
End Game: okay so a/b/o au where lewis is coparenting his son with his ex (teammate and boyfriend, buy 1 get 1 free) nico rosberg. lewis might have a lot on his plate but he finds himself attracted to his new teammate (he has a bit of a type) and against his better judgement they start up a "thing". what lewis doesn't realise george is absolutely head over heels in love with him and has been for YEARS. but george tries to play it cool, he fails, shit happens, gax happens (yes okay i don't want to fumble with this, max is incredibly complex in this but i still love him in it) but yes they get their end game of course.
Chasing Silver: set in canon universe, starting from the 2021 season. honestly like yeah that's it. i think this fic is just an excuse to ramble about their racing and ever shifting dynamics.
My Girl: OH THIS FIC. its absolutely one of my favourites if not the favourite. so lesbian britcedes, lady louise hamilton is the first black and female driver to make it to f1 and she is the champion of the sport. its 2022, she has won 7 wdcs and is looking for one more but it is just not clicking, neither is her personal life really. love left her a long time ago, walked away on 6 inch red stilettos. but enter george russell (yes her name is george and no it is NOT short for georgia and yes she will correct you on that every single time) louise's new teammate alex albon's race engineer. all george ever wanted was everything and being louise's girl might just give it to her or maybe it will be what takes it it all?
then there is gax my beloveds, i adore writing them, gax nation will always have my loyalty, i really want them to give me more this season:
Lovely: this is a/b/o, childhood sweethearts, non-driver george, son of toto wolff au i have shared snippets of before. writing this fic feels never ending and i am slowly losing my mind haha but its still! my! baby! and! i! won't! abandon! it!
Mad Max's Princess: this is pure self indulgent fluff. girl george who is once again is casted as alex albon's race engineer in this fic. her (mostly) loving boyfriend of 10 years is none other than rival team red bull racing's star and the reigning world champion. the guy they have to beat to get her driver and team to the top. oh when the love of your life is your biggest fan and your biggest hater. this is gax, of course hijinks ensue.
Fire & Blood: medieval fantasy/game of thrones (a song of ice and fire for the ones who know) au with a/b/o dynamics. mercedes are the rulers of the land and their dragons' fire melted the gold in their crowns and the moulded their iron throne. but a dragon can die and a dragon can be killed. a dragon can be shot from the sky and brought down to earth or a dragon can be trapped in a dungeon till it can fly no more. a dragon's neck can be pierced by a lion's teeth.
galex because okay who am i to argue against true love and george's russell's wishes:
Hell is a Teenager: this is a pretty dark fic where i actually do some social commentary on the a/b/o universe. so george and alex are neighbours and the best of friends who are just on the edge of more. at 14 george presents as an omega and is shipped off to an all-omega private boarding school. alex doesn't hear from him till their final year of high school and all of a sudden george is back in town. he is not the same boy that cried in alex's arms the night before he left begging for him to love him. george has changed even if no one else can tell, what happened in there? why is he back? why does alex's heart still give a stutter when he looks into those blue eyes? even if those eyes no longer sparkle. *sigh* yeah this is a toughie
lastly there is my landoscar wip, they write themselves into ffs not us:
The Only Exception: another a/b/o au (one hit wonder i know), basically its the good boy/play boy trope. lando can't get his shit together and oscar is too oblivious for his own good. it would be angst if they weren't so incredibly adorable and down bad for each other.
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afterdarkprincess · 11 months ago
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The Devil's In The Details (But You Got a Friend in Me)- Part 5
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Pairing: Sami/Jey Rating: Explicit Chapter Summary: Jey returns in time for the Draft and his and Jimmy's rematch against the Brawling Brutes.
Took me ages, but I've got an update for this one :)
Thank you a million times to @elementaldoughnut12 for the prompt that turned into this fic <3
tags for @feelschicken @imabillyami @southerngirl41 @jeysbvck and @harmshake (if anyone else would like to be tagged in my fics please let me know!
This fic is explicit and this part contains: Masturbation, Phone Sex and canon typical violence.
AO3 Link
Part One Part Two
Part Three Part Four
Jey enters the arena the next day in a foul mood. The Draft was announced and scheduled while he was away for the same night as their rematch with the Brawling Brutes, and it feels like just another way for Roman to manipulate him and his family.
Roman has the influence to keep them all on Smackdown together, but he also has the influence to separate him and his brother. And after the displeasures the Tribal Chief expressed, Jey is full of anxiety for himself and his brother’s futures if they don’t get the tag team titles back.
He’s gotten a string of messages from Sami since he departed from his hotel for the American Bank Center, but it hasn’t done much to assuage his anxieties or lift his spirits. It’s not even been a full day and he’d give anything to see Sami’s smile in person again, and part of him is terrified of how these feelings have taken over his entire life.
Jey checks in and receives the directions to their private locker room, already unnerved that the instructions hadn’t been sent to him in advance by Paul, but he could chalk that up to having been on vacation. He passes several others on the roster, but keeps to himself for the most part, only nodding and giving a small wave to Xavier and Kofi.
He enters the locker room to find Jimmy there alone. They certainly aren’t as inseparable now as adults as they’d been as children, but something in Jey just feels right at the sight of his twin, especially having been apart for a week.
“Ey, Uce, what’s up?” Jey cuts him off, enveloping Jimmy into a bear hug, holding onto him tightly and not letting go for a while. “Damn dude, you good?” Jimmy chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.
Jey nods, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, uh, just missed ya Uce, that’s all.”
Jimmy grins, “Makes sense, don’ know how you was gon’ have fun on that vacation without me, huh? Even wit’ seein’ Sami.” Jey feels a pang in his chest at the mention of the man he loves. “How’s he doin’ anyway?”
“Uh, he’s good. Just doin’ PT and stuff, you know?” Jey wants to tell his brother about their week and all the things they did together, though maybe not everything. He’s not used to hiding things from Jimmy, not big things like this.
Jimmy meanwhile is shoving a protein bar into his mouth. “Mmhmm,” He garbles. “I bet. Fuckin’ hated that when my knee was busted. Shit hurts and then they got you on the treadmill like that? No thanks.”
“Yeah,” Jey tries to change the subject, just to keep himself from spilling the beans. He’s not ready to do this tonight. “What’d I miss?”
“Well this draft for one, ‘cause we ain’t been through enough right now.”
“No shit,” Jey agrees.
“Big Uce still pissed at us I think, at least I ain’t heard word from him since you left and that ain’t usually good news.”
“And Solo?”
Jimmy shrugs, “I dunno, Uce. He been ‘bout the same, quiet n’ stuff.” He cracks open a bottle of water. “Can’t figure him out.”
“Where he at tonight?”
“Beats me,” Jimmy shakes his head. “Wiseman took him off somewhere, man. Tryin’ not to think about that, keep our eyes on the prize for this rematch tonight.”
Jey sees red just thinking about the Brutes. “We gon’ get those titles back, dawg. And once we do m’gonna bury that fucker Holland.” His hands shake as they curl into fists.
As usual Jimmy misses nothing, “Ey, calm down bruh. We gon’ take care of ‘em like you said. No worries.”
The conversation lulls and it’s quiet for the moment, Jey staring down at the floor.
“What you think Big Uce gon’ do if we don’t win?”
Jimmy stands, clapping a hand onto Jey’s shoulder reassuringly. “Can’t be thinking like that, Jey. We ain’t gotta worry about that cause we gon’ whoop those guys no problem. We gon’ have the titles back and everythin’ gon’ be how it was before.”
Jey hears Sami’s words in his head, that even if things go back to how they were it still isn’t a good place for them, that Roman won’t be happy no matter how many accolades the Bloodline has.
He’s not ready for that conversation with his twin either, not with this amount of pressure on them to deliver tonight. He nods slowly, “You right,”
“Course I’m right, Uce! Now let’s go watch this draft with the rest of these suckers to see their faces when we get picked first!” Jimmy heads out the door with a spring in his step, and it’s doing nothing for the dread sitting heavy in Jey’s stomach.
He gets an alert on his phone, another text from Sami.
Hope everything’s going well<3 I’ll be watching, got a pizza coming for the occasion lol 6:45pm
Jey laughs in spite of himself.
Bet it ain’t as good as good as my food tho 6:46pm
Course not- gotta save those frozen meals and ration them lol 6:48pm
Can’t have you wasting away, baby 6:49pm
He hesitates for a moment staring at the screen before he hits the emoji button and sends a solitary red heart. It shouldn’t send his heart rate up just sending one little text message, but it feels like a big step.
Jey goes to throw his phone into his bag to go join Jimmy when it goes off again, the screen showing an identical heart back from Sami. Jey smiles, feeling just a little bit of the weight he’s carrying on his shoulders vanish.
He’s not in this alone anymore.
Most of the smackdown roster is gathered together backstage watching the live feed. Even they don’t really have the clearest picture of what the draft will look like this time, and gossip and rumors fly.
Jey finds Jimmy hanging around the back of the room pacing, they have a promo to cut after the first round of picks, so they stay closer to gorilla.
“What took you so long Uce?” Jimmy shoved a hand into his shoulder playfully.
“Aw nothin’ for you to worry ‘bout. Still no Solo?” He looked around for his youngest brother’s bleached blond curls but didn’t spot him.
Jimmy shrugged. “Nah man, Kofi and Xavier ‘round here though.” The Usos didn’t have many friends left on the roster after the last few years, but the New Day never took their on-stage antics to heart.
“Yeah saw ‘em when I got in,” Jey took a bottle of water from a nearby table. “Anything yet?”
“Nope, show’s just about to start though.”
The intro starts on the monitors, and Jey’s mind wanders back to Sami watching along at home. He’s hit with the same feeling he had at Wrestlemania, that Sami should be here alongside him. How would things have changed over the last few months if Sami had been by his side? Would he and Jimmy still have the tag belts and be in Roman’s good graces? Would Sami even still be with the bloodline?
Jey shakes his head to clear the thoughts away. It would do him no good to be distracted like this before a promo and a title match.
Triple H is on the screen, having gone through his spiel about how the evening will proceed and what this means for the company and blah blah blah. Jey’s just anxious to hear where they’re going, as there’s no doubt the Bloodline will be drafted together first, Roman would demand nothing less.
“With the first draft of the evening, Friday Night Smackdown selects…” Hunter pauses, as if it will be a surprise. “Three drafted as one! The Undisputed WWE Universal Champion Roman Reigns, the Enforcer, Solo Sikoa, and the Wiseman Paul Heyman, the Bloodine!”
Jey’s pulse roars in his ears as he processes the lack of he and his twins names being called with Roman’s. His eyes lock with Jimmy’s, wide with confusion and anger.
“What the hell man?” Jimmy huffs, as if Jey would know.
“I dunno Uce, but we gon’ find out!” Jey storms toward gorilla, fire in his eyes. 
He runs headlong into Adam Pearce, hanging around backstage, his hands come up defensively. “If you boys have questions or comments about the draft picks I’m gonna need you to direct them elsewhere. Right now, you need to wait for Triple H to finish the first round and call you out there.
In Jey’s ire, he’d completely forgotten about the rest of the draft and their segment, nothing too complicated, just going out and hurling insults at their opponents, but now his mind is clouded.
There are a few more minutes of Triple H’s voice droning and echoing through the monitor feeds, calling out more picks for each brand but Jey barely listens as his mind races.
Is this another game? A punishment for me n’ Jim acting out? or for losing the belts? Is Roman gonna separate us or just kick us out the family? Maybe this ain’t a bad thing if it means we get away.
Before he knows it, he blinks at the shine of lights in his face as he finds himself in the ring, the cheers of the crowd competing with his loud heartbeat.
Jimmy looks at him, but Jey nods, letting his twin take the intro.
“Corpus Christi, the bloodline is now in yo’ city!” Jimmy projects into the microphone, and Jey knows he’s gonna need to pull it together.
Somehow he makes it through the promo, gets the words out that he needs to in a semi coherent fashion, barking insults at Butch and Ridge and Sheamus too for good measure.
They come out to try and intimidate them and it ends in a brawl, which is much easier for him to get through, using his fists to get the anger and frustration out of his body. And he gets a few good shots in on Holland, which always makes him feel better these days.
He stalks behind Jimmy as they head backstage, keeping his focus on the back of his brother’s head.
They storm through backstage, bypassing the room where everyone else is gathered, not stopping until they’re back in their own private locker room, and blissfully alone.
Solo and Paul are still nowhere to be found.
Jimmy is fuming immediately. “You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on, ‘Mister Right Hand Man’?” The title is spat at him, and Jey’s stomach sinks.
“I told you, Uce- I don’t know, I ain’t been here to know!” He starts pacing.
“Cause you keep runnin’ off to see Sami every chance you get, actin’ weird, keepin’ shit from me! You supposed to be my brother, Uce!” Jimmy shakes his head.
Fear and guilt creeps into Jey’s heart. He has been keeping things from his brother, and of course Jimmy’s picked up on that. It won’t do him any good to keep arguing with Jimmy, if he’s worked up like this who knows what will slip outta his mouth?
Jey takes a deep breath and rubs his face with his hands, trying to clear his head.
He starts, “Listen, I know thing’s been messed up lately-“
“You think?” Jimmy interjects.
“But you know I ain’t got nothin’ to do with this! Wiseman gotta know somethin’, or Solo even, since they done pulled a disappearing act.” Jey gestures towards the empty room around them.
Jimmy frowns, kicking his feet and huffs. “I know, Uce. I just don’t like how things been lately, you know?” Jey nods. “First losin’ Sami, then the belts, Roman actin’ like he’s our Daddy or somethin’ and now all this?” Jimmy drops to sit on the couch, head hung in defeat.
Jey takes a few cautious steps towards his brother, “I know, Uce, really feels like we jus’ can’t win right now.”
“It’d be better if I could trust you to have my back.” Jimmy fixes him with a look. “We got this title rematch tonight, and we should be focused on gettin’ back what’s ours so Roman can chill the hell out.”
“I got your back, Jimmy. I always do.” Jey answers, hoping that it will be enough.
His twin stares at him, unblinking, like he’s looking for his answer in Jey’s eyes. After a few long moments, he nods. “Okay,” Jimmy extends his hand, and Jey takes it and helps him to his feet. “But as soon as we get through all this, you gotta come clean about whatever it is you hidin’.”
Jey opens his mouth to deny the allegation, but he thinks better of it, and nods. “Alright, all we gotta do is put those clowns away tonight.”
“Damn right,” Jimmy claps him on the shoulder, and Jey feels like he can finally breathe again.
He looks at the clock on the wall, it’s already about halfway through the show and they gotta be ready for their match in about a half hour. “C’mon, we prolly outta get back out there.”
Jimmy nods, “You right, you know somebody gon’ be out there talkin’ shit.” He goes to head out the door but turns around. “Jey?”
“Ye?”
“You know I love you right?”
Jey feels his heart swell up in his chest. “Yeah, Uce. I love you too.”
Jimmy sticks his tongue out, making a face. “Alright now we done with that, let’s go remind these fools who runs this show.” He turns and walks out the door.
Jey spares one last glance back toward his bag, tempted to call Sami or at least check his phone, but Jimmy is already suspicious and will definitely notice his absence, so he follows suit and heads back out into the hallway to follow his twin.
The rest of the draft picks aren’t remarkable, mostly because they aren’t Jey and Jimmy.
They’re waiting in gorilla position for their music to hit, and as much as Jey tries to keep himself focused on the task at hand, his mind is far from settled.
He bounces on the balls of his feet, trying to feed this energy into his body, at least make it useful for the fight ahead of him, while his thoughts race.
if we lose again, that’s it. We out the family, we might be out already. Who gon’ watch out for Solo if Roman kicks us out? Wish I could talk to Sami…
The sound of spit hitting the floor stirs him from his thoughts.
Butch and Ridge stand before them, the tag belts on their shoulders and scowls on their faces.
Jey sees red, filled with rage at the sight.
He darts toward them, but is stopped by Jimmy before he can do anything stupid.
“That’s right, keep a leash on that dog.” Butch taunts.
Ridge cracks his knuckles menacingly. “Won’t have to hold it long, gonna put you down, boy.” He spits at Jey’s feet.
Jey can barely think for how angry he is, but their music starts and he has to wait before he can put his hands on Holland, has to put on a good show to stay in Roman’s good graces.
Jimmy turns to him, blocking their opponents from view. “You good, bruh?”
Jey huffs out a breath. “M’good.”
“Jus’ gotta get the belts.”
 He nods, following Jimmy out onto the stage.
Jey is thankful for their reputations, that they can get away with scowling during their entrances because he can’t bring his face to do anything else at the moment.
The crowd is behind them, cheering and throwing their ones to the sky. Their love for the Honorary Uce has carried him and Jimmy through this feud even at the darkest of times, so it’s what he’ll latch onto today. He sees signs in the crowd.
“WE MISS YOU SAMI”
“FOREVER UCEY”
He feels more steady by the time they get into the ring, less likely to lose his temper at a moments notice. He stretches his arms and flexes against the ropes as Mike announces the incoming tag team champions.
Whatever good will the Brawling Brutes had carried with the crowd by their association with Sheamus is long gone. The fans boo them the whole walk down the aisle, though it doesn’t phase them much.
Butch is growling at both of them, but Ridge’s eyes are cold and fixed directly on Jey. Unmoving and unflinching.
Jey stares right back. If the man wants to make this personal, he’ll make it personal.
The bell rings signaling the start of the match. Jey waves Jimmy to the corner as Butch hops over the top rope. Ridges eyes stay locked on Jey’s as they both take slow steps forward to the center of the ring.
Neither makes a move until they’re nose to nose in the center of the ring, Jey looking up slightly to keep eye contact.
“M’gonna enjoy this,” Ridge says under his breath.
“Me too,” Jey’s eyes are blazing as he lets his hands take over and do the talking for him.
Jey lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He’s alone, which feels more like a punishment than anything else.
They lost. Again.
More specifically he ate the pin again. From Ridge.
Jey blinks hard, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes. Maybe if he just closes his eyes, the whole day will start over again.
His phone lights up with another message. He has about 20 unread texts from Sami and just as many from Jimmy.
He’s not sure who wants to avoid more.
Sami’s expressed several times that he doesn’t need Jey to fight his battles for him, but each loss against these monsters that took him out feels like letting Sami down, like failing to protect him again.
And Jimmy…
He can’t get the looks of hurt and betrayal out of his mind, after his brother had been caught in a brutal spear that he’d been aiming for Butch. The smaller man had dodged out of the way at the last moment, and it had ultimately been his twin he sent crashing to the mat.
Jimmy knew it was a mistake. Knew Jey hadn’t been aiming for him. But Jey still felt immense guilt. Especially since the error cost them the match.
The match. The belts. Their place in their family.
He knows Sami has his back, and that they have a back up plan. But his family has been Jey’s whole life, even the thought of losing it is terrifying to him.
The phone rings, vibrating loudly against the nightstand. He slowly reaches a hand over to see who it is.
He’s relieved to see Sami’s smiling face lighting up the screen. Probably the only person he’d answer right now.
“Hey Sami,” Jey sighs.
“Hi sweetheart…” Sami’s soft tones bring tears prickling to his eyes again. “I’d ask how you’re holding up, but I can imagine it pretty well.”
“Yeah,” He sniffs hard, trying to keep it together.
“So.. staying on smackdown at least?”
Jey huffs, “Yeah, ‘least OG didn’t keep us in suspense.”
At the end of the match as Jey lay in the ring in shock from the pin, Roman’s music had hit, sending a chill of fear down his spine.
But in the end, it was just Paul, squabbling about influence and draft picks, but ultimately confirming that the Usos would be going to Smackdown with the Tribal Chief after all. Roman had put him through that anxiety for seemingly no reason.
Can’t say he’s surprised. Just another mind game.
“Talk to me, Sami?” He chokes out. “Somethin’, anythin’ that’s not this.”
Sami obliges, launching into a story about some guy he sees at PT each week, as usual he’s got a talent for filling empty air. Jey isn’t paying the most attention to the details, but the sound of Sami’s voice is soothing.
“… And that’s when I said, it’s your spot now, my dawg!” Sami breaks off into laughter at his own joke, and Jey chuckles, feeling like he can at least breathe again.
