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criminalamnesia · 2 months

Note

Hiii!! I hope you're doing well :))

I just loveee the traitor series. Do you plan on making a part 5 or more?

thank you! here’s part five :)

the other parts can be found in my COD masterlist, which is here

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

I’ll proofread later :))

you stormed out of the gym, eyesight blurry from hot tears. you weren’t crying because you were sad— no. you were furious. furious at how simon was so fucking stubborn. at how he thought he was in the right.

droplets of blood marked your footsteps as you made your way back to the infirmary. you weren’t particularly anxious to be yelled at by the doctor, but getting it over with as soon as possible was ideal.

“bonnie, y’alrigh’?”

soap. you hadn’t even seen him, so lost in your thoughts. you blinked away tears and ignored the scot, continuing to make your way down the hall in silence.

the sound of hurried footsteps was unmistakable behind you. soap wasn’t taking silence for an answer, apparently.

“bonnie, please—” he began, the drawl of his voice catapulting your mind to the past. to better days.

days when soap had patched you up after a fight, his fingers nimble as he stitched up a cut in your thigh.

“s’it hurt?” he spoke, voice gravelly because of his hushed tone.

you shook your head. your head was tilted back, eyes staring up at the ceiling but not truly seeing. you were worried sick— you and soap were the only ones who’d made it to the safe house so far. the others should’ve beaten you there, and now they were over an hour late.

“bonnie, ‘m sure they’re alrigh’,” he told you, poking the needle through skin. you barely felt it, too hyped up on fear and adrenaline.

“they should’ve beaten us here, y’know that—” you began, but he tutted, quickly cutting you off.

“cannae think like tha’, bonnie. they’ll be here any second, aye?”

he stops his stitching, his face tilting up and away from your leg. you faintly register the feeling of his eyes on you.

you felt lost— floating in sea of numbness. your mind is mulling over the millions of possibilities— possibilities in which they never return.

you’d never felt this way before, and the five of you had endured far worse.

the only thing that was different this time was the fact that you and simon were together. you’d never explicitly told the rest of the task force, but they knew.

johnny knew why you were so worked up. he understood.

he reaches a hand up, his dirtied fingers lightly tilting your chin down so you’re face to face.

“y’there?” he asks, his hand dropping from your chin. he moves to squeeze one of your hands, pulling you back down to the ground.

you give a small nod, fingers moving to intertwine with his. he smiles— not his usual playful expression, but a true, grateful, relieved smile.

“im here,” you tell him. he releases your hand, pulling away from your skin, giving your hand a light pat before fully retreating.

“‘m almost finished, yeah? then I’ll go lookin’—”

“no need.”

it’s kyle, breathing heavily as he shuffles into the room. price and ghost are right on his heels, the three men making the room feel much smaller than it did a moment ago.

“you two good?” kyle asks, a small frown on his lips as he takes note of your bloodied leg.

you nod, your eyes flitting from gaz, to price, to simon— who is now moving towards you. he crouches down so he’s eye level with you. you meet his gaze, and although he doesn’t say it, you know what he’s thinking.

he’s relieved, and it’s a deeper relief than usual. it’s heavier, more profound, because he’s started to let you in. you’re more than teammates now, and it doesn’t truly hit ghost until this moment.

“im good,” you tell him quietly. he nods, glances down at where johnny is tying off your stitches.

johnny must notice ghost’s stare, because he breaks his focus and looks up at his lieutenant with a cheeky smirk.

“no worries, LT. made sure to do ma best work,” he grins and shoots the other man a wink, to which ghost grunts, unamused.

the heavy weight of a palm on your shoulder breaks you from the memory. you move without thinking, bloodied fist swinging as you whirl around to attack whoever laid a hand on you.

then you remember— soap.

johnny narrowly dodges your assault, his eyes widened as your fist barely clips him.

“steamin’ jesus!” he speaks, throwing his hands up in surrender and taking a step back from you.

“i was jus’ tryin’ to make sure ya were alrigh’! yer bleedin’, bonnie.”

you blink as you slowly escape your stupor. you’d completely lost yourself in the memory, and you didn’t know why.

probably because your brain was trying to comfort itself the only way it knew how— by seeking comfort from the people closest to you.

old habits, right?

old fucking habits.

“don’t touch me,” you seethe, eyes narrowing as you glare at the scot. he frowns, bites his lip, but doesn’t say anything.

like a kicked puppy. you can’t help but feel sympathetic before you wrestle that feeling back down. he wasn’t sympathetic for you— why should you be for him?

you look at him for a moment longer, taking in his appearance. he looks fine, and that angers you just the slightest bit more.

“look, i— i ken we really messed up, and sorry cannae fix tha’, but please, bonnie. a’least let us try—”

“I don’t owe you anything, mactavish.” you told him, gaze cold as you met his eyes. “and you’re right, sorry can’t fix it. nothing can fix it; so, stop trying.” you step forward, raising a hand as you point a finger into his chest.

“the four of you need to leave me the fuck alone. frankly, I couldn’t care less about how the four of you feel. about how he feels. you did what you did, believed what you believed, and now you have to live with that.”

johnny’s frown deepens as his eyes glance down at the finger you’ve got digging into his sternum.

“you deserve to feel like shit,” you tell him. “and anything you feel— how sorry you are— just know that I suffered a hundred times more in that chair, locked up in that room. so the next time you wanna watch me from outside the infirmary, or you wanna put your fucking hands on me,” your jaw is clenched, fire licking at your veins as you speak to him.

“remember what you did. remember that nothing can fix it. remember that you’re dead to me— all of you are— and that I never would’ve let that happen to any of you.”

“and I hope it hurts like hell, mactavish. I hope it eats you alive, and that you never find peace because you don’t deserve it.”

you drop your hand, your eyes still on his.

“and I hope you tell the rest of them I said that. especially him.”

you turn then, take a steadying breath, and keep walking.

soap watches you go without another word.

“that was stupid,” the doctor chastises you, her lips pressed into a thin line as she examines your knuckles.

“you blatantly went against my one rule for you. I shouldn’t have even let you out of bed, but you’re too damn stubborn! so I thought I’d give you some grace, but there you go— leaving my iv pole in the hall. bloodying your knuckles. I should let one of the newbies patch you up,” she grumbles, her gloved hands cool against your skin.

over the time you’d spent in the infirmary, you and the doctor had formed an odd bond. it was almost as if you were friends, but she always kept things strictly professional.

but you’d catch her giving you sad glances sometimes. you knew she was upset for you, angry for you, but she would never speak on it. that was okay with you.

it was enough to know that someone was on your side.

“sorry, doc. it’s not like it was planned,” you tell her, and her eyes flick up to meet yours. the look on your face told her everything she needed to know.

she didn’t push the topic. instead, she finished patching you up in silence. wrapping your knuckles in bandages, she gave them one last once-over before sending you on your way.

“kicking me out?” you asked her, raising your eyebrows.

she nodded, her eyes scanning the chart in her hands.

“if you’re okay enough to throw a punch, i think you’re okay enough to return to your quarters. unless you want to stay,” she says, and its unspoken, but you know what she’s implying.

unless you want to stay behind that door, guarded from the 141. unless you don’t want to go back to your quarters and see it as you’d left it before they’d tied you up.

unless it would be too painful to leave.

you shook your head. “im good. thank you, doc. really.”

the doctor gave a small smile and nodded. “of course. you’re due back in a week for a check up, alright? I need to check on those bruises and mending bones.”

you nod and give her a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “wouldn’t miss it.”

she bids you goodbye before turning and disappearing behind a white curtain. you inhale deeply before heading for the door.

when you step into the hallway, it’s quiet. you pass through base with relative ease, quickly slipping past anyone you come across in the halls.

you don’t see any of the 141, and you’re grateful. you couldn’t handle another interaction with them today— and you didn’t know how much longer you could remain civil.

once you reached your door, you pushed into the dusty darkness of the room. it’d been a while since you’d been in here, and although you were glad to finally be free of the smell and sounds of the infirmary, you weren’t particularly happy to be back in this room.

this room, which was down the hall from the rest of the 141.

this room, which held memorabilia of your time with your team.

this room, which you swore still smelled like simon.

you grit your teeth, willing yourself to stop thinking about him. he was fucking everywhere, and you were starting to believe you’d never be free of him and the 141.

your memories. your pain. your scars. no matter how much you healed and moved on from what happened, it would always be there in the back of your mind. it would sneak up on you when you least expected it; it would haunt your dreams at night.

it would leave you waking up screaming for mercy.

it would keep you untrusting for the years to come.

you flicked on the light and scanned the room. it had been upended, clothes strewn across the floor and picture frames shattered.

in the midst of it all, a vase of long dead flowers sits atop your desk.

there’s a little note hanging off the vase. against your better judgement, you reach for it. the paper feels scratchy against your fingers, and the scribbled pencil inside seems the tiniest bit faded.

your eyes scan the note.

‘You were right.

Hope you can understand.’

— sr

you pick up the vase and throw it against the wall. glass shatters. dead flowers fall to the floor.

your knees give out and you crumple to the floor, sitting amidst reminders of once was.

you let yourself cry for the first time in a while.

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hello-nichya-here · 4 months

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Did Sia insult topic of autism somehow?

Oh honey, it's sooooooooo much worse than that.

Sia wanted to make a movie about an autistic girl that manages to connect to people/feel safe and confident through music. So far, nothing outrageous, just a simple concept that would obviously put Sia's music front and center while doing something nice and educating people on autism.

There was controversy about her not casting an autistic actress as it would have been nice representation, but she could have totally gotten away with that since, come on, hollywood hasn't even figured out Rain Man isn't exactly true to life, they're not ready to have an autistic person playing an autistic character. Baby steps.

The real problem started when Sia started promoting the "charity/support group" that was helping "educate" her on the topic to make the movie. The "charity" in question was Autism Speaks - which is absolutely HATED by the autistic community for things like:

1 - Spreading the myth that autism is a mental illness that one can develop/catch like the freaking flue and potentially be cured of, instead of a neurotype, aka something starts in the woomb and cannot be "cured" because to do that you'd need to replace someone's entire nervous system, which is impossible.

2 - Using that myth to get outrageous amounts of money from people so they "search for a cure" - that doesn't exist and will never exist because curing autism is biologically impossible, AND despite the fact that the overwhelming majority of autistic people don't even want to be "cured" (plus, since said "cure" would essentially mean giving the person a new brain, it leads to the question of "Would I even be the same person, or would that just kill and replace me?")

3 - Using the myth of "We don't know what causes autism" (we do, it's genetic) to, of course, get MORE money from people so they can "do research to find the missing puzzle piece" (if you ever see autistic people complaining about a puzzle piece being used to represent the condition, that's why, it was started by Autism Speak's massive disinformation campains).

4 - Falsely "confirming" things like soy milk cause autism with one of the world's most ridiculous "research", losing only to "vaccines totally make kids autistic, buy MY vaccine instead, guys, I am totally not an unbelievably biased person, it's ALL the other doctors/scientists lying to you. GIVE ME MONEY!"

5 - Pushing the narrative of "autism is inherently a tragedy" to distract from the fact that all the money they waste on stupid shit could be used to help autistic people and their families. Instead, they focus on creating more and more panic, making parents in particular despair even more - to the point that one of their "awareness videos" includes a mother talking about how she wants to murder her autistic daughter and then kill herself... while sitting right next to said daughter.