When both of their laughter dies down, he says. “Thanks, Sami. Dunno what I’d do without you.”
“Of course, baby. I love you so much, we’re gonna get through this.” Sami takes a pause. “Any word from Roman?”
Jey shakes his head before remembering that Sami can’t see him. “Nah, nothin’ yet.”
Sami hums. “How’s Jimmy taking things?”
“Dunno,” He sniffs. “Ain’t talked to him since. We uh- we already had one fight earlier an’ I don’ wanna run that back.”
“I get that,” Sami says. “But I gotta think maybe you’d feel better to clear the air with him, I hate seein’ my favorite twins fight.”
It’s meant to be a joke, but after all the tension between him and Jimmy it just makes his heart hurt.
“He knows I’m hiding somethin’,” Jey’s voice is soft, like this too is a secret. “Thought maybe I had something to do with the draft, that I was in on whatever Roman was plannin’. I dunno how long I can keep this up, Sami.”
The line is quiet for a while, and when he speaks Sami’s voice is small. “I don’t wanna make things hard for you, Jey-“
“Don’t you even think that,” Jey’s feels his nerves rattle, at how quickly Sami would suggest them splitting up. “It took me way too long to get you, Sami- I ain’t givin’ you up.”
Sami’s sigh of relief is audible. “M’sorry, I shouldn’t have-“
Jey shakes his head, even though Sami can’t see him. “Nah, you just doin’ what you always do, baby. You look out for me. But I’m bein’ selfish now and I’m not letting you go.”
Say it. Say it now, he deserves to know.
“Sami, I-“ Jey pauses, his heartbeat loud in his ear.
How can I tell him I love him when I ain’t even free yet?
“Can I see you?”
Before he’s even got the words out the facetime call comes through, and Sami’s face is on his screen and it shouldn’t make him feel this relieved, to just be able to see him as he moves, adjusting himself and turning on a light in the bedroom so Jey can see him even better.
“Jey…” Sami breathes his name and Jey winces, knowing already what he’s about to say.
“S’not that bad.” His fingers find the edge of the bandage that covers the cut above his right eye. Ridge had flung him into the ring post, and he’d caught the edge on his eyebrow. It looked much scarier on TV, with blood trickling down into his eye.
On the screen Sami’s brow is furrowed, then slowly his face relaxes as the camera gets closer to his face. Finally the screen only shows the creases of Sami’s lips, puckered to kiss the screen, and Jey feels his face heat up.
Kissin’ me better an’ everything.
Sami’s face is relaxed when Jey can see all of it again, and he aches to reach out and touch him.
“Miss you, boo.” The words slip out of his mouth unbidden, but it’s true.
His laugh echoes in the quiet of the room, “It’s barely been a day since you’ve seen me.”
“So? That ain’t mean nothing.” Jey protests. “Miss them cute cheeks of yours, wanna put my teeth on ‘em”
Sami blushes beautifully, pink spreading across his newly chubby cheeks as he squirms. “Stop, you don’t mean that.”
Jey pushes himself up further, raising an eyebrow. “Oh you think I don’t? You just wait til’ after Puerto Rico, I’m gonna put in the fangs and show you just how much I wanna bite you.” He bares his teeth and chomps at the screen playfully, sending Sami into giggles. Jey feels his dick twitch in interest just at the thought of getting his mouth on his lover. “Mark you all over before I get my mouth on your dick, wanna make you feel so good, Sami.”
Sami’s blush deepens, “Will you let me fuck you again?’
He keens, suddenly aware of how empty he feels, and his dick filling in earnest now. “Yeah- yeah, Sami. Are you-?”
On the screen, Sami nods emphatically. “Thank goodness I’m already in bed. Want your hands on me, Jey.”
“I know-“ Jey bites out. “I know baby, wish I was there. Touch yourself for me.” The camera jostles between Sami’s hands and then his head is thrown back into the pillow as he groans. “Go slow, ain’t no need to rush. Tell me- please Sami, tell me how it feels.” Jey wraps one of his hands around his own cock and strokes slowly as he gets even harder.
Sami whines, “Feels so good, but it’s not the same- Ah, fuck, Jey!” The ginger’s breathing heavily, his shoulder moving on screen just enough to suggest the pace of his hand on his cock.
“Show me,” Jey blurts out. “Let me see how hard you are for me,”
The image on Jey’s phone wobbles and Sami seems to drop the phone. When it returns, the camera has switched and Jey sees the disheveled comforter around Sami’s pale thighs, the color lovely against the pink of his stretch marks. His cock stands proudly, supported by Sami’s hand with his thumb rubbing slow circles around the head.
Jey imagines his tongue making those same circles, and he really ought to be embarrassed by the desperate noise he makes at the thought, but he can”t find it in himself to care.
He’s not going to last long, overwhelmed with sensation and emotion and longing and the sound of Sami’s pleasured sighs.
“Jey— please, wanna see you too.” Sami begs, the sound high in his throat and Jey can do nothing but comply, frantically pressing his thumb on the screen to swap the camera, so Sami gets a view of his shorts pushed down and his hand working his dick. “Oh, oh Jey- so gorgeous, such a pretty cock, have I ever told you that?”
Jey huffs out a laugh but the compliment goes straight to the tight heat in his stomach as he approaches his orgasm. “Nah, don’t think you have.”
“Gorgeous, perfect, so perfect, mine, mine-“ Sami gasps and Jey’s eyes are glued to the screen as Sami’s cock shoots cum all over his awaiting fingertips.
He groans, following right behind, painting his stomach with his jizz as he falls over the edge to the sound of Sami’s breath.
Sami’s camera switches again, and he brings two cum coated fingers to his lips, licking them slowly before putting them into his mouth to clean them off.
If it was remotely possible for Jey to get hard again, he would be.
“Fuckin’ hell, Sami. Are you tryin’ to kill me?”
Sami grins after he removes the fingers from his mouth, shiny with his spit. “Never, sweetheart. How many weeks until Puerto Rico again?”
“Just over two,” Jey sighs, reaching for a tissue to clean up his own mess. “We’ll have 4 days together I think?”
“Can’t come soon enough.”
Jey feels the weight of the day and the fight settle into his bones, and knows he’s going to fall asleep sooner rather than later.
They make their long goodbyes, Jey still trying to memorize how the words “I love you” sound coming out of Sami’s mouth, how they make him feel when they’re directed at him.
When finally the screen goes black, and he’s alone again with his thoughts and a list of unread messages, Jey tosses his phone onto the side table and surrenders himself to sleep. --- I really hope I get the next part out sooner than this one! Thank you for being patient with me 🙈
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fetchen · 6 months ago
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yap further about your oc ship! i know very little abt love victor but your writing's always top notch so,,,
EHEHE :3c FIRST OF ALL THANK U!!!
OC X CANON YAPPING STARTS NOW
if i’m speaking about this as if blake is an actual character in love, victor then they replace lucy. lowkey i don’t find lucy to be an incredibly compelling character so as much as i like lake and lucy together i’m perfectly fine with omitting her.
anyway, i did say they have a stupid little ship name and it’s true. i just ended up calling them bLake. i think it fits mostly because i can’t think of anything else ^_^
i think blake and lake meet through mia! they’d meet and start interacting mid-season two as opposed to at the very end of season two like lake and lucy. blake would be someone mia met and became friends with over the summer when they were both working together as camp counselors.
my design for blake (i’ll show them under the cut dw ^_^) was done so that they’re perceived as imposing by their peers. because of that, lake anticipates blake being an unfriendly person without even knowing them. that’s their first interaction- them just meeting through mia, and lake’s initial impression of them being negative.
then they realise that they share a class and start having study sessions together, which bring them closer. ^_^ i think they’d have a running joke of lake trying out new nicknames for blake whenever the two interact after blake proposes that she come up with one since their name is so similar to hers.
blake would sympathize very heavily with lake and her predicament with coming to terms with her sexuality due to them being raised religious and conservative. blake divulges very private details about their life that they’d never shared with anyone else to lake and it’s at that point that their relationship gets a lot closer and it would begin to be implied that something is developing than between them.
plus their height difference is really great
blake info under the cut !!!! ^_^
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the oc in question !!! (the one on the right is more recent)
blake jung - they’re 17 or so (at least in the bLake timeline) and they’re nonbinary and a lesbian - they’re 5’9 and a figure skater ^_^
they’re a very quiet, mellow, and somewhat aloof person. i like to say that they have a bad case of rbf with a heart of gold. their insane amount of empathy mixed with their level-headed attitude works to balance out lake’s sometimes erratic nature.
fun fact if blake were a real person they’d look like hoyeon that’s all
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grimmswan · 2 years ago
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Unexpected Part 5
Grimm: Nick and Adalind
Unexpected Conversation with Sean Renard
Massive Canon Divergence. Does not follow the timeline of the show. Nick Burkhardt is dealing with a broken heart after his girlfriend leaves him without word or warning. Adalind Schade is dealing with a broken heart after finding out the man she loved had been sleeping with her mother on the same day her mother was killed. When Adalind discovers she is pregnant, Nick volunteers to be there for her through everything. Together, they discover how the unexpected might not be such a bad thing.
“So Adalind chose not to terminate her pregnancy.” Sean Renard said it like a statement.
“With all due respect, sir, maybe you should talk to Adalind about this.” Nick did everything in his power to remain calm, but the look on his always expressive face showed irritation at his captain.
Renard sighed. The last thing he wanted was to get on the bad side of a grimm, especially one that worked for him. But he had to know what exactly was happening and how it might affect his own life.
“This is not an interrogation, detective. I have no interest in getting into a pissing contest with you. My only reason for wanting to talk to you alone is to keep our private lives from being a part of the gossip around here. I heard rumors that you were with a beautiful blonde you had once saved, and who was now pregnant. Everyone saw Adalind storm out of my office, and saw you chase after her. Of course, a place full of detectives, everyone is trying to finger out the story.”
“Most are assuming Adalind is pregnant with my child. And that she stormed out of your office after she requested that I not be put out in the field, so I wouldn’t be in danger, and you told her no.”
“That actually might be the best story to go with. Adalind might be in harm’s way if my father’s side of the family thought I was the father of her baby. I’ll have to tell my mother, of course. But I rather wait until it’s closer tot he due date for that.”
“I hope you don’t expect Adalind to believe you told her to get an abortion for her own safety.”
“I don’t plan on having this conversation with Adalind. She would likely skin my alive the second I opened my mouth. I just wanted to inform you on some events that could be happening, since you’ve taken on the roll of Adalind’s protector and honorary father to the baby. And to ask if you planned on taking paternity leave when the baby is born?”
“I wasn’t sure if you would let me, since you know the real story.”
“Risk the wrath of a hexenbiest? I think I’ve pushed my luck far enough. When the baby is born, you can have six weeks off. That’s as long as I can spare you. As a detective anyway. As far as you’re grimm duties are concerned, you might want to talk to your wesen friends about that one.”
When Nick returned home that evening, he gave Adalind the good news.
“Renard is letting me have six weeks off when the baby is born.”
“That’s awfully generous of him. What’s the catch?”
“His mother might insist on being involved.”
Adalind sighed and snuggled closer to Nick as that sat on the couch.
“I suppose it would be cruel to keep her away from her grandchild, just because her son is a schmuck.”
Nick tightened his hold, kissed the top of her head and smiled, “It never hurts for a child to be surrounded by lots of people who love them.”
Adalind nodded her agreement. With her own mother dead, and her father not having any contact with her since she was four, it would be nice for the baby to have at least one grandparent involved in their life.”
“I wonder how Sean’s mother will react when she discovers that her son told a woman to get an abortion? And now another man is essentially taking care of his child.”
“I’m guessing that he’s going to be leaving out a lot of details. He already told me he thinks it better for everyone if his royal side of the family does not know he’s going to be a father. He said he believed you were safer with everyone thinking the father of your child is a grimm.”
“I seriously doubt that was the reason he behaved the way he did. He’s a selfish bastard who only ever thinks about himself. He only cared about obtaining power. Everyone else is disposable.”
“I warned him you wouldn’t believe his excuse.” Nick’s grin was wide. “If his mother is half as perceptive and clever as you, Renard might finally have someone knock him down a few pegs.”
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lucidpantone · 4 years ago
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Modified anon: Do you have discord? There is a skam groupchat on there. Check out what -------- is saying about you?
hi anon. I’ave heard but not read but I got the cliff notes version of what people have been saying. You’re the 4th person to flag the chatter to me. Thank you for feeling like you needed to inform me. It’s a bit weird that there is a whole group chat occurring about my personal life and trying to uncover personal details about me or head-canoning those details but I can’t really control others ya know? However this highlights one thing which is I was right not to expose personal details about myself on the blog because the one time I have which was celebrating closing on my apt people weaponized an achievement that I consider a milestone in my life and something that anyone should be rightfully proud of to ridicule me and assume things about my life that aren’t even remotely true. 
So all I gotta say to this. Ladies especially those who are woc dragging me or inciting a conversation that seeks to uncover personal details about me (to do what exactly with? Dox me?) or generate presumptions about my life. You have never even had a conversation with me.  What are you doing?? Also every time I hear a brown/black sister is buying property, getting promoted in a job, buying herself a pair of boobs, botox or hair extensions, or generally just making boss moves maybe lets not sit there as women and call those women liars, lacking dignity or tearing into them for their age (or making passive comments that imply I did some shady shit on the side to garner things ). I didn’t I worked really hard for the last few years in grueling jobs that almost broke me to be able to save up to buy a place and even then because my generation has been so screwed over by unrealistic housing prices I could only do it because a pandemic collapsed the NY market and my father helped me out greatly. I wouldn't have been able to do it on my own because sadly the game is rigged against us. Especially single women of color who strive to succeed.  Also folks I am not 40 years old am in my early 30′s (and damn well proud of it!) but if I was 40 what would be the issue? 
Last thing, its a shame this has happened because let me tell you there is some wonderful women in their late 20′s and early 30′s in the tag (not publicly). There is a doctor, an attorney, a teacher, a marketing exec and an array of really funny well educated women who just use tumblr as a form of decompression(oh and they own homes too btw) because in the working adult world women are always expected to be on and you cant really ever just be your fun silly self without getting judged or exploiting a vulnerability. So sadly this occurrences makes me and probably those other women not really want to exchange thoughts in fear of getting Doxed or called a liar or judged. Its a shame because women should all collectively aim at creating spaces in where we can exchange thought. Whether it be: “Hey, you mentioned you get laser whats it like am curious?” or “Am applying into grad school and you went there right? can you read my essay see what you think?” or “Hey am queer and you’re pretty open about having alot of sexual partners from different genders?What kind of protection do you use with different gendered partners to prevent from STI, STDS?”. These are all questions I was always open to answering but now I just feel like I have to close myself off and that really sucks and also I love your guys support too. 
For example I was gonna make a whole side blog detailing my whole renovation adventure for my new place(it a complete dump a total  fixer upper fyi). A light hearted comical  side blog being like “oh so your a single girl who is going to attempt to renovate without past experience and no man!!”. Read my blog detailing everything you should not do because I did it! hahahaha. I thought it would be a cute journey to share with you guys but now its like okay. Well i guess I cant because am paranoid if I show you to much of my building your just gonna dox me. Like this sucks and am honestly really bummed about this because I wanted to share this with you guys. Plus you could help me pick out wall paint or kitchen hardware and it just be a fun light hearted thing. Anyhow..... I know these people talking about me are the few not the many and trust me I know how many wonderful people are on tumblr. They are so many amazing people I would have never met any other way. Anyways lets not end on a bad note and buy the discord posse some shots. God knows they need the alcohol to cleanse their soul!
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switch19d · 2 years ago
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go off i guess...
So. 19 days AU fic. Inspired by that chapter where he tian does a private show for his lil mo.
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It’s daunting. This is a disaster so read at your own risk.
Let’s put down what is on my mind as of now.
Stripper he tian. Get that out of the way.
Rich mo guanshan. Head Chef. worked his ass off to get into the position. Still traumatic about his struggles in poverty. Frugal as fuck.
Xixi is his friend from middle school. Jian yi returned in time for high school, and the three hung out together, often.
Xixi knows a lot about guanshan. Helped him a lot too. Loyal friends. Mo guanshan finds Jian yi annoying, but also misses him often.
He tian, son of rich CEO. Secluded his whole life. No friends to speak of. Homeschooled.
Loved he cheng to death.
Lost his mother as in canon. Knows his father heads the mafia on the side. He’s grown to hate it since his mother’s death. He tian meets a half brother of his after his mother’s death, and they hit it off. Same age, same interests. His stepmother loved them both. The best few months in he tian’s life after his mother’s death.
Until his step mother tries to take both him and his step sibling away in secret. He Tian has mixed feelings about this as he loved wanted cheng too, and his father was emotionally manipulating him. But with a traumatic event, he was reclaimed by his father. He tian learns to be indifferent with his feelings. He’s always wanted to be loved, but all the loved ones in his life had been taken away one after another. Any maid who got he tian attached to them ditched soon after.
Let’s just focus all the trauma on he tian, shall we? He's my favourite so i will rough house him before i let mo embrace him.
Ran away as soon as his father went overseas. His brother knows about the stripper job, keeps a close detached eye, and has given him free reign. An apartment, cash and a number to fall back onto if he runs into trouble. He tian hates his guts and never uses the luxuries given.
Makes friends in the club. Or tries to. Is an asshole who knows nothing about personal space, to read a room, or read a person. Soon learns a lot on the job.
He usurped she li’s spot as top dog in the club.
They’re rivals.
He’s afraid of love. Flirts a lot, intimidating and bold, but hides behind his mask of cool objectivity that comes with the job.
He’s the pride of the club. Cheng makes sure he never gets a client who’s able to pay to upgrade to a bedroom transaction. Any who touch, is eliminated. He tian himself always limits his activities to personal lap dances.
Okay i’m delving into details too soon and too fast.
THE OUTLINE YOU MORON. GIVE THE OUTLINE FIRST.
Rich chef falls hard for the stripper in the club.
That’s the story. That’s all there is to it.
Also he tian learns to love. Sorts out his abandonment issues.
Rich man mo learns to let go of his insecurities. And to be generous.??? He’s always been generous shit it sounds like i’m trying to turn mo into a bad person. Yeah nonononono, he’s always been generous, enough to give his last penny to a man on the road. It should be more like, doesn’t ever enjoy himself. So yeah, he learns to enjoy life, learns that if he receives something in life without him pouring his blood and sweat into it doesn't mean he doesn't deserve it.
THING IS! PINING MOMO. PINING YOU HEAR ME? HE’S THE ONE PINING HERE AFTER SEXY DAUNTING STRIPPER HE TIAN. AND HE TIAN, FOR ALL HIS FLIRTING, THE TAUNTING, IS ACTUALLY VERY CAUTIOUS, AND CLOSED OFF AND REALLY REALLY MAKES MO WORK FOR IT.
That’s my little revenge on momo for keeping my baby boy waiting in canon for yearsssssss. I love you momo but i want to do this so bad.
Hm…. do i include she li????? Shit. i think i already mentioned him. this is a mess 😭
Edits another part of this drabble anyway 🤡
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nojey · 4 years ago
Text
unnoticed
quackity / alex x streamer!reader
genre: fluff -> angst pronouns: they / them word count: 2.1k warning(s): cursing, suggestive jokes
synopsis: you had known alex since you started streaming but none of your viewers knew. you started getting closer and eventually you started streaming together but your viewers didn’t like that.
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“(y/n)!” alex screamed into his phone after you answered the facetime call.  “yes, my love?!” you screamed back. alex giggled and asked, “do you want to stream sometime soon? i mean like, we’ve known each other for a few months and we haven’t streamed together, i know you’re a fairly new streamer but i even asked dream if you could come onto the smp, and i have something planned- well karl and sapnap helped me plan it- but that’s not the point, the point is-” he rambled.  “alex? are you asking me on a minecraft date?” you asked. “no! well, maybe, okay yeah. i’m asking you on a minecraft date.” he confirmed.  “i’d love to go on a minecraft date with you, alex.” you said, blushing a bit. 
truth is, you’ve had a crush on alex for a few months. when he first slid into your dms you didn’t really expect it, but it turned out to start a beautiful friendship. you always flirted with alex in hopes that he’d notice, but it never seemed like he did. he never retaliated back but little did you know, he was just too shy to.