6 - Promoting ABA "therapy" - which was created by the same guy responsible for the attrocity that is gay conversion "therapy." Both have led to unbelievably high rates of confirmed PTSD and suicidal ideation in patients (victims), and ABA in particular has been compared to literal dog training. Very fitting since it was created by a guy who famously did not believe autistic people truly counted as thinking, feeling human beings, and said as much several times. Despite that, it is still praised by some utter bastards because "it makes the patients act less autistic when they're not crying in the corner or trying to jump out a window"

So yeah, working with these guys is a genuinely horrible thing to do since they're basically a scam/hate group pretending to be a charity - and people were STILL willing to give Sia the benefit of the doubt, since Autism Speak uses all their resources to make sure they're the first thing people see when looking up how to help autistic people.

Lots of Sia's fans, both autistic and allistic, warned her repeatedly, politely, that she needed to supporting them IMMEDIATELY as their goal was the exact opposite of the one she claimed to have - aka raise awareness through an accurate portrail of autism. People were even kind enough to name organizations like ASAN as replacements to help her fix any damage done to the project.

And instead of being a decent human being, Sia decided to cry on twitter about how the mean retar-I mean, autistics were bullying her even when she was so kindly using them for her vanity project.

Because yes, that's how the movie turned out. An unwatcheable piece of garbage, with the autistic "character" being so fucking bad even the people who actively use "autistic" as insulted being offended on our behalf - and of course, she was used just a prop to show how awesome Sia's character was.

Seriously, it was so bad the actress playing the autistic girl was sobbing in between scenes because she knew how it was horrible and she didn't want to insult anyone, but Sia is literally her godmother and helped her career by putting her in nearly all her music videos so she felt obligated to go along with it.

So yeah, fuck Sia and fuck Autism Speaks.

#asks #sia #ableism #autism speaks #actually autistic #aba therapy

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myfictionaldreams · 1 year

Text

The Haunting Silence // Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha was your soulmate and she had done everything physically possible to keep you hidden and safe. Every day the two of you spoke through your mind using your soulmate connection but, what happens when suddenly Natasha's mind is silent?

Requested by: @southern-goth thank you for the request!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst (lots!), fluff, hurt/comfort, head injury, Sense 8 soulmates AU, Crying/Anxiety, threats of violence, protective Natasha, scissoring, oral sex, fingering, multiple orgasms

Words: 7.5k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Soulmates: two souls that are deeply connected and once successfully found, can communicate through their minds, no matter how far the location or language that was spoken. They were rare and many people were driven insane with the search to find their one true love but not you, you'd accepted years ago that there may never be the chance of ever finding her until fate was on your side.

It had been a beautifully mundane day. The movies like to show a romantic first meeting between two souls tied together from the depths of time, whether it be colliding in a coffee shop, running through the rain or even the hero saving someone from a villain. This was not anything like the start to your story, in fact, there were many details you couldn't remember.

Was it sunny? A Monday? Were you wearing jeans or leggings? You were completely unsure of any of these details but these were all menial with regard to the bigger picture no matter what day it was; it was the best day of your life as you met your soulmate. One minute your thoughts were your own, always described as 'hauntingly silent' by individuals who had already found their soulmates and thought back to the time before meeting their loved one.

Then the next, as you turned towards the exit of your work, your eyes hadn't even connected with her green eyes, still mesmerised by her lips as another silky voice echoed, "Oh", through your mind. It wasn't just this, as a warmth settled through your chest, not realising how empty you had been surviving through life until you finally found her, Natasha, your soulmate.

Natasha Romanoff had recently joined SHIELD when the two of you met but, she was honest about her alter ego Black Widow, as well as her past as an assassin which quickly helped to decide the dynamic of your relationship: a secret.

You were a nurse in a small hospital in the middle of nowhere, it was a surprise to you that Natasha had even found your workplace with it only being used by the locals. This fact actually aided with you being able to keep the relationship secret, you were a nobody in comparison to Natasha, no one would even look in your direction with suspicions or notice a hooded figure sneaking into your home in the middle of the night with your lack of neighbours.

At first, it had been difficult, you'd just found someone you wanted to spend every waking second with but she had to travel around the world and face dangerous missions constantly. However, thankfully with your soulmate connection, you could talk through your minds as long as you were both awake. Then as aliens attacked Earth and the Avengers were formed, you were happy to still be hidden, knowing that if anyone found out about you, they could use you against Natasha so a long-distance relationship it was.

Every single day, the two of you spoke, her words always feeling like being wrapped in a tight warm hug or when the tone changes, a seductive finger sliding down your spine.

Today, you were 5 hours into your shift at the hospital, finding a spare moment to wander down an empty corridor, hugging a report to your chest as a smile widened across your face.

You aren't lying to me, are you? your words were teasing towards Natasha but had every undertone of seriousness behind them.

Natasha had to hide her smile behind the microphone of the headpiece she wore as she was currently flying the Quinjet on the way back from a mission with the Avengers. Why would I lie to you, Milaya?

Your heartbeat quickened at the use of her nickname for you, Milaya, translating to darling, a name that often had you feeling safe and warm. It was also an easy way for Natasha to distract you from your questioning so you shook your head and tried to remain on track with your mind communication.

Please tell me, you encouraged, trying to find out if your soulmate had earned any injuries on this mission.

I'm fine, it's only a scratch on my wrist. - and bruised ribs to match the deep purple shade forming along her jaw where some asshole managed to punch her in the face, but you didn't need to know about that Natasha decided. You were at work and didn't need the distraction.

Hmm fine, I'll believe you for now but I'm going to see if you're lying when you get here in 2 days' time, you responded trying to sound slightly doubtful, having had this conversation with the red-haired assassin far too many times before.

Natasha's mouth quipped into a soft smile that she didn't bother to hide, eyes softening as she looked across the extensive view of clouds. 2 days seemed like such a long time to you both, her stomach twisting uncomfortably thinking about the wait as she decided, I'll try and visit sooner.

Don't rush baby, I would love to see you but please rest. It had been nearly two weeks since you had been able to hold or kiss Natasha and it was almost like you craved to be with her, needing to smell her hair, stroke her bare skin - you were going insane without her around. However, you couldn't help but feel bad that she felt the need to rush to be with you, she was so busy on these missions, hardly eating, sleeping and having to be at peak physical performance at all times. She was doing the very most and travelling across the country to see you whereas you had to sit pretty and wait for her, yes you worked full-time at the hospital but it was hard to compare your fatigue to Natasha's.

I just want to be with you, Natasha finally admitted, her voice losing the confident tone she had been trying to uphold for your benefit.

Your steps slowed to a stop as you stared at a crack in the concrete floor, I want to be with you too. You sighed out loud, wiping a hand down your face before trying to continue the conversation. Where are you at the moment?

Natasha swallowed the lump forming in her throat, the sudden overwhelming sensation to cry needing to pass as she was still surrounded by her friends in the Quinjet who had no idea she had found her soulmate all of those years ago. Looking at her coordinates, she replied, we are flying over Colorado at the moment.

You smiled slightly as you approached the door you had originally been planning on visiting in the hospital, the happiness felt through the bond that Nat could feel her chest warming. Oh, I've always wanted to visit Colorado, I've heard the--.

Silence.

Not the silence that came with being distracted and losing your train of thought but the sort of quiet that left an empty hole in Natasha's chest as she waited for you to finish your sentence but it never came. The assassin sat up further in her seat, heart beginning to pound violently behind her ribcage as the realisation dawned on her that the emotions she was experiencing were the haunting silence she felt before meeting you before there was ever a soulmate connection.

Milaya? Natasha asked into the void of her mind, but there wasn't any sort of response or emotions felt back. Even when you were asleep, Natasha could feel your calmness and sense of contentment through the bond but it was just...lifeless.

MILAYA?! The red-haired woman was screaming through her mind, frantically pulling off her headset as they felt suddenly claustrophobic, forest green eyes darting wildly around the multitude of buttons laid out before her on the jet's console.

Nat hadn't noticed that in her surge of anxiety to try and get you to respond, she had actually begun verbalising her nickname for you, which caught the attention of Tony who was sitting closest to her.

"Who? I'm not naming the jet that Nat, if- Woah". Tony's words were swiftly cut off as Natasha pushed past him, her mouth was painfully dry, eyes wide and unblinking with fear, the match the tremor that had settled in her hands as she grabbed the touchscreen computer typing in your hospital's location.

Her eyes moved faster across the screen than ever before. There was nothing, no reports of an attack, nothing that would be a reason for your bond to completely disappear. Next, she opened the local police scanners and reports but once more, there was nothing that reverted back to the hospital.

Every second that agonisingly ticked past, she continued to scream a mixture between your name and Milaya, hoping there would be some sort of a response but nothing seemed to come of it.

"Natasha? What is it?", it was Steve who was asking now. Natasha's erratic behaviour was quickly questioned by her colleagues and friends who all approached and watched with confusion as she continued to lose all control.

Clint pushed past the others, grabbing onto his best friend's shoulders, his eyebrows furrowing as a tear slipped from the woman's eye, sliding down her cheek. Looking over her shoulder towards the screen, he recognised the hospital name, him being the only person that Natasha trusted with your whereabouts.

"What is it?" Clint demanded.

"I... I can't hear her", Natasha's voice was quiet and displayed her distraught brokenness.

"Her? Who is her?" Tony asked.

"Tony, not now", it was Bruce this time who spoke up, having never seen Natasha lose her composure like this, something had to be seriously wrong.

Clint's hands moved to cup her cheeks, forcing her to look up at him, "Nat, I'm gonna need you to take a deep breath in for me and tell me what's going on."

Natasha removed herself from Clint's grip after taking one steady breath before turning back towards the computer screen, not bothering to wipe away the tears that she couldn't stop from falling as she attempted to log into the hospital's CCTV. From there, she rewound the feed to a couple of minutes ago and began to search through the corridors.

"Can someone explain what's going on, please?" Steve asked, more sternly than before, trying to find some answers that he wasn't getting.

However, the Black Widow wasn't listening, becoming even more panic-stricken with each passing second as she searched for you on the screen until finally, some air returned to her lungs as she found you walking down a deserted corridor, the footage a minute before the bond suddenly stopped. Natasha nearly smiled at seeing you there, even though she couldn't see the details of your face due to the low-quality cameras.

Tentatively, she, along with the rest of the Avengers, watched you walk down the corridor. Nat's eyes continued to glance at the time, watching it tick down as you approached the door at the end of the corridor, opened it and stepped in and then nothing as it was the time everything became silent. There were no further camera feeds in that room, you were simply there one minute and then something happened in the room and the bond was gone.

Natasha rested her head against the computer, closing her eyes to put all of her effort into shouting your name into the void in her mind but the only thing that responded was the silence and the disrupting shouting from the people around her was distracting.

"Everyone shut up!", she demanded with authority, thinking hard enough that it was beginning to form a migraine.

Glancing towards Clint, who looked just as worried as she felt, he asked, "Nothing? What about here?" he tapped against his chest, directly over his heart.

Natasha shook her head before a red suitcase caught her eye line. Taking a step towards Tony she demanded, "Give me the iron man suit".