“uh- okay great! tomorrow, at 3pm your time, stream it. we’re going to have a lot of fun. wear pajamas, or you know- just be comfortable okay?” he rushed. you laughed a bit and said, “yes alex, of course. bye now,” then smiled and hung up. 
you immediately went tot twitter and started a thread: @(y/s/n): this weeks stream schedule (times are pst): @(y/s/n): tomorrow @ 3pm: minecraft date w/ someone i haven’t streamed with yet  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ↳ @ quackity: i wonder who this might be hmMmMMmm @(y/s/n): tuesday @ 1pm: i somehow got invited to an among us lobby w/ corpse, sykkuno, valkyrae, disguised toast, quarterjade, masayoshi, peterparktv, jacksepticeye, and ludwig  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ @(y/s/n): wednesday @ 1pm: if things don’t go well w/ person on monday- looking for a mc boyfriend! ↳ @ quackity: WELL THAT’S RUDE TO ASSUME THAT THINGS WONT GO WELL (Y/N) @(y/s/n): thursday @ 3pm: chitchat w/ nihachu !! @(y/s/n): friday @ 2pm: pummel party w/ ??
as soon as you tweeted all them out, you looked at replies and saw that quackity had replied to both monday and wednesday schedules. giggling to yourself, you replied back to him.
@(y/s/n): @ quackity way to make it obvious alex, if you wanna date me just say it (¬_¬) @(y/s/n): @ quackity how can you assume that it will go well alex (Ő-Ő) ↳ @ quackity: i just know (y/n)!!! truST ME!!!!
laughing once more, you plugged your phone into the charger and went to bed, excited for what alex had planned for you two tomorrow. 
getting ready for the minecraft date was very nerve wracking. the only thing you could think about was whether alex considered this a real date or not. deep inside you hoped that this was a real one. 
the ringing from your phone disrupted your thought. looking down on the screen you saw that the one person you were thinking of was calling you. 
“hello?” you answered. “hi, (y/n), are you ready?” alex asked. “uh, yeah, i just- i just need to start my stream and introduce what we’re doing.” “okay, um- i’m going to send you a link to the dream smp discord server. join it and join vc 4.” he replied.  “for sure, see you then.” you smiled. “see you.” he said and hung up.
“fuck,” you said and wiped your hands onto your pants. you definitely weren’t ready but still, joined the discord server and joined vc 4 then deafened. you set up your stream and hit go live.
“hey everyone! as you may know, if you follow my twitter, today i’m going on a minecraft date! uh no, no one knows who it is yet, but i have a feeling a LOT of you already know who it is.” you said, reading chat and wiggling your eyebrows.
“okay, i’m going to join the server and then share my screen when he’s standing in front of me.” you started playing some music so your viewers didn’t get bored while they waited for you to start. 
once you were logged into the smp you privately messaged alex and asked him where he was. before he could answer you turned around to look at the walls you were surrounded by and screamed out after seeing quackity’s naked body behind you. 
“chat, i’m okay, just got scared. um anyways, yeah.”  you said and showed your screen, revealing the man himself. “quackity!” you screamed into your mic. “jesus christ, (y/n) we can save screaming my name for later.” he said in a suggestive voice. you then started punching him and after each punch you said, “stop. saying. suggestive. comments. we haven’t even started the date yet!”  “okay, okay, okay! i’m literally going to die, (y/n) stop!!” he yelled out. you kept hitting him to see if he was lying but after the second punch quackity was slain by (y/mc/n) showed up in the chat. 
ranboo: i see that the date is going well
you started laughing uncontrollably while alex was silent. “(y/n),” he said in a more serious voice. you hummed as he continued his sentence. “why did you kill me?” “i wanted to know if you were lying. was that a canon life? i think that should be a canon life.” you laughed. “no it wasn’t a fucking canon life. (y/n) you’re not even an official member of the smp!” he said. “i could be,” you said wiggling your eyebrows and crouching up and down. “anyways. follow me, i’m bringing you to where we’re having our date.” so you followed him and when you reached your destination you were at party park with karl and sapnap standing in front of you. 
“hello boys. what are you doing here on our date. is this an amusement park date, quackity? i didn’t take you for that type of guy. it’s kind of cheesy.” you rambled. “no! this isn’t where our date is happening. jeez, have a little more faith in me (y/n).” he said, moving his minecraft character to look at you slowly and creepily. “well there wasn’t much to begin with,” you said, chuckling a bit. you heard karl and sapnap giggling to what you had said.  “hey! take that back!” quackity said, punching your minecraft character. you audibly gasped and turned to look at karl and sapnap again. “you guys saw that right? he just hit me.” you said, faking shock. they both quickly nodded their heads. “i can’t believe you would hit me on our first date.” you said, turning to look at him this time. “you literally killed me!” he yelled out.
so this went on for about 30 more minutes till quackity explained to you that your date would pretty much be a minecraft manhunt with quackity, sapnap, and karl hunting you but you had to find something instead of defeating the enderdragon. if they killed you and they won, you owed alex a real date. no stream, just them. 
“you’re going to hunt me for our first date?” you asked in disbelief. quackity then nodded his head up and down in a very fast motion. “mm cool,” you said as you punched him and ran away in a different direction.
it had been about 45 minutes and you killed karl and sapnap twice, but quackity had not been seen the whole time. but as you were running away from sapnap, quackity appeared in front of you and you faked trying to kill him, letting him just kill you because you wanted to go on that second date with him. 
(y/mc/n) was slain by quackity ranboo: date still going really well, looks like you guys are really hitting it off!
“awe man, looks like i have to go on another date with quackity!” you said. sarcastically faking the disappointment. reading your chat for the first time this stream, it wasn’t your usual happy messages. instead they were filled with negativity.
i don’t see why quackity wants to go on a date with them why did dream let them on the smp?? there are so many other content creators who deserve to be on the smp way more than they do they’re so fucking annoying begging for attention much?
so you grew quiet and just listened to quackity end off his stream while you ended yours without saying anything. but once he finished saying goodbye to his stream, you immediately said bye to him.
“i’m gonna go now alex, thank you for the minecraft date. text me the details for the next. bye.” you rushed.
alex found it really weird that you had just left like that, you guys almost always stayed on call after he finished streaming for at least 3 hours just talking. but he let it slide, hoping it wasn’t something he had done.
you went onto twitter to update about your streaming schedule. @(y/s/n): looks like my stream schedule may be moving around because i’m going on a second date with @ quackity!
alex quickly went to go reply to it but gazed over the replies to your tweet and wasn’t very happy with them. you don’t deserve to go on another date with him you’re literally just using him for clout what an attention whore leave him alone already!
knowing that you barely ever got hate, he quickly called you instead. thinking very hard about what he was about to do. looking at your phone you saw that alex was facetiming you, you wiped your face from the tears that had fallen and sniffled, hoping you didn’t sound too congested.
“hello?” you said. “hey um, i have to tell you something.” he replied. the serious tone of his voice got you very nervous. was he about to confirm everything your chat had told you or even the tweets you just read? “i really like you, (y/n).” he said. you looked at your phone in surprise and he continued. “and i really don’t know if you feel the same way about me but i read the replies to your tweet and i know that you’re a pretty new streamer and i just don’t want you to already be getting hate because of me, you don’t deserve that. you’re an amazing person and i just, i don’t want to be the reason you’re getting hate. so i think it’d be best if we just laid off talking to each other for now.” “i like you too, alex.” you whispered. “but i respect your decision. goodbye for now?” you said, offering a smile to the screen he was displayed on. it looked like he was just as shocked as you when he told you how he felt. “uh, yeah. goodbye for now. don’t be a stranger (y/n).” you smiled once more and hung up.
as soon as you hung up you started crying again. you really liked alex, but maybe you didn’t show that well enough, because if you did, maybe you guys would’ve been together at this point.
the next day, you streamed normally with a faked high energy that nobody seemed to notice, this time not paying attention to your chat. deep inside you really just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep all your stresses away. it really sucked to find out the guy you’ve had a crush on liked you back but he decided to end whatever you guys had going on.
but your chat couldn’t know so you kept a fake facade on, hoping no one asked about him.
though to alex, it looked like you were so unbothered by him pretty much ending your friendship. he started slightly believing the tweets that mentioned how you were just using him for clout. but after really thinking about it, he realized, why would you have been friends with him months before, without any of your fans knowing if you really were just using him. so he scolded himself and went about his day.
you were ending your stream with a big smile, as soon as you hit that end streaming button that smile was gone. you changed into a hoodie and curled into your bed. you just looked up at your ceiling and started crying, you pretty much lost the guy you really liked. your feelings being unnoticed by the public eye.
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apollo41writes · 2 years ago
Text
Goodnight prompt 56/∞
Fandom: Teen Wolf Ship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski AUs/Tropes: Canon divergence, Accidental telepathy, Curse Prompt: While dealing with another monster of the week, Stiles and Derek end up being cursed with telepathy every time they are apart. It quickly becomes obvious that they need to get closer and closer to keep their thought private from each other.
Extra details: Okay, so this in my head should switch to AU anywhere before season 4, but you do you.
The prompt is already pretty self-explanatory. Maybe they are dealing with a spellcaster of some kind, or maybe they touch a cursed objected, pretty much open to interpratation.
But they still end up cursed. At first neither of them realize that something is wrong, because the curse works on a distance base between the two cursed people. But after a while, when Stiles is at his own home and Derek is all the way back on the other side of town in his own loft, Derek gets overwhelmed with Stiles' constant flow of conscience, so he grabs his phone and calls him to ask him what the fuck he did this time.
Which is when they realize about the curse. So Stiles and Derek basically constantly tell each other where they are going so they can avoid being in each other's head.
It works for a while. Then the range of the curse changes and they have to get closer, and closer and closer. Until they have to be basically always in the same room, that right beside each other, and finally they have to touch to keep their thoughts to themselves.
Of course, in the meanwhile they are trying to find out how to break the curse. I have this idea that the person that cursed them misunderstood the way Derek and Stiles behaved and thought that the two of them hated each other. So the only way to remove the curse is to bond somehow.
Basically, this is one of those fic where Stiles isn't technically pack yet, but not because Derek doesn't want him to be. Just because he thinks that Stiles wouldn't want to be part of his pack. Which is of course ridiculous! Stiles has been putting his life at risk for Derek and his pack for ages by now! Of course he wants to be pack! He thought he already was!
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hansoulo · 4 years ago
Text
whisper scarcely breathing
part four of “Pillar of Salt”
Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)
Warnings: NC-17, NSFW, explicit language, mentions of canon-typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort but without the hurt, bathing and/or being bathed, choking, female-receiving oral, loss of virginity, unprotected M/F intercourse
Word Count: 6.1k
Image Credit: (x) by @/365filmsbyauroranocte, not meant to be a representation of the reader
A/N: this one is for the boys with the boomin’ system 😩💦
༓ series masterlist ༓
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The datapad that you’d left in the garden was thrust back into your possession one morning by the hurried hands of a maid. Truthfully, you had forgotten all about it. The mind, when faced with matters as pressing as the press of a mouth, tends to forget about inconsequential objects.
You’d never met the girl standing in front of you before, and she avoided your eyes while passing over the small screen. She seemed eager to be rid of it. You couldn’t say you blamed her. “‘S yours, miss. The bounty hunter said you’d lost it.”
Did he, now?
“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, careful not to let the datapad drop to the floor as you tucked it back into the deep brocade of your gown pockets. You didn’t have the wherewithal at first to ask her when he’d found it or found the time to return it. But you also didn’t have the common sense to keep your mouth shut. “Could I ask when he gave it to you?”
The servant ducked her head. “This morning, your Highness. I- I was in the loading bay when they left, think he was tryin’ to get a hold of you but didn’t have the time, told me- told me to keep quiet ‘bout it.” A bob of her throat signalled a nervous swallow. “Princess.”
Poor girl, you thought to yourself absentmindedly. Boba probably scared her half out of her wits.
“Really, I can’t thank you enough.” You touched a soft hand to the servant’s shoulder in an misguided attempt to soothe. She returned the action with a nervous smile, eyes still downcast and trying not to shy away.
You never realized how afraid they all were. Of you.
The realization made your tongue tangle in your throat, tripping over some lie about a fever and champagne-induced amnesia as explanation for your exchanges with a man so ill-acquainted.
Hopefully, the maid didn’t make a habit of gossip.
Hopefully, you stopped making a habit of Boba Fett.
⫸———————————————— ⫷
A chaincode, a datapad tracking number, and the rest of your life flashed in backlit neon. You silently cursed yourself for not putting an opening passcode on anything, including the datapad that you now held with slightly tremoring hands.
In your defense, it’s not like it held anything of interest. Mostly just holonovels and some pictures of things you found intriguing enough to want to paint or draw.
But now there was a thing of veritable interest stuffed into a new folder titled “Your Highness” and glowing in galactic basic.
BF-18378-3263827
You stared at the numbers until they morphed into a strong, stern-featured face, muddy in your imagination against the ink night invading your bedroom. Boba left his tracking number there for you. If you wanted to, you could use them to message him or comm him or leave a holoprojection message. Whenever you wanted. Right now, even.
When did he even find your datapad? Why he found it (and why he returned it with the aforementioned numerical contraband) was probably a more apt question.
There was quite a lot to think about. Best to take stock of the present moment, lest you lose your head and go completely mad. As if you hadn’t already.
The facts repeated themselves in a half-conscious mantra, screen slipping out of your hands and onto the pillow beside your head. Facts. Facts were good. What were the facts, again?
Boba Fett was arguably the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy.
Boba Fett was not much of a talker.
Boba Fett was a piss-poor dancer.
And Boba Fett was an unfairly good kisser.
The beginning three points held little negative sway, with the first adding much more appeal than it should, the second a welcome relief, and the third being… sort of endearing.
It was on the last point that your mind lingered the longest.
You didn’t even realize you’d copied numbers into the screen’s communications system until its microphone crackled to life.
One breath, two breaths, stuck in your sleep-thick throat. No words from either side yet. Did you get the tracking code wrong? Maybe. Maybe.
Maybe you were dreaming already, imagining the wind outside to be the quiet, husky inhale that sounded from the other end of the receiver.
“Not falling asleep are we, princess?”
Your eyes shot open. “No. No, I’m…” the words croaked themselves out as you fought down a yawn, “I’m awake.” His low chuckle. “I called you didn’t I?”
“That you did,” Boba assented. Quiet amusement colored his accent. “And you called because…”
“I wanted to,” you said simply, without room for teasing. You were too sleepy to be ashamed of admitting you sought out his company, as foolish as doing so was. No use in hiding what both parties knew to be true.
He let out a noise of soft approval and it rumbled a pleasant sunburst between your ears. “You seem to want a lot of things, don’t you?”
Makes me want… want…
Want what, Princess?
Want you.
You can have me.
The memory snaked a fever flush down your neck, over the still-tender skin and lightly mottled marks. Boba was remembering it just as well as you were. You knew he was.
It gave you a rush, a weird sort of power trip. Because as stupid as you felt doing this, wanting this, he wanted it too. Enough to let your hands thread through his hair and around his arms, then to the scar above his left brow and across his mouth. Enough to let you do it again at the risk of being caught. Enough to leave you his tracking number, like you were two teenagers trading love letters and not legal adults with judgement better enough to do otherwise.
You stayed on the comm for two hours, and only went to sleep because Boba threatened to cut your link off if you didn’t.
⫸———————————————— ⫷
It had been almost five standard months since the first time you’d spoken. Typed words continued to be exchanged under your covers, day after day, night after night. Sometimes you’d fall asleep talking, peppering him with questions about his ship and his job until your throat ached with the effort of keeping yourself awake. Sometimes you did more than talk.
He never fell asleep. Never seemed to sleep, period.
What a strange man. Strange, dangerous, interesting man.
You often missed each other by a hair’s breadth. Courtly flurry and galactic bounty hunting didn’t make much space for private conversation. Boba was still taciturn. You were still naive.
And yet…
You liked him. He listened when you talked about botany and painting, neither of which you imagined interested him. He was arrogant and cocky and insufferable sometimes, but he listened. He told you about his job and regaled your sheltered curiosity with lurid, gory details. He told you about his father.
And one day he somehow, miraculously, had a set of Nabooan watercolors left for you in the garden.
Biting down a juvenile grin with every new message, you watched the quiet ping! of the datapad.
hi
Hello
are you busy?
In a way
how so
Had a brush with Hutt’s rancor
poor thing
Don’t get soft on me now
wasn’t talking about you
Very funny
I’m very, very sorry
Should be. The bastard nearly tore up my flight suit
… show me?
⫸———————————————— ⫷
BF-18378-3263827 HAS ATTACHED 3 FILES
⫸———————————————— ⫷
HOLOCALL DURATION: 02:45:35 HOURS
SAVE CALL RECORDING? PRESS YES/NO TO CONFIRM
Your damp hands tremored.
YES
⫸———————————————— ⫷
Six months, four days, and 20 hours. That’s how long it took for you to see Boba Fett again.
You’d started to think the entire ordeal was a mirage, an illusionary experience your brain conjured up for you as a one-time brush with what your life could have been. Who it could’ve been with.
But you did see him again. Foolhardy, reckless, and unplanned.
You didn’t listen to his explanation about having to leave in the morning, taking some third-rate bounty as an excuse to come back to Quas Killam for the first time in what seemed like ages—practically eons since his mouth had last been at your neck. He appeared on your bedroom balcony near midnight like an apparition, mounted by a still-burning jetpack that shut off with an arc of smoke.
You’d been sleeping, albeit fitfully, and woke the minute his knuckles rapped against the glass. You didn’t remember ever telling him where your bedchambers were, but given… everything… you couldn’t say you were surprised he knew. When he crouched down to shed the helmet, it made a soft thump on the plush carpet.
And then you kissed. And kissed. And kissed.
Boba’s fingertips dragged fire across your prickled skin with every pass. Whose breathing was whose didn’t matter. It was hard, heaving, and shared. Eyes closed, lips raw, every part of you dizzy. Dizzy.
The sneeze that left you was loud enough to knock his forehead against yours. Hard.
Feet stumbling until your legs hit the bedspread, you let your weakened knees carry you down into a sitting position atop the covers and tried to catch your breath. Boba only chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by the mild injury.
Of course your body had picked today to come down with a cold. And of course you’d forgotten to tell him.
In your defense (you seemed to do a lot of self-defending these days) you didn’t know Boba would be coming tonight. When you asked him a week ago—the last time you’d spoken—he’d said “soon.” Whatever “soon” meant, you hadn’t anticipated it being now. Your rumpled nightgown and deteriorating personal hygiene was evidence enough of that.
The day had passed in fitful naps, with you waving away all attempts at help until the servants who usually tittered about decided to give you a wide berth until tomorrow. They’d left the door locked and your curtains drawn, thank the gods.
“A hello would’ve been nice,” you mumbled. The lingering taste of him in your mouth mixed with the bitter medicine that you’d forced down a few hours ago.
Boba didn’t answer at first, only stalking forward with his silhouette glowing in light of the full moon. You brought your knees up to your chest to make room for him to stand in front of you. Every movement was bathed in slowness, in the reverence of caution and night-time silence.
His gloved hand brushed against your chin and tilted it upwards, thumb rubbing a small circle into your jawbone as he moved your face in one large grip. Left, inspecting a swollen mouth and puffy eyes, then right. Up to see the column of your exposed neck. Down to meet his bare, dark face.
He kissed you again, more gentle this time. “Hello.”
A soft whimper left your throat.
Oh, you hated it. Hated the way you sounded when he touched you, small and pathetic. Needy.
The balustrade doors were still open, and this fact was made known by a particularly biting gust of silver wind.
“You’re cold,” the man standing close to you noted with a deep downquirk of his mouth. Boba never had to conceal anything; his helmet did that for him. But when it was off, every thought flickered past his face in evening technicolor.
Your hands paused in their run up your arms to hold petulantly at your elbows, covered only by the thin fabric of your shift. Goosebumps rose against your neck with a new breeze and you fought down the urge to shiver.  “M’not.”
“And stubborn.”