Tony scoffed, "What? Not until you explain what's happening- wait what the fuck?!"

"GIVE ME THE SUIT!", Natasha had lost all composure, not thinking clearly, only thinking about you as a priority as she reached into her holster and within half a second, had her gun pointed towards Tony's head.

"Natasha, put the gun down, NOW.", Steve demanded, taking a step towards the billionaire like he was going to stand in front of the gun for his friend.

Nat began to cry, still mumbling, "Give me the suit Tony", the hand holding the gun still visibly shaking. Clin stepped directly in the path between the gun and Tony before Steve could, he held up his hands for good measure to show he didn't mean any harm.

"Nat listen to me", his voice was calm and low as he spoke, like he was talking to a frightened animal. "Even if you wear his iron man suit, I don't think you're in the right mindset to be by yourself so this is what's going to happen. You're going to lose the gun and I'm going to sit in the pilot seat and fly us to her, we'll be there in a couple of hours but you need to calm down right now, this jet is too small to be firing guns and you know it".

She knew he was right, thankful that she had a friend to talk some sense into her as she lowered the gun, nodding her head towards Clint who rushed to the seat she was just sitting in, placing the headset over his head. Returning the gun back into her holster and watching as Clint increased the speed of the jet, she suddenly jumped as Bruce began talking to her.

"How long has it been since you found her?" he offered her a warm drink that she hadn't noticed him pour for her. Of course, Bruce was the first to suss out what was going on. Nat held the warm drink in her hands and forced herself to drink it, even though the nausea she felt was overwhelming, she needed to try and keep calm.

"Before I knew any of you...except for Clint", Natasha admitted quietly, sitting in one of the seats surrounding the edge of the Quinjet.

Steve sighed heavily, sitting next to her, now understanding just what was going on.

"Wait, so you've had a soulmate this entire time and you didn't tell any of us?" Tony asked, sounding slightly disheartened by the news.

"I had...I NEEDED to keep her safe Tony. Do you really think our jobs don't come without any repercussions?" Tony shivered at Nat's words, thinking about the number of times his soulmate Pepper had been caught in the crossfire due to him being Iron Man. "Exactly. I can't lose her, she's... the only person I have and the only one I let get close to me, she's my only one and now, she's not answering my calls, something is wrong, I know it is".

The Avengers all nodded their head solemnly, understanding why she had reacted the way that she did. Tony sat opposite Nat, eyes full of remorse, "So is her name Milaya? That's what I heard you say earlier".

Natasha released a half-assed chuckle beneath her breath, "No that's just a nickname, her name is y/n", she allowed herself to smile for a split second, thinking about the first time she'd called you Milaya and how fond you were of it.

Then realisation dawned on her that this was really happening. Not only were you potentially in danger but now the Avengers also knew about you, could this potentially mean you didn't need to hide anymore? Shaking her head she left that thought for another time, needing to make sure you were ok first.

"Everyone strap in", Clint shouted over his shoulder, the jet beginning to reach it's maximum speed. Natasha attached the buckles around herself tightly, dropping her head back and continued to try and shout down the bond.

Clint landed in the near-empty car park in record timing much to Natasha's relief, who hardly waited for the doors to fully open before jumping down onto the tarmac. Even though the car park was bare for vehicles, there was still a scattering of people gathered around, visiting people in the hospital or using the facilities which meant, as the Avengers were suddenly in this forgotten-about town, it caught their attention quickly, shouts and whispers from every direction.

This didn't stop the group however as they followed Natasha into the building, her footsteps fierce and confident, face full of determination, all tears gone as anger replaced those feelings. There wasn't any immediate sigh of distress as they entered the building, and no sign of an attack still or police presence.

The reception lay straight ahead, and immediately, Natasha knew that it was the receptionist Bonnie behind the counter, someone you had talked about with affection on many occasions and it dawned on the assassin that she probably knew every professional in this small building.

Trying to not sound too aggressive but still holding the urgent tone, Natasha stopped before the counter, staring at Bonnie who looked up with comically wide eyes, glancing at each of the Avengers before looking back at Black Widow as she began speaking, "Y/N, where is she?"

Bonnie frowned in bewilderment, "Nurse Y/N? But how did you know-"

Natasha's heart dropped painfully as the receptionist seemed to confirm that something had happened. Beginning to lose her composure once more, her voice raised in noise level as she demanded, "Where is she? Is she even here? Did someone take her? Is she dead-?"

Bonnie quickly cut off Natasha's rant, standing from her seat with raised hands, "No! No she's not dead but something did happen earlier, let me take you to her".

She directed the group down a corridor, half running with how fast Natasha was trying to walk in front of her, ignoring the stares from the other patients and professionals. As they approached a series of windowed rooms, Bonnie began to explain what had happened.

"A ... a guy came in earlier, we think he snuck through the basement but he was caught stealing meds which were where Nurse Y/N was stationed and...she found him in the cupboard and he hit her hard across the head, by the time we found her, the guy was gone and she was unconscious on the floor. The doctors are still waiting for her to wake up was the last update that I had".

Natasha was reeling from the information, knees momentarily buckling but Clint was right behind her, hand under her arm to keep her upright and moving. You were alive, that was the information that alarmed through her mind, you were unconscious that was why she couldn't feel the concentration, it wasn't like you were asleep and could wake at any time, you'd been forcibly put to sleep, your body healing and cold.

Then there was the fact that someone had actually hurt and injured HER soulmate, right now, you were her priority but the second you were feeling better, nothing and no law would stop Natasha from hunting this guy down.

Suddenly Bonnie stopped in front of a large window that looked into a private room that had light filtering through the blinds causing an orange hue to shift across where you lay in the hospital bed in the centre of the room. There were a few machines scattered around that were monitoring your observations and a nurse recording the results standing next to the bed.

Natasha had to use every part of her training to try and hold back the audible sob that threatened to explode from her mouth as she didn't wait for permission to walk into the room. However, no one seemed to have the courage to even question the Avenger, all looking confused between her and the other heroes, nurses and healthcare assistants gathering to see what all the commotion was about.

The nurse turned, hearing someone else entering to room, her eyes widening just as exaggeratedly as Bonnie's and Natasha was quick to read his name tag, Chris. Internally she smiled knowing you were in good hands, Chris had a reputation at the hospital for his quality of care and that you and he were close friends, it must have been hard for him to then stay professional and give care for his friends.

"Is...Is she ok?" Natasha finally found her tongue to ask the Nurse, her green eyes wandering over every inch of your body. You looked almost peaceful, except for the fact that you were still in your Nurse tunic and there was a bandage plastered to your forehead.

A wave of nauseous anger rushed through Nat's body but she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Chris's full attention was now on the Avenger as he answered her question with a surprisingly sturdy tone considering he was talking to one of Earth's Mightiest Heroes. "She's had several stitches to close the injury, we found a metal pole next to her covered in blood so she took a strong hit. Thankfully there's no internal damage shown in the scans and she's yet to wake up but her observations have remained stable. Even if she wakes, she'll need to stay for a day or so to fully assess the damage."

The red-haired woman nodded, feeling somewhat relieved hearing this.

"Natasha?" Clint asked from the doorway having heard what Chris had said, waiting until the assassin turned towards him before continuing. "You good? We'll get out of here to give you some space just... keep in touch, will you? Let us know when she wakes up and-", his voice lowered dangerously low, "we'll find the guy".

Natasha nodded thankfully, even though she wanted to find whoever did this, the promising look in Clint's eyes she knew to trust that he had it covered. The rest of the Avengers shuffled back down the corridor, waving at the onlookers, thankfully taking the spotlight off of Natasha for a second as she attempted to step closer to you.

With no one there to hold her up, her knees buckled once more with overwhelming relief pulsing through her heart as she reached for your hand, her eyes filling with tears at the warm skin of your hand against yours, finally feeling grounded and connected to you.

Chris was quick to provide a chair for the Assassin, leaving the two of you and ushering away the spectators through the window, Natasha decided she would find him later to thank him for this.

"Oh Milaya," Natasha sighed as her face searched yours, hand gripping yours before stroking the back with his thumb.

The movement seemed to stir something with you as your fingers twitched in her grasp, a moan releasing from your mouth, eyes flicking beneath your still-closed eyelids. It almost felt like instinct for you to turn your head towards Natasha, feeling her presence there as the further you stirred, the mouth the empty hole in Natasha's chest filled with your bond.

"Natasha?" you whispered, voice thick and slurring slightly.

Nat brushed her other hand across your cheek, leaning down to lightly kiss the part of your temple that wasn't covered in bandages, mumbling "I'm here, baby". For this once, she absolutely didn't care who could see the two of you, Natasha allowed herself to be vulnerable for a moment, she thought she'd lost you, there was no way she was wasting another moment again.

A further hour passed before you moved again, sucking in a deep breath to properly fill your lungs and frowning, feeling something was off but not sure what. Blinking open your eyes, you flinched at the bright light that sent pain sparking across your head.

"Milaya?", Natasha whispered, careful to keep the noise down to not affect your sensitive senses. Her thumb brushed across your soft cheek, trying to help you arouse so she could see your pretty eyes.

"Nat?" you asked again, voice still sounding just as slurred and thick as before, "Am I dreaming?".

Eventually, your eyes opened, squinting against the orange light still pouring through the outside window. Even though the doctors had been giving you pain relief through your IV that was attached to the back of your hand that Natasha wasn't holding, you were still sensitive to the lingering concussion.

"There are those pretty eyes", Natasha praised as you looked at her hovering over you. "You aren't dreaming, you're ok, you're safe".

"What- What's going on?" you asked, feeling like something was wrong but not quite understanding just yet. You were confused and dazed still. Attempting to sit up, you frowned as your soulmate pushed against your shoulders, keeping you lying but you were only attempting to be closer to her.

"Hey it's ok, you don't need to get up, you need to rest", Nat encouraged, watching as you looked down at your body, observing the leads attached to various areas to monitor your observations, the cannula in your hand to the heavy feeling in your head, lifting said hand to brush over the soft material of the bandage on your head. Natasha cupped your hand and pulled it away from your injury, "Be careful my love, you've been hurt, don't touch it".

"I've been hurt?" you asked with confusion but the slur was very much still evident, you still need to rest and recover.

"Yeah, do you ... remember anything that's happened? Do you know what day it is?" Natasha asked, staring down worriedly at you.

You tried to think hard about today but your mind continued to be blank with delirium. "Uh... I don't remember anything. I feel like I'm floating through space", you admitted but then something dawned on you, even though you couldn't name what day it was, you knew you were at work, having been in this particular room hundreds of times and Natasha was definitely next to you right now, still dressed in her Black Widow uniform. Eyes flicking over her shoulder to the indoor window, you could see some of your colleagues walking around. "You're here! In front of everyone, they'll see you, Natasha!"

Natasha's eyes softened, hands coming up to cradle your face, "Shhh Milaya, I don't care that they've seen me. Baby, I thought you were dead." Her eyes dropped from yours to stare at your name tag that was clipped to your tunic, willing the heavy emotions to remain at bay, you needed to rest and she didn't want to make you more upset. "We were talking and then you were silent but usually, I can feel you even when you're asleep but there was nothing and I couldn't... I had to come here, I thought you were in danger, I mean, you were in danger! Apparently, some asshole was stealing med and you found him so he hit you with a metal bar".