You glared at him, but it held no real venom.
“I appreciate the concern,” you sniffled again and your body trembled slightly. “But I’m the picture of health. I really have never been—” here you sneezed rather violently, crumbling any remaining sense of composure and making the final words thick with congestion, “—any better.” Boba hooked two strong arms underneath your knees and around your shoulders. “Wh- what are you doing?”
“C’mon,” Boba grunted and lifted you to his chest in one swift, easy motion. “Up.”
“I’m already up,” you grumbled, a headache you’d thought was all but gone now throbbing from the quick movement. Armor pressed to your cheek and you let yourself go pliant, curling up into Boba’s broad chest. He smelled nice. Like the outdoors. The real outdoors—not manufactured gardens or stone courtyards. No, dangerous things. Like deserts and leather and guns.
You queried him as he walked in long strides across the room. “Where are you taking me? Should have you—” another sneeze burned your airways, “—have you arrested for treason. A high crime or misdemeanor of some sort, kidnapping royalty...”
He only scoffed, shifting your slack body into his one-armed grip when he arrived at the entrance of your adjunct refresher. The door opened with a soft click. “You talk too much.”
Your head rolled back to face him, pressed so close already that the attempt made you cross-eyed. “And you,” a polished finger jabbed lightly at his chest plate, “are up to no good.”
You were only joking, but Boba didn’t deny it.
Green was your favorite color, even before you met him. It was the color of gardens. Of mint leaves. Of insects and jewels. Of him.
Gods, he was beautiful. Did he know that? Would he ever believe you if you told him? He was achingly, painfully, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.
The man set you down to your immediate protests. Funny how quick you seemed to change your mind. “Don’t whine,” he chided when you did just that, pushing you forward by the small of your back.
You walked into the refresher confused, that same confusion compounding when Boba strode over to the marble bathtub in room’s center with a surety that belayed the fact he’d never once stepped foot inside here. Were all bounty hunters this self-assured? Or was he just so full of bathroom bravado that your sprawling floor-plan didn’t faze him?
Whatever the case was, said bounty hunter was now crouched down on the tile floor and twisting the tub faucets until they sprayed out a gush of hot water, quickly filling the room with heady steam.
 “Hot water helps.” A still-gloved hand dipped an inch into the filling tub and deemed it acceptable. “The steam’ll clear up those sneezes of yours. And the headache.”
“How did you know I-” your mouth opened and closed before you realized you didn’t do a great job of hiding your symptoms. Maker knows you looked a sight, all mussed and tired and sticky with cold sweat. He should make a run for it now, you half-joked to yourself. He’s only ever seen me stuffed into a corset and done up half to death.
He got up with a grunt and turned back towards you. Beskar and durasteel and tactical fabric suddenly made you feel, for the first time in your life, underdressed. “‘S not hard to tell, princess.”
“Oh,” was your only response as you pushed off the sink counter, fisting the fabric of your nightgown in an unconscious display of hesitancy.
Boba’s heavy boots made for the door.
It was probably just to leave you some semblance of privacy, but you panicked, not wanting to be left alone now that he was finally here. “Wait!” you burst out, reaching a palm onto his shoulder before he could exit. “Wait. Can— can you stay?” Of course he won’t stay, you dolt. He probably came to sleep with you, not babysit you. “Please?”
Both of his hands curled into themselves when he turned back to you, their leather squeaking in the tight flex. Then, they released limp by his sides. Each word was carefully measured, slow-simmering like a pot about to boil over. Like a trigger finger twitchy on a blaster. “If you want me to.”
You answered with a bobbing nod and a swallow. “I do.”
⫸————————————————⫷
Boba Fett had long since forgotten he was a man. Instead, he was armor. He was a code, a set of  strict (albeit grey) morals, the steadfast honor he’d been imbibed with from the years with his father and then the years of tearing emptiness after.
Bounty hunters had no time for attachments. They couldn’t afford to humor every batting eyelash with more than a self-serving flirtation, and he’d had his fill of those already. He’d overflowed his cup ten times over with shallow pleasantries and quick release.
But those days were long-gone. Had been for years now. Now he was practically puritanical.
Had been, anyway.
He didn’t like thinking of himself as impulsive, wanting to leave the trait behind in his younger years but not being old enough to shake it off completely. But he wasn’t impulsive anymore. He wasn’t.
You were going to destroy him.
Low-ranking royalty on some Imperial-occupied factory planet; sheltered and pretty. You had the brightest eyes he had ever seen and a temperament that took no prisoners, and you were going to destroy him.
Boba thought you’d make him leave, but you didn’t. You wanted him to stay and told him so.
So he stayed. His armor was peeled off in your presence for the first time— carefully placed on a chair in your bedroom—and he walked back into the refresher to see you untying your flimsy nightdress like it’d done you a personal wrong.
When it dropped beside your feet, it took every ounce of self-control Boba possessed to stop himself from eating you whole.
He heard you kick it to the floor (his eyes had since been very determinedly fixed on a fascinating piece of groutwork near his left foot) before you stepped into the bath, sighing in a way that made breathing a work harder than it should’ve been.
His looking away wasn’t a request on your part, you didn’t seem to mind either way, but he didn’t trust himself to do otherwise. Not until the sounds of splashing had subsided somewhat, signalling your stilled motion. “Boba?”
Now there was permission to walk. Look down. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, the clawfoot of the bathtub. He had reached his destination.
A wet hand tugged at his belt loops and he finally allowed himself to look, meeting the sight of you sitting bare in the clear-blue water with legs pulled up to your chest. The arm not touching him was roped around your calves. Your chin rested on the wide, curved lip of the tub.  
If Boba had any self-respect, it had been snuffed out the first moment you opened your mouth, six months ago in that cavernous palace hallway with your failed attempt at bravado. It was haughty, short-lived, and adorable.
Maker, you were beautiful. Did you know that? Would you ever believe him if you told you? You were blindingly, effervescently, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.
The position of your chin forced your lips into a slight pout. As if you needed another weapon in your arsenal of ways to make him question his judgement. “Could you bring me the tray on the counter?”
Of course he could. He could bring you anything you liked. He would bring you a rancor, a dozen rancors, a fucking sarlaac if it meant you would smile all soft-like the way you just did when he answered yes.
Boba Fett, mercenary feared farther than he would ever live to travel and hunter too expensive for the Imperial payroll, was now a bath attendant. It was torturous in its sensual irony.
The tray was brought over in short order, cluttered with tiny vials of Maker-knows-what and bars of who-knows-how. Individually they probably all smelled nice, but crowded together the heavy scents only made his head spin. He set the tray down on the floor with a rattle and held up each mystery soap for your inspection. No. No. No. No, not that one. Gods, you were picky. No. No. Yes, please.
You were Miss Manners tonight apparently.
“It’s floating archidia,” you told him, mind running through an endless backlog of plant indexes as he handed over the soap. You sounded clearer now, less congested and more alert. Needed to drink water, though. “The flower that this is made with, I mean. Native to the planet Nubia, rumored to have euphoric properties.” You snorted and ran a thumbnail along the bar’s waxy edge, bringing up a curled pink piece. “Whatever that means.”
“Do you think it does?”
“Have euphoric properties?” you hummed, considering it for a moment. “Maybe. But maybe it’s just wishful thinking.”
“Wishful thinking,” Boba parroted.
The meaning of words can change when they’re repeated. Neither of your minds were on flowers.
His jaw tensed when you reached your other hand to his forearm, baring the rest of your body to the dim orange of the refresher lights’ night settings. The water rippled, warm now instead of steaming, and your fingers curled around the scarred skin of his wrist. “Take off the gloves,” you echoed, your voice suddenly desperate and distant as you traced over pale leather seams. “Please.”
He had refused the first time simply to toy with you. You weren’t used to being told no, and it showed. But he let you take off his helmet in a moment of thoughtless self-indulgence, scratching the part of his subconscious that itched to be touched, stroked, held. Shedding the helmet in front of someone else didn’t really mean anything in an honorable sense—at least not to Boba. Nothing tied him to the habit except a desire to keep himself and his motivations unknown. It was easier that way. Less messy.
He acquiesced. "Since you asked so nicely."
Wrinkling your nose, you guided newly-bare palms to knead gently at your shoulder blades. The skin there was soft and warm, pliant under his sandpaper touch. "Keep mentioning it and I'll go back to being difficult."
The soap made foamy bubbles across your back, over your arms and the velvet slope of your hips. Fingertips ghosted through the space between your jaw and ear, where he remembered sucking in a soft bruise.
He liked being known by you.
⫸————————————————⫷
You clambered out the tub with all the grace of a baby krugga deer and about as much shame. Which is to say, none at all. The subsiding cold had left you tired, bones like jelly and mind sloshing its thoughts around with no real order. Boba was here. Had stayed. Was standing in front of you now, watching tiny water droplets trail down your feet and letting you balance on his arm to keep you from stumbling.
A towel was wrapped around your shoulders. The press of his hot mouth against your forehead followed close behind. “Go sit on the bed.”
For some reason, you didn’t mind listening to him this time. Chalk it up to moldable exhaustion, you thought. Definitely not the fact that his voice sounded especially nice tonight, or any number of other questionable reasons.
He was going to ruin you. Or you would ruin yourself. Any way it was construed, Boba would play a part.
Still only in a towel, you drank the stale tea that sat on your bedside table and watched in mild interest as the mercenary’s shadow emptied out tepid bathwater with the thick glugluglug of the drain. It washed down soap and all your shared secrets.
Was it wrong that you still wanted him? More, now that he’d done this for you? Now that it wasn’t just cruel kisses and groping hands? What sort of a person did that make you?
Your mind whispered it when Boba walked back towards you. Someone lonely.
He helped you slide a new chemise on when you asked him to, quick and steady over the thin linen ties. I bet you do that with all the girls, you’d teased. No, he answered simply. Just you.
He was going to ruin you.
“Do you have to go yet?” you asked quietly and climbed under the covers. They were green today. Life enjoyed coincidences like that.
Boba crouched down on the floor beside your lying figure and shook his head. A wide fingertip smoothed away the crease between your brows. He was doing lots of touching. You were not complaining. “Not ‘til morning.”
“You might as well then,” you mumbled and lifted up the embroidered blankets with a sleep-slack hand. “No one’ll bother us, I promise.” you answered the empty air, too heartsick to comprehend any possible insinuations and too tired to realize the fingers tracing your brow bone had paused. “I told them all not to come back until tomorrow.”
His shirt and pants were shed in an unceremonious pile. You were already half-asleep when he climbed into the other side of the bed, slotting his legs against yours like puzzle pieces. Two question marks curled into each other, his chest to your back and his lips brushing your head.
“Goodnight, princess.”
⫸————————————————⫷
You were dreaming about him.
He was the burning sun that every single one of your thoughts had orbited around for the last six months and now he was invading your subconscious, dream-talons taking the form of dark hands rubbing soft circles against you and then invading your open mouth.
In your dream, Boba touched you softly and not at all, a tease even in your self-serving imagination.
Then you woke up, and it wasn’t a dream anymore.
Two thick arms encircled your waist with a grip unyielding in their strength. They’d pulled you impossibly close, pressed up against his sleeping body until every ridge of his muscled stomach could be felt against your back. Something else was against your back.
Your head reeled in its effort to sludge through the fog of sleep and reach the reality of masculine hips. They shifted in an unintentional grind against your legs until you couldn’t bite back the gasp that bubbled out from your voicebox, the sound quiet, keening, and lost in the shuffled sounds of fabric. It was still dark out. The water-clock in the corner of your room read 01:25:02.
You hadn’t put on anything underneath the new chemise. Why bother, when he’d already seen everything? Your body had grown to be a thing for display, a clothes-hanger and object to be prodded by strangers, and you’d long since rid yourself of any precocious modesty.
But this was different.
When Boba touched you, it wasn’t to sew flowers in your hair or drape a sash over your chest. It was simply to touch. The thought made you light-headed with newfound embarrassment, wiggling in his grip until you turned to face his sleeping form.
All the heavy things he carried on his shoulders during the day were gone now. His bottom lip pillowed out when he slept and he looked younger, the perpetual downturn of his lips now settled below the black hair at his temples. You felt a sticky sort of fondness settle in your chest.
“Boba,” you whispered, two hands placing themselves on his tanned cheeks. They traced the divots of scars and premature lines with all the reverence of worshipfulness.
“Mmm,” his voice rumbled with eyes still closed. A warm mouth kissed the side of your palm.
“Boba,” you repeated, more desperate this time but not knowing what you were desperate for. The space between your legs already knew what it wanted, hot and pulsing with a familiar dampness. Traitor.
“What do you need?” The question wasn’t accusatory, nor annoyed at your waking him. It was known that he would give you whatever you liked. Eventually.
You. Just you.
“I don’t,” you huffed, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your now overheated body as you squirmed, “I don’t know.” Lie.
“Think about it and tell me,” he whispered, eyes opening in their dark, heavy-lidded expectation. The moon and stars suspended outside offered light enough to see the smirk on his face. His skin was the color of burnt earth and of gods. Somewhere, far away in the canopy of carefully pruned trees, a single lark let out its warbled cry.
There was an old adage about being like a lamb to the slaughter. You’d never touched a lamb. Never seen a slaughter. But somehow, you knew it was true.
This lamb, dumb and tender-hearted, was willingly sacrificied.
"I...'' the word left you in the arc of your exhale, one whoosh of air that rattled your chest already wracked with fevered tremors. "I- want you to-"
"You want me to what, pretty thing?" His voice was low, dangerous. It made every part of you want him more. "Say it."
You weren't used to cursing. It was never tolerated and you barely ever heard it, but you'd learned enough to know what he wanted you to say. Which word he wanted to hear, and what it'd mean he would do.
"F-fuck. Me." you choked out, biting your lip to muffle the embarrassment of having to speak it out loud. The word was filthy and raw between your teeth. "Please?"
⫸————————————————⫷
You were dying. Possibly had already died. Were ascending up or barrelling down, you didn’t care as long as his wet mouth stayed between your legs and never, ever stopped.
Wide hands cupped at your skin and kneaded wherever they could reach, simultaneously rough and supplicating. Every pass of his tongue was enough to make you feel possessed. He was killing you.
“Good. Good girl.” he said against your swollen skin when your hips arced off the bed, your spine and toes stiffening for what seemed like an eternity during the damp lightning finish. It sounded like a growl, animalistic and vibrating. A burning, sweet hurt.
Some people call it “little death,” a lady’s maid once whispered underneath her hand in a giggle. “Little death?” you repeated incredulously. That seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?
You understood now.
Boba didn’t let up, never once letting his touch waver even as you buckled and swayed, all sense lost and all sensation compacting.  “Another,” he ordered. Your body listened, bending to his touch without complaint with eyes rolled back into your head.
You were dying.
⫸————————————————⫷
Boba let you lay against him in the downturn, rubbing mindless shapes into the bone of your wrists as you struggled to breathe. Your neck was cradled in one of his broad, bronze palms. It gave one tiny, imperceptible squeeze. An accident. A test.
You pawed at the hand resting heavy on your nape until it moved to leave completely, but was caught instead by your fingers and guided—slow and curious—to cup at your bared throat.
“Dirty,” the man noted in a dark rasp and rolled over to face you. There was a slight smirk in his voice, but that could’ve just been your imagination.
“I don’t see you...” your voice trailed off into a wheeze as Boba’s thick fingers pressed into the sides of your neck, “—see you complaining.”
He kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you. An eternity was spent opening the seam of your mouth while he choked you softly, baring your pulsating soul with only your bedroom walls as witness to the present depravity. The air was filled with begging and grunting—simple noises that stuttered and left your sheets ruined.
You wanted more. You couldn’t help it.
His chuckle morphed into a groan when you reached down to touch him with widening eyes, squeezing him curiously after pulling down his boxers. “You’re a brave little thing,” Boba noted with a hint of greedy pride. “Never done this before, have you?”
Your own hands served as poor substitutes all these years. You shook your head no.
“D’you want to?”
Of course you did. This was the only thing you wanted. The only thing you would ever want, over and over until your body turned to dust under him. A million grains of fizzy, burning blaster powder. A million comets passing by a supernova.
You nodded and tucked your face into the space between Boba’s shoulder and neck, rolling onto your side and hooking a leg over his hip. Your chests met, damp with sweat as cool air flowed over bare skin. The covers had long since been pushed aside. “Safe,” you said in a heady moan over the shell of his ear. “Implant.”
Thank goodness for modern medicine.
⫸————————————————⫷
It hurt a little at first, but most of the discomfort melted away as he whispered to you, sweet and cloying praises alongside filthy things that you’d be hard-pressed to repeat in public. They wove together in an endless stream of baritone vowels, lapping over each other like ocean waves until everything was a gyrating, syrupy playback.
He let you move against him, mouth open and sloppy against your temple when you whined at the stretch. The hands at your back didn’t push. Only placated. “I know, I know,” Boba assured you with fingers rubbing sympathetic desire into your flesh. It would bruise, but you’d come to like the marks. Your hips bucked at their own accord when he pressed up against something tight, the friction burning a bright, numb spark. “Slow down,” he mumbled into your hair, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
Never in your life did you think this was how it would be. Your first kiss, more of a battle than it was a kiss, served as fuel for the expectations of your first time. Never in your life did you think he would be the one telling you to go slow.
It was for your sake, you knew that. But it was still surprising.
You huffed and bit the shell of his ear in childish revenge, blowing a puff of air where you knew it would tickle. Boba only growled and tightened his arms around your waist, rocking into you slow and deep. “Don’t tease,” he warned.
The new movements robbed you of the ability to speak until all you could do in response was lift your head from where it had rested on his shoulder, meeting impossibly dark eyes in lust-addled vision as a building pressure colored the entire world in shades of black, red, and green.
In a moment of complete and utter lack of propriety, you leaned forward, smiling like a woman deranged, and pressed a kiss to his nose.
Boba came undone the same minute you did. It was a rush of wet, rocking pleasure, spreading like thick webs of lighted fire from inside your blood and out to fill the room with quiet devotion. Panting, bursting, close, messy. You’d never felt so whole.
Your foreheads met and you went cross-eyed trying to look at him again. That’s all you wanted to do. Look at him. Uttered underneath his jaw, where the skin was smooth, was your finishing admission. “I love you.”
You didn’t say it to hear it repeated. It was just to give it a shape. Make it concrete. Said more to yourself than him, really.
But Boba did repeat it. Over and over and over. In the tangle of your arms. I love you. In the kiss to your breasts. I love you. In the towel brought between your legs. I love you. In the settled silence of new sleep. I love you, I love you, I love you.
⫸————————————————⫷
The watery light of dawn melted through heavy curtains and you awoke, body weighed down with lead and gold. Sweet soreness had made its home in your muscles and you were loath to get up, but the man you’d been using as a pillow had very rudely left his post.
“I have to go,” he said, already awake and standing sentry by your bed. You raised your head up from the pillows in groggy protest to meet his blurry figure. If you squinted, there were three of him standing there at once.
A shake of your head rid your vision of the doubles, leaving the lone man. He kissed you—quick and dirty, with tongue—and squeezed your exposed breast, prompting a low moan to tumble from your mouth before he slipped his blaster into the holster at his hip. It wasn’t even 6 in the morning and you were thoroughly debauched. What a scandal, you thought (not for the first time) with passing amusement. A bounty hunter and a princess.
Watching in a dim haze as Boba finished strapping on his amor, you tracked the reflection of the sun in the metal’s lazy movement.
He leaned over you. “I’ll be back soon.” Soon. What did soon mean? Another kiss, slow and careful on the bow of your mouth. One more on the slope of your forehead. For luck, you supposed. Whether it was for you or him didn’t matter much. “Promise.”
Slowly, as he climbed out onto your balcony and was gone with a flash of jetpack light, you wondered if it was a mirage; a dream, maybe. The entire night a hallucinatory haze, a figment of your overactive imagination and reckless romanticism.
But the towel left discarded on the floor and the pulsing ache between your legs was very, very real.
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spockandawe · 3 years ago
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Well, this is interesting! So, in that post yesterday, there was one line that really baffled me, a thing about people brushing off a character as an asshole “because he shows literally zero growth.” I kind of set that aside because it was such a weird non-sequitur, and guessed that it was just someone’s sentences not quite keeping up with their train of thought, which has happened to me many times. Apparently I was wrong! I already spent long enough on that one post, I’m tired of talking about that, but this is new and interesting. 
Okay. I kind of wanted to see if I could talk about this purely in terms of abstracts and not characters, but I don’t think it’ll work. It would be frustrating to write and confusing to read. It’s about Jiang Cheng. Right up front: This isn’t about whether or not he’s an abuser. Frankly, I don’t think it’s relevant. This also isn’t about telling people they should like him. I don't care whether anyone else likes him or not. But I do like him, and I am always fascinated by dissecting the reasons that people disagree with me. And the process of Telling Stories is my oldest hyperfixation I remember, which will become relevant in a minute.
I thought I had a good grasp on this one, you know? Jiang Cheng makes it pretty obvious why people would dislike Jiang Cheng. But then the posts I keep stumbling over were making weird points, culminating in that “literally zero growth” line.
So! What happened is that someone wrote up a post about how Jiang Cheng’s character arc isn’t an arc, it’s stagnation. It’s a pretty interesting read, and I broadly agree with the larger point! The points where I would quibble are like... the idea that it’s absolute stagnation, as opposed to very subtle shifts that still make a material difference. But still, cool! The post was also offered up as a reason why OP was uninterested in writing any more Jiang Cheng meta, which I totally get. I’m not tired of him yet, but I definitely understand why someone who isn’t a fan of his would get tired about writing about a character with a very static arc. Okay!
Now, internet forensics are hard. I desperately wish I had more information about this evolution, because I find this stuff fascinating, but I have no good way to find things said in untagged posts, reblogs, or private/external venues. But as far as I can tell, that “literally zero growth” wasn’t just a slip of the tongue, it’s become fashionable for people to say that Jiang Cheng is an abusive asshole (that it’s fucked up to like) because he doesn’t have a character arc.
Asshole? Yes. Abusive? This post still isn’t about that. This is about it being fucked up to like this character because he did bad things and had a static character arc.
At first, that point of view was still deeply confusing to me. But I think I figured out the idea at the core of it, and now I’m only baffled. I’m not super interested in confirming this directly, because the people making the most noise about this have not inspired confidence in their ability to hold a civil conversation and I’m a socially anxious binch, but I think the idea is: ‘This character did Bad Things, and then did not improve himself.’
Which is alarmingly adjacent to that old favorite standard of ‘This piece of fiction is glorifying Bad Thing.’ I haven’t seen anyone accusing mxtx of something something jiang cheng, only the people who read/watched/heard the story and became invested in the Jiang Cheng character, but things kind of add up, you know?
Like I said, I don’t want to arbitrate anyone’s right to like/dislike Jiang Cheng. That’s such a fucking waste of time. But this is fascinating to me, because it’s like..... so obviously new and sudden, with such a clear originating point. I can’t speak to the Chinese fans, obviously, but exiledrebels started translating in... what, 2017? And only now, in 2021, do people start putting forth Jiang Cheng’s flat character arc as a “reason” that he’s bad? I’m not going to argue if he pings you in the abuse place, I’m not a dick. I’m not going to argue if you just dislike his vibes. I’m just over here on my blog and in the tag enjoying myself, feel free to detour around me. But oh my god, it’s so silly to try to tell other people that they shouldn’t like him because he has a static character arc.
I want to talk about stories. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to say, because it’s impossible to make broad, sweeping statements, because there are stories about change, there are stories about lack of change, there are all kinds of media that can be used to tell stories, and standards for how stories are told and what they emphasize vary across cultures and over time. But I think that what I can say is that telling a story requires... compromise. It requires streamlining. Trying to capture all the detail of life would slow down most stories to an unbearable degree. Consider organically telling someone ‘I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich’ versus the computer science exercise of having students describe, step by step, how to make one (spread peanut butter? but you never said you opened the lid)
Hell, I’ve got an example in mdzs itself. The largely-faceless masses of the common people. If someone asks you to think about it critically like, yes, obviously these are people, living their own lives, with their own desires, sometimes suffering and dying in the wake of the novel plot. But does the story give weight to those deaths? Or does it just gloss by? Yes, it references their suffering occasionally, but it is not the focus, and it would slow the story unbearably to give equal weight to each dead person mentioned. 
Does Wei Wuxian’s massacre get given the same slow, careful consideration as Su She’s, or Jin Guangyao’s? No, because taking the time to weigh our protagonist with ‘well, this one was a mother, and her youngest son had just started walking, but now he’s going to grow up without remembering her face. that one only became an adult a few months ago, he still hasn’t been on many night-hunts yet, but he finds it so rewarding to protect the common people. oh, and this one had just gotten engaged, but don’t worry, his fiancee won’t mourn him, because she died here as well.’ And continuing on that way to some large number under 3000? No! Unless your goal is to make the reader feel bad for cheering for a morally grey hero, that would be a bad authorial decision! The book doesn’t ignore the issue, it comes up, Wei Wuxian gets called out about all the deaths he’s responsible for, but that’s not the same as them being given equal emotional weight to one (1) secondary character, and I don’t love this new thing where people are pretending that’s equivalent.
When Wei Wuxian brutally kills every person at the Wen supervisory office, are you like ‘holy shit... so many grieving families D:’ or are you somewhere between vindicated satisfaction and an ‘ooh, yikes’ wince? Odds are good you’re somewhere in the satisfaction/wince camp, because that’s what the story sets you up to feel, because the story has to emphasize its priorities (priorities vary, but ‘plot’ and ‘protagonist’ are common ones, especially for a casual novel read like this)
Now, characters. If you want to write a story with a sweeping, epic scale, or if you want to tightly constrain the number of people your story is about, I guess it’s possible to give everyone involved a meaningful character arc. Now.... is it always necessary? Is it always possible? Does it always make sense? No, of course not. If you want to do that, you have to devote real estate to it, and depending on the story you want to tell, it could very possibly be a distraction from your main point, like the idea of mxtx tenderly eulogizing every single character who dies even incidentally. Lan Qiren doesn’t get a loving examination of his feelings re: his nephews and wei wuxian and political turnover in the cultivation world because it’s not relevant, and also, because his position is pretty static until right near the end of the story. Lan Xichen is arguably one of the most static characters within the book, he seems like the same nice young between Gusu and the present, right up until... just before the end of the story.
You may see where I’m heading with this.
Like, just imagine trying to demand that every important character needs to go through a major life change before the end of your book or else it didn’t count. This just in, Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg go through multiple novels without experiencing radical shifts in who they are, stop liking them immediately. I do get that the idea is that Jiang Cheng was a ~bad person~ who didn’t change, but asdgfsd I thought we were over the handwringing over people being allowed to like ““bad”” fictional characters. The man isn’t even a canonical serial killer, he’s not my most problematic fave even within this novel.
And here is where it’s a little more relevant that I would quibble with that original post about Jiang Cheng’s arc. He’s consistently a mean girl, but he goes from stressed, sharp-edged teenager, to grief-stricken, almost-destroyed teen, to grim, cold young adult (and then detours into grim, cold, and grief-stricken until grief dulls with time). He does become an attentive uncle tho. He..... doesn’t experience a radical change in his sense of self, which... it’s...... not all that strange for an adult. And bam, then he DOES experience a radical change, but the needs of the plot dictate that it’s right near the end. And he’s not the focus of the story, baby, wangxian is. He has the last few lines of the story, which nicely communicate his changes to me, but also asdfafas we’re out of story. He was never the main character, it’s not surprising we don’t linger! The extras aren’t beholden to the needs of plot, but they’re also about whatever mxtx wanted to write, and I guess she didn’t feel like writing about Jiang Cheng ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
But also. Taking a step backward. Stable characters can fill a perfectly logical place in a story. Like, look at Leia Organa. I’m not saying she has no arc, but I am saying that she’s a solid point of reference as Luke is becoming a jedi and Han is adjusting his perspective. I wouldn’t call her stagnant, the vibes are wrong, but she also isn’t miserable in her sadness swamp, the way Jiang Cheng is.
Or, hell, look at tgcf. The stagnant, frozen nature of the big bad is a central feature of the story. The bwx of now is the bwx of 800 years ago is the bwx of 1500+ years ago. This is not the place for a meta on how that was bad for those around him and for him himself, but I have Thoughts about how being defeated at the end is both a thing that hurts him and relieves him. Mei Nianqing is a sympathetic character who’s also pretty darn static. Does Ling Wen have a character arc, or do we just learn more about who she already is and what her priorities always were? I’m going to cut myself off here, but a character’s delta between the beginning of a story and the end of a story is a reasonable way to judge how interesting writing character meta is, and is a very silly metric to judge their worth, and even if I guessed at what the basic logic is, for this character, I am still baffled that it’s being put forth as a real talking point.
(also, has it jumped ship to any other characters yet? have people started applying it in other fandoms as well? please let me know if this is the case, I am wildly curious)
(no, but really, if anyone is arguing that bwx is gross specifically because he had centuries to self-reflect and didn’t fix himself, i am desperate to know)
And finally. The thing I thought was most self-evident. Did I post about this sometime recently? If a non-central character experiences a life-altering paradigm shift right near the end of the story (without it being lingered over, because non-central character), oh my god. As a fic writer? IT’S FREE REAL ESTATE. This is the most fertile possible ground. If I want to write post-canon canon-compliant material, adsgasfasd that’s where I’m going to be looking. Okay, yeah, the main couple is happy, that’s good. Who isn’t happy, and what can I do about that? Happy families are all alike, while every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way, etc.
It’s not everyone’s favorite playground, but come on, these are not uncommon feelings. And frankly, it’s starting to feel a little disingenuous when people act like fan authors pick out the most blameless angel from the cast and lavish good things upon them. I’m not the only one who goes looking for a good dumpster fire and says I Live Here Now. If I write post-canon tgcf fic, it’s very likely to focus on beef and/or leaf. I have written more than one au focusing on tianlang-jun.
And, hilariously. If the problem with Jiang Cheng. Is that he is a toxic man fictional character who failed to grow on his own, and is either unsafe or unhealthy to be around. If the problem is that he did not experience a character arc. If these people would be totally fine with other people liking him, if he improved himself as a person. And then, if authors want to put in the (free! time-consuming!) work of writing that character development themselves. You would think that they would be lauded for putting the character through healthier sorts of personal growth than he experienced in canon. Instead, I am still here writing this because first, I was bothered by these authors being named as “freaks” who are obsessed with their ‘uwu precious tsundere baby’ with a “love language of violence,” and then I was graciously informed that people hate Jiang Cheng because he experiences no character growth.
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smokahuntis · 4 years ago
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The beauty & the sith
Pairing: Darth maul x Jedi
Warnings: Canon details changed for plot purposes. Mentions of death. The battle of Naboo.
Summery: A tale as old as time. A young Jedi falls into the trap of a careless sith to protect her father.
Authors note: this will be a series, hopefully
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“I’m going to the library, father” (y/n) said as she fixed her lightly colored robes and clipped her saber to her side. Her father, Qui-Gon, looked up at her from his scroll with a soft smile. (Y/n) was his only child, not his biological daughter, his niece rather. The Jedi let him take her in after the death of his sister, he raised her as his own along side Obi-Wan.
She was always so smart, so strong willed and compassionate. She was just like his sister and she reminded him of that every day. She reminded him of the brave women his sister was, and how much light she put in his life, and everyone she met. (Y/n) was just like her in every way. Especially in the color blue.
“Where did you get those robes?” He asked curiously as he closed his scroll, setting it aside.
“Oh- I found them in my chest” she smiled looking at him. Probably a gift from Obi-wan, she was used to getting things from him. (Y/n) never had a problem with Obi-wan, but she was definitely not interested in him. He was like a brother to her, but to him she was much more.
Qui-gon nodded and smiled softly “you look lovely in that color...be safe” he said standing up and kissing her head “stay away from boys” he teased her. She only shook her head and looked up at him.
“I don’t think any of the men in this temple will ever be a bother to me, father” she whispered as she tied her hair back into its ribboned braid.
“And they better stay that way, or I’ll have a long talk with the council” he said sternly as he held his hands together.
“What if they are members of the council?” She asked with a smirk, always having to question the things he says just to know the answer, never for real importance.
“Then I’ll speak to master today privately about the matter.” He said looking down at her.
“Whaaaat if it’s Master yoda?” She asked again. Her father only gave her a look before pushing her to the door gently.
“Go on, before someone takes what you’re looking for” he said as she giggled and walked out the door.
“Waaaait, I didn’t get to ask what you are doing today” she said as they now stood in the hall out side their temple apartment. He nodded and sighed.
“Yes that is important...” he said in a tone that made her look at him with worried eyes.
“What’s going on...” she whispered softly as she grabbed his hands.
“The boy we’ve saved, anakin... I believe our discovery of him has raised some attention... master yoda senses a disturbance coming... Obi-wan and I are the ones attending the matter” he informed her quietly so no others heard.
“Why didn’t you tell me I could help you-“ she started but he cut her off.
“You are not yet ready... please just go to the library... I’ll see you tonight for dinner” he smiled at her and kissed her head as she let out a heavy sigh. She knew not to argue with him on Jedi matters, yet she did it often. But something about the way he said it, she knew to leave it alone and go about her way.
(Y/n) was quiet as she made her way down to the library. Keeping her nose in her current books as she went, many people greeted her as she passed. Many whispered as she walked away. Always so quiet, so closed off. Except for the people she trusted, Obi-Wan, her father and now anakin. Even tho anakin was only a child, there was something about him she trusted, something familiar. She could never place it, but she didn’t care to much about it either.
“And what are you reading today?” Obi-wan hummed plucking the book from her hands as she came into the library. She looked up at him and reached for it quickly.
“Obi-wan!” She whined and tried to jump to grab it. He was so much taller then her , it was way to easy for him to hold things from her grasp.
“The fires of Dathomir?” He looked at her curiously. “Now why on earth would you be reading something like that?” He asked flipping three the pages, stopping on a academic drawing of the zabrak male. “And the only image is a naked man” he said handing it back to her.
“It’s to represent common tattoos of the Dathomorian people” she said in a matter-of-fact tone as she walked more into the library. Obi-wan on her heels as she went to put the book away. “Plus, I’m already finish with it, I was just reviewing it.” She said as she used the force to slip it back into its shelf.
“Did you pick that book because you were bored of because of Darth maul?” He asked leaning against the shelves as he looked down at her.
“Darth Maul?” She asked confused, her father knew her well enough to not mention the sith, she always had weird dreams about the sith. So anytime they had sith problems, unless it was necessary, he didn’t inform her.
“He didn’t tell you...” Obi-wan sighed “there was this Zabrak on Tatooine that attacked us, tried to get Padmé and take anakin... goes by Darth Maul” Obi-wan said softly.
“And no one told me till now?” She crossed her arms a little frustrated.
“I thought he would... it seemed necessary, I’m sorry sunflower I didn’t know” Obi-wan said trying to be calm about it, and calm her too.
“Tell me about him...” she said sitting down.
“About Darth Maul?” He asked as they sat down.
“No, about you” she said looking at him, a smirk grew in his face.
“Well-“
“Yes about Darth Maul” she cut him off before he could continue. Obi-wan shook his head and started talking about it and what happened on Tatooine. They sat there for awhile discussing the events before she realized.
“Aren’t you meant to be with my father?” She asked him as she grabbed a book about Zabraks.
“Well yes, but he had a meeting with the council I was told I wasn’t allowed to go to... so I figure I’d talk to you” Obi-wan said looking at the time.
“And how did you know where to find me?” She said flipping three pages.
“Where else would you be?” He answered before she stopped and glanced up at him.
“I go... other places” she started
“Like where?” He hummed lifting her chin.
“The... gardens” she said closing the book abruptly before someone came into the isle they were at.
“Obi-wan... master Qui-gon is looking for you” the younger twi’lek said with a kind smiled. “Good morning Miss Jinn” she hummed to (y/n) before walking away. (Y/n) looked up at Obi-wan and smiled.
“Good luck” she said letting him go before she went into her research.
It seemed like only minutes had passed as she read her books, but as she looked up the light peeking threw the large windows had become a burnt orange. The sun was setting fast over Coruscant, Barely giving her enough time to put her things into her bag before leaving. It wasn’t uncommon for her to forget time while reading. Some days she’s been in there till late at night.
As she made her way threw the temple she started to feel this strange ache in her head. Unlike anything she’d felt before. Longing, that’s what it felt like. Like being lost in a crowd of people, only searching for one person that you just can’t find. And that’s what she was doing, before even noticing it she was running threw the temple to find the source of this feeling.
She started to become warm, the feeling in her chest, her stomach. The anxiety, the force guiding her, she didn’t know what was happing next she just knew she needed to get to it. Wherever it was. Her feet guided her, her brain on hyperdrive before she found herself in the shipping bay. Frozen as she finally found the source of this emotion, her father. Fighting against a sith she had never known. The description only matching that to Darth Maul.
She couldn’t get passed the red chambers fast enough, she couldn’t reach him in time. The piercing heat of the saber went threw her father with in second before the zabrak noticed her. The sob escaping her throat alerting him of her presents as he pulled away from the Jedi master. The red barriers fell and she was quickly at Qui-Gon’s side.
In this moment she didn’t care about the sith, she only wanted to hold her father. “No- no - dad” she whimpered picking up his head and setting it on her lap. “Please look at me” she whimpered as his eyes opened weakly and face turned to a grin.
“I knew you’d find me...” he whispered. “I... I needed to see you.. one last time” she whispered reaching his hand uo to her face. She let out a sob as she leaned into his touch
“It was you- you brought me here...” she whispered as he nodded.
“I needed you to see this... I needed you to be here” he whispered as his touch began to tremble.
“Why...” she grabbed his hand
“Because I love you... I need you to know that...you’re- you’re my daughter and I love you” he whispered as he closed his eyes.
The barriers flashed again as Obi-wan entered the room. Maul was quick to grab (y/n) uo from the floor and hold his scorching blade to her neck.
“Him or her” he growled in such a deep tone it vibrated her back. She could feel his warm skin threw their robes.
“No- no” obi-wan grabbed his masters saber but she stopped him.
“No! Save him!” (Y/n) cried. “Please Obi-wan!” She looked at him as tears streamed down her face. Something about maul felt familiar, and she trusted that enough to put her life on it. “Take him to the infirmary! I’ll be okay! Please!” She cried looking at them. Maul’s grip on her hit tighter as she spoke. A deep chuckle came from his throat and right into her ear.
“So compliant... it’s like you want to be taken” he purred before looking at Obi-Wan “you heard her... take him” he growled again before Obi/ wan picked up his master and looked at (y/n)
“I’ll save you” he said reassuringly.
“Save him first!” She yelled at him before he ran off to help Qui-Gon.
That moment set the markings for the rest of her life with the amber eyes sith. Fear racked threw her body like it owned its every cell. But his warm comforted it like a warm blanket. It made her uneasy, her mind already in a panic as Maul drug her to his ship. She didn’t speak or sob, she just froze.
She didn’t say anything to him as he hauled her up to his ship. Setting her down on the passenger seat and strapping her into it.
“Don’t move” he said sternly as she looked up at him. The only response she could conjure up was a whimper. He just shook his head and started the ship quickly “you’re pathetic...” he mumbled before the ship roared to life and took off. All she could think about was that
She gave her life to a zabrak.
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Tag list: @a-dorin @localnightmare13 @botherbother-blog @jayden-rose-leon @randomfangirl7 @syncopated-beet @two-black-leviathans @zamoragoddess
I currently do not have a Darth Maul tag list so if you want to be apart of this series or Darth Maul all together just let me know
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youneedasoultraveller · 4 years ago
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Is the popular headcanon that Nicky was illiterate, stupid and barbaric fitting in the stereotypes about Southern Europeans / Mediterraneans ? I’m guessing it’s from the American part of the fandom that’s choosing to not respectfully write Nicky since he is white while being virulent towards anybody that doesn’t perfected and accurately write Joe because he is MENA.
Hello!
Mind you, I am neither a psychologist, a sociologist nor a historian, so of course be aware these are my own views on the whole drama.