"I'm sorry I scared you", you responded, feeling overwhelming guilt over the situation but still feeling completely dazed and out of it. "Will you stay?" you asked hopefully, reaching up to touch her cheek gently.

"I'm not leaving your side", Natasha confirmed.

"Good". The two of you stayed silent for a few minutes as the assassin returned to sitting in her seat, lifting your hand to place it back against her cheek so she could nuzzle into it. You smiled at her softness, something she didn't often like to display before something else caught your eye, your fingers nimbly grasping her chin to turn her head away from you so you could look at her chin, seeing the painful bruise there, "I thought it was just a scratch you got on this mission?" you asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Ah, so you do remember somethings", Natasha smirked, referring to the conversation the two of you were having before you were attacked.

"Oh little bits," you admitted, "I bet we look like a right pair", you joked, eyes closing with heaviness suddenly exhausted.

"Get some sleep Milaya", Natasha muttered against the palm of your hand.

I love you, you spoke into the mind connection, feeling heat spreading across your chest with love.

Natasha had never heard such beautiful words before, sighing and leaning over before she could stop herself to kiss your lips softly, audibly whispering, "I love you too".

Thankfully, 24 hours later you were discharged and finally bombarded by your friends and colleagues that were swiftly brushed away by Natasha as she led you towards the exit, but she quickly admitted that her phone had been going off constantly from the Avengers, wanting to invite you over soon to be introduced.

It took Clint three hours to find the man responsible for the attack and had been keeping him in a secret holding for Natasha, not that the woman was rushing to leave your side any time soon.

The days passed by and you were forced to rest by both the Doctor and Natasha, who was quick to do anything and everything for you and you were more than thankful, the symptoms of the concussion taking longer than you'd anticipated to wear off.

Finally, you felt strong enough to climb out of bed, the smell of food being cooked coming from the kitchen had your stomach growling in hunger as you quickly had a shower, still careful of the plaster over your stitches but the massive bandage had been removed thankfully.

After dressing in only an oversized top and shorts, you smiled lovingly at the sight of Natasha in the kitchen, standing in dark joggers and a thin grey vest, her hands moving skillfully over the food that was cooking, toast popping up in the toaster.

You began to move forward with the plan to help her by buttering the toast, greeting her with a "Hello beautiful", and reaching for the knife and butter. However, your attempts were futile as Natasha snatched away the utensil.

"Nope, I'm doing that, go and sit down please", she began moving away from you, to continue with her cooking.

Rolling your eyes, you simply found another butter knife from the drawer and moved back to the toast, "I'm fine! I can butter my own toast, Natasha".

Once again, she simply removed the knife from your hand, shaking her head with a throaty laugh, "I'm looking after you so go and sit down".

"You have looked after me and I'm feeling almost normal except for the stitches", you admitted, pulling the toast over from the toaster and placing it onto the plate, moving closer to Nat to try and snatch the knives out of her hand but she held it at arm's length, still smirking. "You're relentless you know that?" you finally admit defeat, hand dropping to your side.

You watched her move for a moment, not planning on sitting down at all before stepping behind her as she stirred something in one of the pans. Your hands rested against her waist, fingers teasing along the hem of her vest to finally slip beneath and feel her warm, soft skin as your lips kissed along her exposed shoulder. You smiled against her, hearing the relaxed sigh escape her mouth.

"Hmm... and you are good at distractions", Natasha quipped over her shoulder, leaning into your touch.

"I've missed you," you admitted thoroughly, even though the two of you had been together for the last few days, due to you resting, you hadn't been able to be intimate and you missed her, especially being away for so long before the attack.

I've missed you too, Milaya. Natasha spoke through your mind, hands moving to rest over yours before turning slightly towards you. "But- I need you to eat first, your stomach growling woke me up this morning and I'd feel much more content knowing your belly as full before I take your clothes off".

You swallowed harshly at the end of her sentence, thankful that she wasn't fighting you on being intimate and you could deal with the request, kissing her mouth quickly before stepping back towards the table that was already set for the two of you to eat.

Sitting down, you watched mesmerised as she cooked, it looking almost like she was dancing around the kitchen, you knew you could never be as graceful as her but she also had extensive training which aided with her movements. Your core clenched though as her vest continued to ride up on her hips, exposing more of her stomach and you wanted nothing more than to lick the area.

"Having fun over there?" Natasha asked with a wicked smirk plastered on her beautiful face as she observed your wandering eyes and the shifting you were doing on the chair with your obvious arousal.

You bite your lip to hide your grin at being caught, not quite finding the words to respond that wasn't a request to take her clothes off so you distracted yourself by drinking the glass of water that was already placed on the table.

The two of you ate and chatted about Natasha's teammates, especially Tony who had sent about 50 invitations to you to join the numerous events that were coming up that the Avengers had to attend, hoping you would accept one so he could bombard you with questions.

You both had decided that you'd attend one eventually, increasing the security would be easier now as you didn't need to hide away. This new found freedom was exhilarating and you couldn't wait to walk down the street, holding her hand and showing everyone that she was yours.

Scrapping the plate clean and moaning at how good the food tasted, you stood to wash up the plates but once again, Natasha was grabbing the plates from your hands, moving over to the sink and placing them into the warm water.

"We can do that later", she informed, extending her slender hand for you to take and leading the way towards the bedroom. The two of you lay in the centre of the bed, your eyes were already heavy, you hadn't realised just how tired you were, with a full stomach and it had been the most you'd moved in days and had exhausted you quickly.

You felt bad having teased her and attempted to reach for her but she easily held down your arms, pulling your body against hers, fingers moving delicately across your scalp in a calming manner. "Get some sleep baby, I'll be here when you wake up".