But to answer your question, yes, I personally think so. It definitely comes from the American side, but I have seen Northern Europeans do that too, often just parroting the same type of discourse that Anglos whip out every other day.
There is an abysmal ignorance of Medieval history – even more so when it concerns countries that are not England: there is this common misconception that Europe in the Middle Ages was this cultural backwater full of semi-barbaric people that stems unfortunately not only from trying to (correctly) reframe colonialist approaches to the historiographies of non-European populations (that is, showing the Golden Age of Islamic culture, for instance, as opposed to what were indeed less culturally advanced neighbours), but also from distortions operated by European themselves from the Renaissance onwards, culminating in the 18th century Enlightenment philosophes categorising the Middle Ages as the Dark Ages.
Now this approach has been time and time again proven to be a made-up myth. I will not go into detail to disprove each and every single one misconception about the Medieval era because entire books have been written, but just to give you an example: there was no such a thing as a ius primae noctis/droit du seigneur; people were aware that the Earth was not flat (emperors, kings, saints, etc, they were depicted holding a globe in their hands); people were taking care of their hygiene, either through the Roman baths, or natural springs, or private tubs that the wealthier strata of the population (and especially the aristocracy) owned. The Church was not super happy about them not because it wanted people to remain dirty, but because often these baths were for both men and women, and it was not that in favour of them showing off their bodies to one another. Which, you know, we also don’t do now unless you go to nudist spas. It was only during the Black Death in the 14th century that baths were slowly abandoned because they became a place of contagion, and they went into disuse (or better, they changed purpose and became something like bordellos). And, lastly, there was certainly a big chunk of the population that was illiterate, but certainly it was not the clergy, which was THE erudite class of the time. It was in monasteries and abbeys that knowledge was passed and preserved (as well as lost unfortunately often, such as the case for the largest part of classical literature).
So what does this mean? According to canon, Nicolò was an ex priest who fought in the First Crusade. This arguably means that at the very least he was a cadet son of a minor noble family (or a wealthy merchant one) who was part of the clergy. As such, historically he could have been neither illiterate nor a dirty garbage cat in his daily life.
Let’s then talk geography. Southern Europe (and France) was far, far more advanced than the North at the time and Italy remained the cultural powerhouse of the continent until the mid-17th century. Al Andalus in the Iberian Peninsula, the Italian States,  the Byzantine Empire (which called itself simply Roman Empire, whose population defined itself as Roman and cultural heirs of the Latin and Greek civilisations): these places have nothing to do with popular depictions of Medieval Europe that you mainly see from the Anglos. Like @lucyclairedelune rightfully pointed out: not everyone was England during the plague.
Also the Middle Ages lasted one thousand years. As a historical age, it’s way longer than anything we had after that. So of course habits varied, there was a clear collapse right after the fall of the Western Roman Empire, but then things develop, you know?
Anyway, back to the point in question. Everything I whipped up is not arcane knowledge: it’s simply having studied history at school and spending a few hours reading scientific articles on the internet which are not “random post written by random Anglo on Tumblr who can hardly find Genoa on a map”.
Nicolò stems from that culture. The most advanced area in Europe, possibly a high social class, certainly educated, from Genoa, THE maritime superpower of the age (with…Venice). It makes absolutely no sense that he would not be able to speak anything past Ligurian: certainly Latin (the ecclesiastical one), maybe the koine Greek spoken in Constantinople, or Sabir, or even the several Arabic languages from the Med basin stretching from al Andalus to the Levant. Because Genoa was a port, and people travel, bring languages with them, use languages to barter.
And now I am back to your question. Does this obstinacy in writing him as an illiterate beast (basically) feed into stereotypes of Mediterranean people (either from the northern or the southern shore)? It does.
It is a typically Anglo-Germanic perspective that of describing Southern (Catholic) Europeans are hot-headed, illiterate bumpinks mindlessly driven by blind anger, lusts and passions, as opposed to the rational, law-abiding smart Northern Protestants. You see it on media. I see it in my own personal life, as a Southern Italian living in Northern Europe for 10 years.
Does it sound familiar? Yes, it’s the same harmful stereotype of Yusuf as the Angry Brown Man. But done to Nicolò as the Angry Italian Man (not to mention the fact that, depending on the time of day and the daily agenda of the Anglo SJW Tumblrite, Italians can be considered either white or non-white).
Now, the times where Nicolò is shown as feral are basically when he is fighting (either in a bloody war or against Merrick’s men) or when Yusuf is in danger. Because, guess what, the man he loves is being hurt. What a fucking surprise.
Nicolò is simply being reduced to a one dimensional stereotype of the dirty dumb angry Italian, and people are simply doing this because they do not seem to accept the fact that both he and Yusuf are two wonderfully complex, flawed, fully-fledged multidimensional characters.
So I am mainly concentrating on Nicolò here because as an Italian I feel more entitled to speak about the way I see the Anglo fandom treating him and using stereotypes on him that have been consistently applied to us by the Protestant Northerners. I keep adding the religious aspect because, although I am an atheist who got debaptised from the Catholic Church, a big part of the historical treatment towards Southern has to do with religion and the contempt towards Catholic rituals and traditions (considered, once again, a sign of cultural backwardness by the enlightened North).
I do not want to impose my view of Yusuf because there are wonderful Tumblr users from MENA countries who have already written wonderful metas of the way Yusuf is being depicted by non-MENA people (in particular Americans), especially (again) @lucyclairedelune and @nizarnizarblr.
However, I just want to underline that, by only ever writing Yusuf as essentially a monodimensional character without a single flaw, this takes away Yusuf’s canon multidimensionality, the right he has to feel both positive but also negative feelings (he was hurt and angry at Booker’s betrayal, allegedly his best friend, AND HE HAD EVERY RIGHT TO BE – and I say this as a Booker fan as well).
I have not been the first to say these things, it is nothing revolutionary, and it exactly complements what the MENA tumblr users in the TOG fandom have also been trying to say. Both of us as own voices people who finally have the chance to have two characters that are fully formed and honest representations of our own cultures, without stereotypes or Anglogermanic distortions.
And the frustration mounting among all of us comes from the fact that the Anglos are, once again, not listening to us, even telling us we are wrong about our own cultures (see what has happened to Lucy and Nazir).
What is even more frustrating is that everything in this cursed fandom – unless it was in the film or comics – is just a bloody headcanon. But these people are imposing their HCs as if it were the Word of God, and attacking others – including own voices MENA and Italians – for daring to think otherwise.
I honestly don’t expect this post will make any difference because this is just a small reflection of what Americans do in real life on grander scale, which is thinking they are the centre of the world and ignoring that the rest of the world even exists regardless of their own opinions on it.
But still, sorry for the length, hope I answered your question.
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succubusphan · 2 years ago
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A Rose of Winter - Chapter 3
Summary: All Daniel wanted to do was escape the stifling life as a Stark of Winterfell and travel the world. Between the looming threat North of The Wall and the den of lions in the capital, he unexpectedly finds love in the midst of a war set to tear Westeros apart. Caught between loyalty to his family and duty, he is torn in a thousand directions that all point to one man: Philip Flowers.
Rating: E (There are only a few smut scenes but it's an M for battles, war, and other adult topics)
Tags/warnings: I removed most triggers (no R or SA, no minors involved in sex, no gore). It does include: Deaths either written without details or in a poetic way if it's an important character (Dan and Phil, Ghost and Balerion will live but everyone else is fair game). Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, missing each other. The prophecies and stories foreshadowed are fulfilled, a satisfying ending to the entire story without plot holes. Extreme canon divergence. Dan and Phil are not replacing characters, they were written in. GAME OF THRONES AU
Author's Note: This is my OSPBB 2022, Couldn't have done it without my betas @effingmeteors and @filisaceaf.
Word Count: Each chapter will be around 15k and have at least one Dan or Phil pov. The total wc is about 210k.
Read on Ao3
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NED
Lord Varys’ visit was unexpected. The man had made no attempts to speak to him privately and kept his little birds spying on him constantly, but it seemed he had finally decided to talk. 
He stood right outside Ned’s chambers and smiled. “May I, My Lord?”
Ned nodded, intrigued by the visit. As soon as The Spider walked in, he went about closing every window and door until they were completely alone and in silence. 
“How is your son, My Lord?”
“He’ll never walk again, but he is healthy otherwise.”
“A sound mind is always the most important. Some doors close forever, others open in the most unexpected places,” he said, sitting across from him. “He will have a brilliant future, I am sure.”
Ned nodded, appreciating the sentiment but knowing it was only a pleasantry looking to achieve some sort of favour. “To what do I owe your visit, Lord Varys?”
Varys set his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his hands, staring at him intently. “If word got out of what I am about to tell you, I would lose my head. The King is a fool; your friend, I know, but a fool and doomed unless you save him.”
“I’ve been in the Capital for some time now, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I didn’t trust you, but I’ve been watching you closely. You are a man of honour, and I would like to believe I am one myself.” 
“What sort of danger does the King face?”
He leaned back on his chair. “The same Jon Arryn did. The Tears of Lys, they call it, a rare and costly thing. It’s clear as water and has no taste - it leaves no trace.”
Letting out a deep sigh, Ned stood from his seat and paced around the room. This reaffirmed his own theory; poison. “Who would give it to him?” Ned tensed, trying to brace himself for whatever information he was about to receive.  
“A friend, I’m sure. There were many, but there was a boy.”
“His esquire, Ser Hugh.” 
“Everything he was, he owed to Jon Arryn. A pity what happened to him when his life seemed to be going so nicely.” 
“Who would have paid Ser Hugh?” 
“Someone who could afford it.” 
Ned stopped in front of Varys and shook his head. “I don’t understand. Jon Arryn was a good man and a good Hand of the King, why kill him after 17 years?” 
Lord Varys rested his hands on the desk and raised his eyebrows. “He started asking questions.” 
“What kind of questions?” 
“I am afraid that I cannot mention, My Lord. You will have to see for yourself.”
“Can I trust you, Lord Varys?”
Varys seemed to consider it for a moment. “You can trust me to do what is best for The Realm.”
Nodding, Ned thanked him for his visit and sat at his desk, looking at the book he borrowed from the Grand Maester, wondering what his friend looked for so desperately before his death.
---
Ned paced around his study. Problems kept piling on each other by the dozen. Soon after Varys’ visit, he’d stopped by the girls’ chambers only to hear that Arya was nowhere to be found. Every Winterfell soldier in King’s Landing had looked for her and still hadn’t found her. 
Just when he was starting to fear for the worst, two Gold Cloaks brought a very dirty and disgruntled Arya back to him. She was so dishevelled, she had been initially confused for a beggar. 
“You said you were going to stop running out!”
“They said they were going to kill you!” 
“Who?”
“I couldn’t see them. It was two men. They said you found the bastard and something about a Lion - and war. Something about a war and a savage. I think one of them was fat.”
Ned huffed. “Where did you hear this?” 
“In the dungeon, by the dragon skulls.” 
“And what were you doing there?” 
“I was chasing a cat,” Arya mumbled. 
They were interrupted by another knock on the door. This time it was a man from the Night's Watch. 
“My name is Yoren, My  Lord. 
“Did my brother Benjen send you?”
“No, I came here looking for new recruits from your dungeons, but that is not the reason for my visit. I rode here so hard I nearly killed my horse, but your brother Benjen’s blood runs black just like mine so I must warn you. Everyone will know by tonight.”
“Warn me about what?” 
“It’s best said in private,” Yoren said. 
Once Arya and Jory had left, Ned nodded. 
“Your wife has taken the imp.” 
Ned felt his legs give ever so slightly and sat down. This was treason. Cat was about to be arrested, tried and executed for her crimes, and knowing the Lannisters, he would follow along with their daughters. He needed to speak to Robert before they got the word and were able to convince him of it. 
“Thank you, Yoren. I hope I can repay this favour to you.” 
Yoren nodded. 
“If you excuse me, I must take care of this immediately.” 
If he hurried, he would probably find Robert in his chambers with an assortment of whores. He rushed down the stairs but one of the Gold Cloaks stopped him on the way down. “My Lord, there’s a small council meeting, the King has summoned you.”
“Is it about my wife?”
“No, My Lord. I believe it concerns Daenerys Targaryen.” 
--
“The whore is pregnant!” Robert said, banging the table with his fist. “I warned you back in the north! I knew this would happen! I want them dead, her and that fool Viserys too!”
Ned frowned, he couldn’t believe how heartless Robert had become. “You are speaking of murdering a child! You dishonour yourself forever if you do this.”
“I am the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, do you think honour keeps them in line? That it keeps the peace? No, it’s fear!”
“Then we are no better than The Mad King!”
“Careful, Ned. Careful now!” Robert shouted.
“You want to assassinate a girl because the spider heard a rumour.” Ned knew exactly who had little birds everywhere, even in Essos. The Master of Whisperers was good at his job but he was also good at using the information to his advantage. 
“No rumour, My Lord,” Varys said calmly. “The Princess is with child.”
“Based on whose information?” He pressed.
“Ser Jorah Mormont, he’s serving as an adviser to the Targaryens.”
“Mormont? You bring us the whispers of a traitor?” 
Petyr Baelish interjected with a half smile. “He’s a slaver, not a traitor. Small difference, I know,” he said.
“He broke the law, betrayed his family and fled our land.” Ned let out a deep sigh, he couldn’t understand why nobody understood how wrong it would be to kill the Targaryen girl, even more so if she was really pregnant. “We commit murder on the word of this man?” 
Robert huffed. “And if he’s right? If she has a son, a Targaryen ahead of a Dothraki army?” 
“The Narrow Sea is still between us.” Ned didn’t fear the horse Lords, not when they had never sailed before, or had a fleet. The chances of them getting a fleet big enough to cross from the old continent with enough horses to be a problem for the crown were non-existent.
“You want me to do nothing? Is that your advice?” Robert’s voice boomed through the room. Then he looked around the table. “You are my council, speak some sense into him!” He yelled. 
Varys cleared his throat. “It is a vile thing, My Lord, but sometimes those of us who rule must do vile things for the good of The Realm,” he said. “Should the Gods grant Daenerys a son, The Realm would bleed.”
Grand Maester Pycelle nodded. “I bear this girl no ill will, but should the Dothraki invade, how many innocents will die? How many towns will burn? Isn’t it kinder to kill her now so that thousands can live?” 
“We should have gotten them both killed years ago,” said Renly. 
Renly’s opinion didn’t surprise Ned given that he had never been in battle or killed anyone. 
“When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, best close your eyes and get it over with,” Littlefinger added. “Cut her throat and be done with it.” He smiled and raised his wine glass at Ned before drinking from it.
Ned looked at Robert and made a last attempt to reason with his childhood friend. “I followed you into war - twice! Without any doubts, without second thoughts, but I will not follow you now. The Robert I grew up with didn’t tremble at the shadow of an unborn child.”
“She dies,” Robert said through gritted teeth.
 “I will have no part in it.” He would not sacrifice his honour and his values to reassure Robert.
“You will do as I command, Lord Stark or I will find me a hand who will.” 
“You are not the Robert I grew up with. I thought you were a better man.” Ned said and removed the pin that identified him as The Hand throwing it on the table in front of his best friend.
Robert’s face twisted in a mix of anger and hurt. “Go!” He yelled. “Run back to Winterfell!” He stood from his seat, the chair dragging on the floor loudly. “I’ll have your head on a spike!”
Ned rushed to his chambers as Robert yelled and cursed after him. He opened the door swiftly and asked Jory to get Sansa and Arya ready and not ask anyone for help. 
Jory nodded but hesitated for a moment. “Baelish is here to talk to you.” 
“Send him in,” Ned said as he collected everything he could and packed it away. 
“Lord Stark, I see that you are in a rush to leave. While I cannot blame you for making that decision, I have found a final piece of information that may interest you.”
“What is it?” Ned paused. 
“If you can wait until sundown, I can take you to the last person Jon Arryn visited before he died.”  
Considering it briefly, Ned decided that this may be the last piece of the puzzle that will uncover who killed Jon Arryn and why. “Jory, put guards outside the girls’ chambers and be ready to come with me at sundown. Make sure they are ready to leave.” 
LORAS
Loras watched Renly as he entered their chambers, still wearing his leather armour with the Baratheon sigil plastered all over it. 
“Go, we’ll speak later,” Phil said with a half smile. “I can see I no longer hold your attention.” 
“What can I do? I am weak before his beauty?” 
“Weak for a man? What would our grandmother say?” 
“She would say Tyrell men are all weak anyway and to make the best of it.” 
“You are right,” Phil laughed. “Go, he’s waiting for you.” 
Loras nodded at his cousin and made his way back to the set of chambers he shared with his lover. He opened the door and saw him already removing his armour and huffing. 
“I told you it was too hot to wear it.” He walked over to Renly and helped him pry it open, exposing his sweaty undershirt.
“I think it looks good on me,” Renly said. 
“It does, but you don’t need to look good for anyone other than me - and I prefer you naked, my love.” Loras pressed a kiss to Renly’s lips and pulled at his clothes, running his fingers on the other’s skin. “Would you let me shave your chest?” 
“Why?” 
“I prefer hairless men.” 
“Alright,” Renly said. “But only my chest.” 
“And your armpits.” Loras poured water into a basin and lathered a piece of soap before rubbing it on Renly’s chest.
“If you like hairless men so much, perhaps you should try boys.” 
Loras rolled his eyes and slid the blade on Renly’s chest softly, smiling at all the hair that was coming off already. “I want you, just - hairless.”  
“Daenerys Targaryen is pregnant.” 
“Oh,” Loras said. The old allies of House Tyrell; Interesting. “How did the meeting go?”
“Lord Stark thinks it’s cruel to kill a pregnant woman for the sins of her father and her name, but we all agreed to it. It will save us a lot of problems in the future.”
“And Lord Stark?” 
“He argued with each of us and told Robert he was not the same man he once knew; broke his heart. Then he left The Hand pin and left.”
“I am surprised he still had his head.”
Renly snickered. “Robert will rant for a few days and do nothing about it. He loves that man.”
“You’re jealous,” Loras said with a triumphant smile. He dragged the blade with a little more confidence as Renly relaxed into the activity.
“Robert and Stannis think that anyone who hasn’t been to war isn’t a man. They treat me like a spoiled child.”
Loras bit his lip and looked into his eyes before focusing back on the task at hand.
“Don’t give me that look,” Renly said, kissing his nose. “The Knight of the Flowers! How much did your father spend on that armour of yours?” 
“As much as it was necessary, I assure you. I will give it a good use - fighting.”
“I cannot fight. Not everyone is as gifted a swordsman as you.” 
“It is not a gift if I worked for it my entire life,” Loras said.
Renly shook his head. “I could work my entire life and I would still never be as good as you.” 
“I guess we’ll never know.” Loras raised Renly’s arm and lathered the soap there. “So the Targaryen girl must die.” His grandmother would be happy to hear the news.
“Yes. I do not like it, but Robert is rather tasteless about it. I swear the table rises six inches every time he mentions killing.”
“Too bad he can’t muster the same amount of lust for his wife.”
“He does have lust for her money. The Lannisters may be the most annoying, enraging, pompous cunts but they do have outrageous amounts of money.” 
Loras looked at him through narrowed eyes. “I have outrageous amounts of money.”
“Not as much as the Lannisters.”
“But a lot more than you,” he teased. 
“Robert is threatening to take me hunting. I hate it. The last time it took two weeks for him to get his spear into something. But he’s the King, I can’t exactly say no to him.”
“How did he become King?”
“He used to be very good at killing.” 
“I think you should be King. My father could be your bank,” Loras said. “I have never been at war, but I would fight for you.”
Renly looked into his eyes with a sweet smile before shaking his head. “I am fourth in the line of succession!” 
“Robert will drink himself to death sooner than you think, Joffrey is a monster, Tommen is too young.”
“What about Stannis?”
“He has the personality of a lobster; he’s not fit to be a King!” 
“I don’t know, Loras. Would it be worth it to risk it all for the crown?” 
Loras paused. Perhaps not everything, but they could be careful. “Just think about it, that’s all I’m suggesting. We would have to be careful and have patience so that the risk is minimal, but there is a chance.” 
“I don’t know if I’m fit to be a king.”
“People love you. They love to serve you because you are kind to them. You do what is necessary but you don’t gloat about it. Westeros needs you, my love.”
“I’ll think about it.” 
Yes, King Renly Baratheon had such a sweet flavour in his mouth. It would be good for them and Loras would love to be at his side every step of the way.
He pulled Renly into a kiss, smiling into it, slowly making his way down the freshly shaved skin of his chest and down to his stomach as he untied Renly’s breeches. He smiled as he wrapped his lips around his lover and made him tremble. 
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PHIL
Completely bored with the lack of events once the tournament had ended and his cousin had moved on to their usual schemings, Phil decided to go for a walk around the city. 
A few men tried to get his attention, but he knew better than to roll around in strangers’ beds. Even though he was highly regarded by his family, he was still a bastard and once men found out they could not claim any sort of benefits from him, they tended to get a bit less… loving. 
He made a turn around the main gates and almost ran into a beautiful black dog. No, actually it wasn’t a dog. It was clearly a wolf, and somehow bigger; with a shiny black coat and he looked a bit too hot in the city’s weather. He extended his hand to pet the wolf, even with his grandmother’s shrieks from childhood ringing in his ear.
The beast turned to him and eyed him curiously, pressing his nose to Phil’s hand. “Aw, you are such a beautiful wolf, aren’t you?” He let his fingers slide up the wolf’s nose and scratched his head. 
Everything was going perfectly. Phil didn’t know who’s wolf this was but they should have taken better care of him if they wanted to keep him. Suddenly, Phil found himself pressed to the outer wall of the castle, the wolf standing on his hind legs and resting its weight on his shoulder as he licked Phil’s face. “Oh!” He laughed. “Easy, boy, easy.” He tried to push the wolf off him but he wouldn’t move. “Down!” He tried to sound commanding but his giggles ruined that chance entirely. 
Phil’s laugh stopped when he saw one of the guards approach them with his sword drawn. 
“Stay still, I will kill it.” 
“You will do no such thing. This is my pet.” Phil said. “Can’t you see we are playing?” 
“There shouldn't be a wolf loose in the city, My Lord, it is dangerous.”
“Very well, we are leaving.” Phil stepped away from the wall with some difficulty, grabbing the wolf’s front paws and pushing them away from himself. The beast chewed on his fingers to let him know that he did not appreciate that, but nothing more. 
With the guard watching them intently, Phil snapped his fingers and patted the side of his hips. “Come on, Shadow. It is time to go home.” 
In a strike of luck, the wolf barely hesitated before following him into the city. To avoid any sort of accident, Phil used small alleyways to make his way to the Great Keep. Just as he was about to walk past a brothel with his new friend, Phil noticed a hooded figure watching something ahead. He walked closer, wanting to take a look and saw The Hand of The King surrounded by Lannister soldiers, Jaime Lannister himself approaching by horse and drawing his sword. 
Phil knew the Starks and the Lannisters didn’t have a good history, but this was a surprising turn of events. He saw the cloaked figure reach for their sword. Their hand had a ring with the Stark sigil, but the wolf was black instead of grey. He stood beside this person and looked at the face of a young man, with curly hair, white skin, brown eyes, and classic Stark posture. “Are you Robb Stark?” Phil asked. 
The man pulled Phil back into the alley and wrapped his hand around his neck. He looked into Phil’s eyes curiously. “Who are you?” 
“Phil. Philip Flowers,” he answered. “Is that your father?” 
The man nodded. “I am not Robb. I am going to rescue my father - you should leave.” 
Phil didn’t think that would be possible considering the number of soldiers but nodded. The Stark strode back to the brothel, but before he could join the fight, Jaime Lannister put a knife through the Winterfell soldier’s eye and attacked The Hand repeatedly, matching him in strength and speed but soon, one of his own men put a spear through Ned Stark’s leg, sending him to the floor. 
Before he could consider the consequences of his own actions, Phil grabbed the young Stark and pulled him back, just as he was about to intervene and get himself killed in the process. The man fought with all his might, so in a desperate attempt to calm him down, Phil put a knife to his throat. “You are no good to your family dead. No matter how good you are with your sword, you will not win.” Phil lowered the knife when he heard the wolf growl next to him. It seemed Phil had found the wolf’s master. “Come with me, I will help you. I will try to help you free your father. They will not kill him. The King would have their heads.” 
He saw desperate tears streaming down the man - the boy’s eyes. He looked much younger now. 
“What’s your name?” Phil asked.
“Dan,” he said.
“Come, Dan. House Tyrell will help you.”  
DAN
“Are you insane?” Loras asked Phil as he passed a glass of wine in Dan’s direction. 
Renly sat very still while Balerion looked at him closely - extremely closely. 
“I can leave,” Dan said. Maybe coming to Phil’s quarters was a bad idea after all. “I just came to check on my father and sisters.” 
“Nonsense,” Loras said. “Phil is right, you wouldn’t have won against thirty Lannister soldiers - or even against the Kingslayer alone. He is famous for his sword skills for a reason; no inexperienced man could take him easily.”
“I’m not inexperienced I -” Dan tried. 
“It was foolish to even try that. Robert won’t allow your father to come in harm’s way, but I would suggest you take your sisters with you when you leave. Children are a much easier target,” Renly said. 
Dan turned to Phil who was leaning against the wall watching him. “Would you help me get to Arya and Sansa?” 
“I will try my best to help you reach them. It’s not an easy feat, but we can try.”
“Thank you,” said Dan. “I will not forget this.”
“Oh!” Renly said, his chair suddenly hitting the ground as Balerion stood on his chest, licking his face. 
NED 
Ned tried to stir in his sleep but found it too painful to even move; his leg was throbbing with pain and on the verge of being infected. He groaned and opened his eyes, startled as his eyes met Cersei Lannister’s and then Robert’s.
“I want him and his wife punished for what they did to my brother!” The Queen hissed. 
“Oh, shush, you woman! What do you want me to do? Put The Hand in a cell? The Warden of the North?”
“Yes -”
“I will not! Leave us!”  
Cersei crossed her arms, giving Robert a look loaded with hate. “If you let your servants do what they will-” 
“LEAVE US!” Robert said, making Cersei take a step back. “NOW!”
She looked at Ned with disdain and rushed out of the room.
Robert cleared his throat and looked at him seriously. “I don’t know what happened between you and these golden headed shits, but this ends now. You will send a raven and have your wife return Tyrion Lannister to King’s Landing.”
“He tried to kill my boy!”
“His father is my bank, I owe them a lot of gold, what will you have me do? Execute him?” Robert groaned. “I can’t rule if the Starks and the Lannisters are at each other’s throats.” 
“What about what they did?” 
“I will hear no more about it, Ned. I never loved my brothers, I know it’s wrong of me to say it, but you are the brother I chose. Stay,” He said, throwing the pin of The Hand on the bed. “We’ll talk when I return from the hunt.” 
Ned frowned. “What hunt?” 
“I am going away until I can kill something, it will clear my head. You will have to sit on the throne while I’m gone; you will hate it even more than I do.” 
“What about the Targaryen girl?” 
“She will die!” Robert yelled and walked to the door and pointed at the pin. “You will wear it, or I swear I will put it on Jaime Lannister.”
--
Ned followed Robert’s instructions to the best of his abilities, but decided that if he was going to rule the Seven Kingdoms, he would have to actually bring criminals to justice. Robert may be content drinking his life away and spending time with his women, but someone had to bring order to the chaos that was the realm. So he sat on the Iron Throne and heard people, as Robbert should have done.
“A tall man, taller than I’d ever seen, in full armour and mounting a black horse burned our village,” a man said. “They took the women and burned the children, and stole all of our food for the winter. He left something behind!” 
The man cut open a bag full of fishes without a head, stinking up the entire room in no time.
“It is a message, no doubt,” Varys commented. 
“Isn’t your wife a Tully of Riverrun? Her house sigil is a fish,” Pycelle observed.
“The Mountain has often been called Tywin Lannister’s mad dog,” Littlefinger said with a half smile. “Can you think of any reason the Lannisters may have to be angry with your wife?”
Ned nodded to the man. “I cannot give you back your homes or restore your dead to life, but I can at least give you justice, in the name of our King, Robert.” 
“Thank you, your g - Hand.” 
Slowly rising to his feet, trying not to flinch at the pain shooting up his leg, Ned held onto his walking stick tightly and took three steps forward to address the crowd. “In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I charge you to bring to justice to Ser Gregor Clegane and all those who shared in his crimes. I denounce him and attaint him, strip him of all titles and ranks, of all lands and holdings and sentence him to death. Lord Berrick Dondarrion-” Ned called. “You shall have the command, assemble one hundred men and ride to Ser Gregor’s Keep.”
“As you command, My Lord,” Lord Dondarrion replied.
Grand Maester Pycelle stood from his seat and whispered to him. “That is a drastic decision; perhaps it would be best to wait for the King’s return.”
"Grand Maester Pycelle…”
“Yes, My Lord?”
“Send a raven to Casterly Rock. Inform Tywin Lannister that he has been summoned to court to answer for the crimes of his bannermen. He will arrive within a fortnight or be branded an enemy of the crown and a traitor to the realm.” 
The court erupted in murmurs, looking at each other. 
Ned walked down the steps, Littlefinger following close behind. “A bold move, My Lord. Is it wise to pull from the lion’s tail? Tywin Lannister is the richest man in the Seven Kingdoms and gold wins wars, not soldiers.”
“Then how come Robert is King, not Tywin Lannister?”
--
“I’m sending you both back to Winterfell,” Ned said looking down at Arya and Sansa.
“No! I am promised to Joffrey, I can’t go!”
“I will find you a good match, but now you must go.”
“Are you dying?” Arya asked. “Is that why you are sending us away?”
“No, I’m not dying.” 
“But I want to marry Joffrey and have golden haired babies. He will be a golden lion, the greatest King there ever was!” Sansa whined. 
“The Lion is not his sigil, you idiot, he’s a Baratheon, like his father. His sigil is the stag.”
“He’s a Lion! He’s nothing like that old drunk!” Sansa cried. 
Ned blinked, realisation finally drawing on him. Sansa was right, Joffrey didn’t look like Robert at all, neither did his brother or sister. The bastard boy he’d met looked impressively like his friend but all the children he had with his wife did not resemble him - only her.
“Start packing and stay with your Septa. Both of you.”
He turned and walked back to his chambers, opening the book he had been examining for weeks now. He finally knew where to look. He searched for the House Baratheon records and saw that every single Baratheon ever born was listed as “black of hair” except for Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella. He now knew why Jon Arryn had been mumbling “The seed is strong” as he parted from this world, trying to tell the truth. 
Joffrey was no Prince, and he would be no King. 
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DAENERYS
Danny looked into the brazier and placed the dragon eggs inside, wondering if it was possible that they were somehow still alive. She thought back to the tales of old Valyria and the great Kings and Queens that ruled there and eventually flew on dragon back to Westeros. How easily they took the Seven Kingdoms with their companions. If she could get dragons, she could surely avenge her father’s death, kill all the Lannisters and free the common people from the grasp of the usurper. She leaned down, looked into the fire more closely and grabbed one of the eggs with her hands. It was warm but not hot at all - that would not do.
Irri rushed to her. “Khaleesi, you burn your hands!” She grabbed the egg from Danny's hand but promptly dropped it into the fire pit, moaning in pain. 
Daenerys frowned and looked at Irri’s hands, the imprint of every dragon scale was visible on her skin but when she looked at her own, the skin was unscathed. 
“How?” Irri asked.
“I - I don’t know.” Maybe the tales of the Targaryens being impervious to fire were true, but she was not keen on testing that theory out.
--
A ceremony was prepared in her honour; she was to appear before the Dosh Khaleen, a group of wise Dothraki women, widows of slain Khals that became the rulers of Vaes Dothrak. Danny walked to their tent and stood at the centre of the circle, the crones singing already. One of them handed her the heart of a stallion for her to eat raw and covered in blood as it was; it was a rite of passage. 
She looked into Drogo’s eyes and took a big bite of the meat, almost flinching at the taste but not wanting to disrespect her new culture. She swallowed and bit on some more. 
One of the crones’ voices rose above the others, she spoke about Danny’s child. He would be the ‘Stallion Who Mounts the World,’ the Khal of Khals who would turn the entire world into his horde. It was a long foretold Dothraki story and the crones were sure that her son was the one. 
Danny pushed the last piece of meat into her mouth and felt it coming back up, she coughed and choked, falling to her knees, but she persisted and swallowed the last piece of the stallion heart, making the entire Dosh Khaleen chant louder, other Dothraki women dancing around her, Drogo looking at her proudly. 
She stood and looked all around to every crone and every Khal and used her Dothraki knowledge to let them know. “A Prince rides inside me and he shall be called Rhaego!”
“Rhaego! Rhaego! Rhaego!” They chanted. 
Drogo rose from his chair and picked her up, raising her above him, looking at her adoringly as he carried her around, letting her receive all the energy from the Dothraki, claiming for their child. 
She smiled and let herself enjoy the love of her people, Viserys’ early departure going almost unnoticed. Instead of worrying about her brother’s volatile reaction, she focused on those who really mattered. Her new family, her husband and the child growing inside her. Rhaego... he would be loved. He would be so loved. 
As the night progressed, the festivity continued. The crones sat down to chat, the Khals waited for the food already roasting on the fire, enjoying the company of the slaves that danced before them, their breasts bare, drinking wine. But not her Khal, not Drogo; he had eyes for her and only her and that made Daenerys proud. It was, perhaps, a bit silly, but she smiled as she thought about it regardless. 
Viserys marched into the tent once again, this time he was visibly drunk and in the mood for a fight. This was not going to end well for her brother and she knew it. The Dothraki law said that there would be no blood drawn in Vaes Dothrak, their sacred land, but Viserys had a way to tick people off. 
“Daenerys! Where are you?” He asked as he stumbled.
“Stop him,” she whispered to Jorah. 
He walked up to Viserys and grabbed his arm but he pulled away. “Get your hand off me!” he yelled. “No one touches The Dragon!”
One of the Khals leaned closer to Drogo and murmured. “Is that supposed to be a Prince? He looks like an unkept whore.”
Drogo laughed, drawing Viserys’ attention to himself. 
“Drogo! Khal Drogo! I’m here for the feast!”
He snorted and pointed at a chair on the opposite side of the tent, away from them and anyone who was of importance. “There is a place for you, back there.” 
Jorah promptly translated for Viserys.
Viserys shook his head, making his pale blonde hair bounce. “That is no place for a King!”
To Daenerys’ surprise, Drogo spoke in the common tongue. “You are no King!”
Viserys drew his sword and stepped towards them but turned, pointing it at Jorah when he felt his presence behind. “Keep away from me!” 
“Viserys, please,” Danny said, trying to appease her brother. She didn’t want him to ruin the celebration. 
“There she is!” He said, even though she had been standing by her husband all along. He looked between Jorah and Daenerys before marching toward her.
“Put your sword away, they will kill us all,” Jorah said. 
“They can’t kill us; they can’t spill blood in their filthy city!” Viserys laughed and aimed his sword at Daenerys’ womb. “I want what I came for. I want the crown he promised me. He bought you, but he never paid you.” 
Irri leaned close to Drogo and translated for him. 
“Tell him I want what was bargained for or I'm taking you back. He can keep the baby; I’ll cut it out and leave it for him.”
Drogo hissed at him and let Danny know exactly what he was about to do, to give her time to intervene if she so desired. 
“What did he say?” Viserys asked.
Danny smiled. “He said yes. You shall have a golden crown that men shall tremble to behold.”
Drogo walked up to her and wrapped his arms around Danny, pressing a hand to her belly; only then he gave the order. 
Two Khals grabbed Viserys arms and broke them so that he wouldn’t be able to grab his sword and dragged him away. 
“No! You can’t hurt me! I’m The Dragon! I’m The Dragon!”
As Viserys continued to scream and demand that he be let go, Danny smiled at him and shushed him, trying to soothe him. Drogo removed his gold belt and put it inside a cauldron to melt in order to crown her beloved brother like he had so desperately wanted. 
“Danny, Danny please!” He screamed, but she put her hand over her stomach protectively and looked into his eyes, letting him know how sorry she was - sorry that he’d been such an awful brother and an awful uncle for her child. It was simply not safe for her or anyone to keep Viserys around. 
“Look away Khaleesi,” Jorah said, putting his hand on her shoulder. 
“No,” she said. She wanted to see it.
“A crown for a King!” said Drogo as he poured molten gold over Viserys' head, making him scream in agony for the few short seconds he survived. When he grew quiet, the Khals let him fall to the ground with a loud metallic thud.
“Khaleesi?” Jorah asked.
“He was no dragon. Fire cannot kill a Dragon.”
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BRAN 
Bran felt light on his feet, remembering what his brothers taught him about posture and how it could affect his technique. He drew and released, hitting the target with his arrow in the first attempt, he let out a little celebratory whoop. 
A raven croaked behind him, calling him, taunting him. Bran ran towards it and it flew a little further away as if it was trying to tell him something, so Bran followed. The closer he was able to get to it, the more he realised there was something odd about the bird. Right when they got to the bottom of the Broken Tower, Bran noticed that there was a third eye between the two usual ones and they all blinked in unison. The raven opened its beak to croak again or say something-
Bran opened his eyes and found Hodor looming over him, holding a saddle in his hands. 
“Hodor!”
“Good morning, Hodor.” Bran smiled, maybe today would be the day he would feel whole again. “Come on, let’s go for a ride.” 
“Hodor,” he nodded and picked Bran up, carrying him and the saddle all the way down to his horse. To his surprise, Robb and Theon were already waiting for him with wide smiles. 
The saddler fastened the new saddle to Bran’s horse as Hodor held him in place. Once it was completely tightened around him and the horse, he felt quite secure in it. It was different this way; he knew he still wouldn’t be able to do the same things he’d always wanted, he would never be a knight, or climb or run with Summer, but he could still ride and explore the woods as much as he wanted, just like before the accident. 
Not remembering the fall was frustrating because he knew something must have happened but not what exactly. Did he slip? Did something startle him?
“Bran! Don’t stray away, I want to see you!” Robb said. “If you fell off that horse, Mother would kill us both.”
“Maybe she should be here to keep an eye on me,” Bran mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing. I won’t fall,” Bran pouted. He looked down and saw Summer looking at him with awe, he could tell that she was happy for him. 
When they finally reached a clearing, Bran commanded his horse to go into a trot around it. Robb and Theon sat on a fallen tree to chat about boring things as they always did. It sounded like Theon was trying to convince Robb to go into war again. 
Bran sighed and turned walking off between the trees, going left and right with each one he passed to really try to master the commands. Before he knew it he was surrounded by 3 dirty men and one woman, all of them with long matted hair and covered in woolly rags and winter boots; they smelled foul.
“We are taking the horse, and that pin!” One of them pointed to the silver fish pin that belonged to his mother. 
“I am Brandon Stark of Winterfell! My brother will have your heads for this!”
“Oh, a little Lord! Then the pin will be silver!” The man reached for it and took it, Bran didn’t dare to let go of the reins.
“We should take him to Mance Rayder! He’s Benjen’s blood, Mance will love it.” 
“Fuck Mance Rayder, Fuck Benjen Stark! We need to head south as fast as we can!” Another of the men said. “Now, get off the horse, little Lord!” 
“I can’t!” Bran was trying to be brave, he really was, but he didn’t know what they would to do him when they found out -
He moved Bran’s cloak and looked at his leg before cutting the leather straps that held Bran to the saddle as he laughed. “Oh! He’s a cripple!” 
Bran was pulled from his horse by two of the men, but before they could do anything, Summer attacked them along with Robb. He quickly killed two of the men while Summer growled at the woman. The third man was fast enough to put a knife to Bran’s neck and keep him hostage. 
“Lower your sword or he dies!” 
“I could kill you right now!” Robb said.
“You could but not fast enough to save him.” Blood gurgling in the man’s throat is the next thing Bran heard, he looked to his left and saw a knife sticking through the man’s chest.
“You could have killed Bran!” yelled Robb. 
Theon stepped in to hold onto Bran before he could fall to the ground. “But I didn’t. We should kill her,” he said, pointing at the woman.
“No, My Lord! If you give me your life, I will serve you. I was just fleeing south to be safe. I meant no harm.” The woman kneeled. “You tell him little Lord!” 
“She didn’t try to kill me,” Bran said. It was true, she had tried to use him to bargain but she had not tried to kill him at least.
“We should kill her, she will harm Bran the first chance she gets!” Theon yelled, looking at her with pure hatred.
“I would not!” She said. “I can keep a promise!”
“Enough!” Robb huffed. “We will take her as a prisoner and she will help around the castle.”
“But-” Theon tried.
“This is not your family, Theon. The Starks know mercy and honour. She bent the knee and pleaded for her life and we will honour that.”
Theon looked at him with disdain. “Well, go ahead. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
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NED
Trying to put his thoughts into order, Ned walked out to the gardens and sat in the sun, listening to the singing birds and feeling the wind flow through his hair. He closed his eyes and wished he could be back home, at Winterfell, with Cat and his children. Every day that went by the possibility of their lives returning to normal seemed further and further away. It was slipping through his fingers. 
He felt a presence to his side and when he looked, he was surprised to see Cersei Lannister smiling at him. 
“I know why Jon Arryn died,” he said.
Her lips twitched into a brief smile as she looked down on him. “You should go home and heal your leg instead of speaking in riddles.”
Ned was not a man of subtlety and the Queen’s games were often tiring for him. It would be best to get it over with. “I know Jaime is your lover.” To his surprise, the Queen did not flinch or cower before him despite the accusation.
“The Targaryens married between brothers and sisters for centuries to keep the bloodline pure. Jaime and I are more than brother and sister; we shared a womb, came into this world together, we belong together.”
This was his only chance to confirm who Bran’s attacker was. “My son saw you with him.”
Cersei smiled. “Do you love your children?”
“With all my heart-”
“Not more than I love mine,” she rushed to say. 
“And they are all Jaime’s” He pressed. 
“Thank the Gods,” she said with a shrug. “In the rare event that Robert leaves his whores alone long enough to stumble into my bed I finish him off in other ways. He never remembers.”
“You always hated him.” 
“Hated him? I worshipped him. Every girl in the Seven Kingdoms wanted him but he was mine by oath. When I finally saw him on our wedding day at the Sept of Baelor, his beautiful black hair and beard, it was the happiest day of my life. But when he crawled on top of me, drunk as can be, and he did what little he could do, he whispered in my ear Lyanna. Your sister was a corpse and I was a living girl and he loved her more than me.”
Ned knew this to be true. Robert’s obsession with Lyanna lasted even to this day and it was the sole cause for his rebellion and the hate he still had for the Targaryens. Still, Cersei’s crimes would be her downfall. “When the King returns from his hunt I will tell him the truth. You should leave and take your children with you - I will not have their blood on my hands. Go as far as you can with as many men as you can. No matter where you go, Robert’s wrath will follow you.” 
“What about my wrath, Lord Stark?” Cersei asked. “You should have taken The Realm for yourself. Jaime told me about the day that King’s Landing fell. He was sitting on the throne and you made him give it up. You could have taken it, all you needed to do was climb the steps. Such a sad mistake.”
“I’ve made many mistakes in my life but that was not one of them.”
“Oh, but it was. When you play the game of thrones you win or you die. There is no middle ground.” Without waiting for a reply, she walked away. 
---
Not a day later, Renly rushed to him as he walked around the Red Keep’s courtyard. 
“Ned! It’s Robert - a boar!” The young Baratheon said, his eyes welled up with tears. 
As soon as Ned entered the King’s chambers, the smell hit him. It was overwhelming, it smelled of - death. Joffrey sat at Robert’s side, holding his hand. 
“Go, leave us,” Robert said. “Leave us, all of you!” He yelled when he realised Cersei was not moving. She finally left them, closing the door behind her.
“How bad is it?” Ned asked.
“Oh, it’s bad. A boar attacked me but I got it in the end. Let the city celebrate my memory with a feast of the last beast I killed!” 
Ned uncovered the wound to take a better look at it and it seemed that Robert was right. It was a deep cut, swollen and festering with all kinds of fluids. If he’d been closer to the castle maybe something could have been done, but it was too late now. 
“You will rule until Joffrey comes of age. Write it down.” 
Ned nodded and grabbed paper and a quill from the nearby table and waited for his friend to let him know his last will.
“I, Robert of the house Baratheon, titles, titles,” he said rolling his hand, “assign Lord Eddard of the house Stark as Protector of the realm, to rule until my son Joffrey comes of age and can take the throne himself.” 
Knowing exactly what he was doing, Ned changed Joffrey’s name for ‘the rightful heir’ and gave it to Robert to sign. 
Making the effort to lift his head, Robert signed the letter without reading it and laid back down with a groan. “Now give me something for the pain and let me die!”  
“Yes, Your Grace.” Ned shook his best friend’s hand one last time and made his way out of the room. “Give him milk of the poppy,” he said to Pycelle.
The Grand Maester nodded and walked in along with Renly.
“How did the King get injured?” Ned asked Varys and Ser Barristan. 
The guard spoke first. “We were hunting for days without luck, but when we finally came before a boar, he was too drunk and the beast got to him first.”
“But who gave him the wine?” Asked Varys.
“His esquire,” Barristan said. 
“The Lannister boy?”
“A dutiful esquire, no doubt, always making sure the King did not go thirsty,” Varys said, raising his eyebrows at Ned.
The three men looked at each other silently acknowledging what they knew to be true. The Lannisters had planned the entire ruse to get Robert out of the way. 
--
Accompanied by the Winterfell soldiers, Ned slowly walked back to his chambers. Just as he was about to go in, Renly caught up to him. 
“Lord Stark, a word?” 
Ned nodded and let him in, closing the door behind them. 
“He named you Protector of the Realm,” Renly said. 
“He did.”
“She won’t care,” Renly said, pacing around the room. “Give me an hour and I will give you a hundred swords.” 
“Why would I need a hundred swords?”
The young Baratheon finally froze in place and turned to him with a frown. “To strike tonight, while the castle is sleeping. We need to take Joffrey from Cersei and put him in custody. Protector of The Realm or not, he who holds the King, holds the Kingdom.” 
Ned shook his head. “Robert is still King.”
Leaning above Ned’s desk, he set his palms firmly on the wood and looked into his eyes. He looked scared, sad, excited. A rare mix of emotions passed through his face. “Every moment of delay gives Cersei a moment to prepare. By the time he is dead it will be too late for both of us.”
“What about Stannis?”
“You want to protect the Seven Kingdoms and hand them to Stannis?” Renly stood back. “What odd notions you have of protecting The Realm!”
“Stannis is the rightful heir.”
“This is not about the bloody line of succession! It didn’t matter with Robert’s rebellion against the Mad King and it shouldn’t matter now. We all know who Stannis is, he doesn’t inspire love or loyalty, he is no King. I am.” He crossed his arms above his chest.
“Stannis is a commander, he has led thousands of men into battle - twice.” Ned sighed, Renly was too young and inexperienced to understand about honour, about what truly mattered.
“Yes, he’s a good soldier and so was Robert. Do you still think soldiers make good Kings?”
There was no use in arguing with Robert’s little brother while his life hung by a thread. “I will not dishonour Robert’s last hours by shedding blood in his house and dragging frightened children from their beds.”
---
Since he was not going to be getting help from Renly, Ned had to make plans without him. The one thing that the young Baratheon was right about, was that Cersei would not leave without a fight. 
First, he needed to let Stannis know everything so that he could prepare and bring his army to King’s Landing. After all, Dragonstone was not so far away. He wrote a note detailing Robert’s accident and the secret to Joffrey’s heritage, naming him the true heir to the throne and gave it to one of his men, instructing him to not leave the message with anyone other than Stannis himself. 
Then, he called Petyr Baelish to a meeting. 
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Lord Stark?” he asked. 
“Robert has no true born sons; Stannis is his heir.”
Baelish walked to the window and looked out, placing his arms behind his back. “So it would seem - unless...”
“There is no unless. Stannis is the true heir.”
“It would be in your best interest to make sure Joffrey succeeds.”
“What you suggest is -”
“Make peace with the Lannisters, make your wife release the imp, get rid of Stannis and wed Sansa to Joffrey. Once Joffrey’s in the throne, he’s bound to cause trouble and we reveal that he’s a bastard and seat Renly there instead.”
“How can you suggest I make peace with my enemies?” Ned said, setting the dagger used in Bran’s attack on his desk.
“We only make peace with our enemies, that is why it’s called making peace.”
“I will not.” 
“Why did you call me here today? Not for my wisdom, I see.”
“You promised Catelyn you would help me. The Queen has a dozen knights and a hundred men at arms, enough to overwhelm what remains of my household guard. I need the gold cloaks, the city guard is two thousand strong and sworn to defend the King’s peace.”
“When The Hand proclaims one King and the Queen proclaims another, whose peace do the Gold Cloaks protect? Who do they follow?” Lord Baelish smiled. “The man that pays them.”
--
The following morning, as soon as he set a foot out of bed, there was a knock on the door. “Lord Stark?” said the voice on the other side. 
“Yes?”
“King Joffrey has summoned you to the Throne Room.” 
“King Joffrey?” He frowned. 
“I’m afraid King Robert has passed. The Gods gave him peace.” 
“I’ll be there shortly.”
Ned buried his face in his hands. He knew it was coming, the death of his best friend. He mourned the loss, not of the drunk King he had come to know as of recent but of the boy that grew up with him, the man who led him into war to fight for what was right. The man who tried his best to avenge Lyanna’s death even though he didn’t know... 
But there was no time for mourning. The future of his entire family, of The Realm, depended on his next moves. Thankfully, he had taken precautions and had someone on his side.
When he finally opened he found Varys and Baelish standing there. 
“We thought you may have gotten lost,” said Varys. 
Ned shook his head. “Will Renly be joining us?” 
“I’m afraid Lord Renly was last seen heading south. He crossed the old gate an hour before dawn along with Loras Tyrell and fifty armed men.”
Of course, he had run to Highgarden with his tail between his legs, knowing the Tyrells could give him anything he wanted to claim the throne. 
“Shall we?” Asked Baelish with a half-smile. 
Nodding, Ned walked with them, his guards close behind even as they entered the Throne Room. 
Joffrey sat on the Iron throne, Pycelle on his left and his mother on his right. The Gold Cloaks stood between the throne and everyone else, forming a protective barrier. 
“Lord Stark, good. I want the arrangements made for my coronation. I want it to be done within the fortnight. I am now taking a vow of fealty from the council.”
“Ser Barristan, you are a man of honour, I have no doubt. Here is King Robert’s last will.” 
The captain of the Gold Cloaks stepped forward and took the letter, examining it carefully. “It’s King Robert’s seal - unbroken. He named Lord Stark as Protector of The Realm until the heir comes of age.” 
“May I see it?” Asked Cersei. 
Ser Barristan gave her the letter.
“Is this your protection, Lord Stark? A piece of paper?” She tore the paper in half and let it fall to the ground. 
“But - Those are the King’s words!” said Ser Barristan.
“There’s a new King,” Cersei said with a smirk. “Once you gave me counsel, Lord Stark, so I will extend the same courtesy to you. Bend the knee and swear loyalty to my son. We will allow you to live out the rest of your days in that grey prison you like to call home.”
“Joffrey has no claim to the throne.” 
“Liar!” Joffrey yelled, nearly jumping from his seat with rage. 
“You are condemned by your own words, Lord Stark.”  
“Guards! Kill them! Kill all of them!” Joffrey yelled. “I command it!”
Ser Barristen stepped forward with hesitation. 
“Ser Barristan is a good man, an honourable man, do him no harm,” Ned said to his guards, hoping to call for clemency from the man in front of him. 
Ser Barristan stepped back and Ned nodded his thanks. “Commander of the City Guard! Take Queen Cersei and her children and put them in their rooms under guard without harming them.”
The guards unsheathed their swords and pointed them toward the Lannisters. 
“Now!” Said Petyr Baelish and the guards turned swiftly and massacred the Winterfell guards.
Before Ned could take his sword, he felt someone standing behind him and the blade of a knife against his throat. “I warned you not to trust me.”
Before he was dragged away to the dungeons under the charge of treason, Ned saw Varys quietly picking up the pieces of Robert’s letter and hiding them in his robes. 
DAN
Dan gladly took Phil’s offer to share his bed, mainly because he was tired, he felt dead on his feet - at least that’s what he told himself. The truth was that, perhaps, he did feel lonely and lost without his family; lost about how to save his father from the claws of a certain death. He was too weak to say no to Phil’s kind offer. 
At first he thought the other would have ulterior motives to invite him into his chambers but once the candles were off, Phil merely patted his arm and assured him everything would be alright. 
The next time Dan opened his eyes he was wrapped in Phil’s arms, resting his head on Phil’s shoulder, his nose firmly pressed against the man’s neck. He thought Phil to be asleep but when the door burst open and Phil didn’t even flinch he realised that had not been the case. Dan tried to pull away but Phil tightened his arms around him. “Stay. It’s alright,” Phil whispered. 
Renly rushed to the side of their bed, unfazed by the sight in front of him. “We must leave, now!” 
“Leave? Where to?” Phil asked.
“Highgarden. Robert is dead. Joffrey will take the throne and get all of our heads in silver platters come morning.”
Dan frowned. “Why would he do that?”
“For the same reason your father will lose his. Joffrey is not a Baratheon, nor are his siblings and the Lannisters will not stop until every single person who can uncover their dirty secret is dead. We leave now.” Renly sighed, shaking his head. “Stark, you should come with us. If you stay, I can’t protect you.”
“I want to help my father.”
“Your father would want you to help yourself. I know him. He wouldn’t want yet another of his children in danger. Come with us.”
Dan shook his head. He knew Renly was right, but he would rather die trying to save his family than live as a coward.
“I will stay with him,” Phil said, making the sense of absolute dread in Dan’s stomach loosen a bit. He had someone on his side, even though staying wasn’t the wisest choice and they both knew it. 
“If you are not on your horse in the next five minutes, Loras will have my head.” 
“Loras is not my owner. Tell him that I will stay to help Dan, and I will be safe; he knows I can take care of myself.”
Renly hesitated briefly, looking into Phil's eyes before patting his shoulder and nodding. He was startled when Balerion growled softly. “I - I did not hurt him.” 
Balerion watched him closely and walked over to sniff his hand and Phil’s shoulder before giving them both a lick. 
Phil patted Balerion’s fur absentmindedly before looking at Dan. “We need to leave. We will be caught here.”
“Where should we go?” He asked. They were about to leave the only safe place in King’s Landing he knew.
“If you still want to talk to your father you should do it now. Then we can stay in the outskirts near the bay. I know a place.” 
“Then it is settled,” Renly said. “I wish you well. Be safe and return to us soon.” He turned on his heels and left. 
“There’s someone I should speak to,” Dan said. It was time to see if his only contact in the Capital was good on his word. 
--
Dan put his hood up and tried to sneak around the red keep, trying to find him, looking after every Lannister soldier on patrol. Risking it all, he climbed the stairs, closer and closer to the Queen’s quarters and finally saw him, standing outside her door along with four other guards. 
He pressed his back to the wall and leaned over trying to catch his attention. He hoped the Old Gods were watching over him and this was not a mistake. Dan lifted his ring and reflected the first sun rays above the horizon aiming for Nathar’s face. He turned around swiftly. “Hey!” He said.
Dan’s eyes widened. He moved his hood back, showing his face for merely a second before sneaking behind the wall. He went down the stairs one floor and entered an empty room. Fortunately, he could still hear them talking. 
“What happened?” One of the guards asked.
“I need to go down to the barracks,” said Nathar. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“You know we can’t leave under any circumstances.”
“I ate at the tavern last night, if I stay…” Nathar said. 
“Ugh, go but if you need more than a few minutes, send someone to replace you. This is no time to be outnumbered.”
The sound of someone coming down the stairs made Dan’s breath catch. He opened the door wide enough to take a good look at the soldier, still unsure if this was the right thing to do. 
“Dan?” He whispered. 
Dan pulled the door open slowly and dragged him in before closing it softly and turning around. He was met with Nathar’s sad smile.
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to see my father. Can you take me to his chambers?”
“Dan… I -”
“Please.”
“He’s in the dungeons. He was charged with treason, Dan. The Lannisters expect him to repent and admit to various crimes in exchange for sparing his life and that of your sisters, but I know - they have no mercy. They will never let him leave with what he said in the Throne Room.”
Dan swallowed, his eyes welling up with tears. “Then you understand. I need to speak to him. It might be my last chance.”
Nathar nodded. “Follow me. Keep your head down.”
Dan nodded, a single tear rolling down his cheek. 
The path to the dungeons was long and they had to hide twice but they made it. Walking in the dark, in between the giant skulls of dragons that had terrorized Westeros centuries ago, somehow it felt safer. Perhaps it was the fact that he was close to his father at last, or -
Nathar pressed him to the wall and kissed him, desperately, letting his hands wander all over Dan’s body, making him gasp. In spite of the pain he felt, or perhaps because of it, Dan allowed himself to return the kiss for the briefest of moments. 
“Excuse me, this is not the right place to pursue such endeavours. This could have great consequences for you, I’m sure you know.”
Nathar pulled away from Dan and cleared his throat. “Pardon me, My Lord. We were just saying goodbye.” 
“Hmm. Yes, I see,” The man crossed his arms, his wide sleeves cascading delicately from his arms. Dan’s heart skipped a beat when the man looked him in the eye, recognition flashing in his face despite the fact that Dan didn’t know who he was. “Well - Who am I to step in the way of young love? Do see your companion out when you are done and return to your post, soldier.”
“Yes, Lord Varys. Thank you.” 
Lord Varys continued on his way before turning to them. “And - boy?”
“Yes?” Nathar croaked.
“Do make sure every prisoner is in their cell. One can never be too careful,” Varys smiled at them and left.
Nathar looked at him with pleading eyes. “My apologies, it was impulsive of me to kiss you like that but I knew we would be seen by someone.”
Dan nodded. “Thank you for helping me.”
“Come.” He led Dan to the cells and grabbed the keys from a hidden nook in the walls. He opened one of the doors and motioned him to go on. 
Dan entered his father’s cell and found him sitting on the ground, barely lifting his eyes to look at him. He looked like a shadow of his former self. “Father?!”
“Dan, what are you doing here?” He frowned, looking terrified. It was an expression Dan had only seen in his father’s face when one of his children was ill or in danger.
“I have someone helping. I - we need to hurry. I have a boat waiting for us. It’s a small fishing boat but it will do.”
“It’s too late. I can’t run from the truth or from my mistakes.” 
“You must! For your children!”
“Dan, I am so proud of you, I should have mentioned it sooner.” He pressed his hand to Dan’s cheek. “Tell your mother I love her and I’m sorry. I should have left when I had the chance.” 
“No, please! Come with me!”
He shook his head. “Get your sisters if you can, see that they are safe.”
“They will execute you.”
“I will try, but if I don’t return home, give this to Jon,” he pulled a necklace from inside his shirt and gave it to him. 
It had a wolf pendant with two holes instead of what Dan assumed should be stones for its eyes. “I don’t understand,” Dan said.
“It was his mother’s. I promised him - I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep my promise,” his father pulled Dan into a hug. “Don't make the same mistakes I did. Honour is good and should be upheld, but sometimes staying can risk everything. Remember that not everyone will hold their promises. I trusted someone  I shouldn’t have and now - I need to solve this or die trying so that the consequences of my actions don’t affect the rest of the family. Go.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye,” Dan said. 
“You must.” He removed his ring and gave it to Dan. “This is yours now. Protect your siblings as best as you can.”
“Father, please,” Dan said, his voice breaking. 
“Go. Live and make something good of this world. I’ll be watching.”
“Dan,” Nathar said from the door. “We need to leave.” 
“Thank you,” his father said to Nathar, who simply nodded. 
“I love you,” Dan said, hugging him tightly before running to the door. 
Nathar led him out through the sewers as voices became louder and louder in the dungeons. Once they made it to the bay, Nathar stopped him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I admire your family’s honour and bravery. Please, live a long and happy life.”
“I don’t understand -”
“I will try my best to help your sisters. Goodbye, Dan.”
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