When you finally woke, you were greeted with the peaceful sight of Natasha also sleeping, her features completely relaxed. Watching her for a moment, you carefully lifted your hand, attempting to tuck a strand of hair that had fallen across her face behind her ear but in a blink, your hand was stopped in midair as Natasha gripped your wrist.

You grinned as she opened her eyes, "It's really creepy when you do that".

Natasha's plump lips tilted into a smirk, her eyes flicking across your face as she bought your wrist up to her mouth, kissing the sensitive skin on the inside that sent a shiver through your spine. "You love how quick I am, really", she teased, her voice completely sultry to match the darkening look in her eyes.

"I love everything about you", you countered, leaning closer, finally closing the gap between your lips. Both of you released a heavy sigh, breaths fanning across each other's faces at finally touching. Your skin burned instantly, feeling like there were tiny electric pulses coming from wherever your skin met and it always felt like that when it was with your soulmate, intense and powerful.

Natasha broke the kiss first but only to move down your cheek, on her own journey to reach your lobe, nibbling the sensitive flesh between her teeth that caused a deep moan to vibrate in your chest as your fingers reached for the thin straps on her shoulders, efficiently pushing them down.

"My Milaya", Natasha whispered against your ear, her fingers, pushing underneath your shirt to do their own exploration. Just before the tips of your fingers began to graze over her now exposed breasts, she pushed you fully onto your back, easily rolling on top, straddling over your abdomen her shoulder-length hair falling and framing her face as she leaned over you. "Let me make you feel good".

You mewled in response, admiring the beauty that she was, the way her lips parted and shined in the light, the straps dropped off of her shoulder that allowed for her vest to drop and reveal her perked breasts that were desperate to be touched. A finger slid under your chin as she looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

"You're so beautiful Natalia", you praised, hoping your eyes showed as much affection as your words did. Natasha's shoulders visibly dropped with love at the use of her birth name before she was leaning over you and kissing you fiercely, desperately moving, tongue pushing and flicking against your own, both moaning as you could taste each other.

Your hips lifted trying to find some friction but ended up grinding against Nat who groaned at the contact, her fingers suddenly reaching to grasp the edges of her vest, pausing the kiss for a second so she could remove the offensive material before moving back down to your mouth.

It felt so good to have her chest naked, rubbing against your t-shirt, that she was willing to be so bare before you. Your fingers caressed down her spine first before pulling around to the front, grazing over her scars and careful of her still healing bruised ribs that didn't seem to phase Nat anymore as you finally cupped her tits.

You felt the weight of them against your palm, squishing the beautiful flesh before tweaking her pretty nipples, earning a grind down from Nat's hips on your abdomen. Smiling against her mouth, you knew she had ultra-sensitive nipples which only made it more fun to play with them, hearing the desperate little moans she would release.

Suddenly, you were left cold and reaching for more as Nat sat up, pushing her hair out of her face as she looked down at you, "take off your clothes", she demanded whilst climbing off of your lap to remove her joggers speedily. You did as instructed, first removing your shirt and then your underwear before lying back down and Nat was straight away straddling your body again.

With no layers of material between the two of you, her bare, noticeably wet cunt now lay against your abdomen. Your hands went to her hips to grind her hips further against you, making her rock her body against yours as she leaned down once more to kiss you, your breasts rubbing together as her pussy rolled against your stomach.

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good", Nat whispered breathlessly against your neck of which she had moved to leave open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin.

You chuckled, releasing her hip with one hand to reach between your bodies to play with her nipple again, feeling the vibration of her moan melt into where your chests touched. "You are making me feel good", you responded just as breathlessly, rubbing your thighs together and feeling how wet you were.

The assassin suddenly moved, half climbing down your body and moving one of your legs over her hip, lowering her hips and then her cunt was stroking against yours. The two of you moaned, and your eyes flicked between her now swollen parted lips and where her hips began rolling against yours, your clit brushing against yours, both of your juices mixing together.

You matched her movements, gripping onto the leg that she had positioned over yours still, your hips rolling with hers, both gasping and mewling as your clits were rubbed and swiped against each other.

"Feel so good baby", Natasha praised, her hand coming up to cup against your breast, massaging the flesh slowly to match the thrusting of her hips. Your head flung back as she tweaked your pebbled nipples as she pressed especially hard against your clit. "Do you like when I rub on you Milaya?" she asked you, feeling her cunt pulse with arousal at seeing you experience such pleasure.

"Yes, feel so so good", you groaned, also reaching up to play with her tits, before sitting up slightly and pulling her face down, kissing her desperately as you both chased your highs, clits still sliding against one another with how wet you both were.

You were so close, your core beginning to tighten as you began to chant her name like a prayer, needing and wanting her, begging not to stop as Natasha was responding with just as much desperation.

Your cunt then started fluttering as you came, hands gripping onto Natasha hard enough that you were sure to leave bruises but it just felt so good that you couldn't stop. Natasha continued her movements for a few further minutes, finding her own release with a beautiful gasp.

You had planned for her to catch her breath but she was moving before you could comprehend that she was, your legs being pushed back against your chest to expose your soaked cunt to her as she lay down on her stomach, eyes connecting with yours as her mouth dropped to your pussy.

She began by licking up everything you had spilt, moaning at the taste of yours and her juices, tongue pushing through your folds before teasing your hole that was still twitching to be filled. Your hands replaced hers with holding up your leg, of which she gave a long lick up your entire middle as a reward, now freeing up her hands. With one, she spread you open, giving her the perfect view of your clit and hole and then she was diving right in, her lips sealing around your clit and sucking whilst two of her powerful fingers pushed inside of you, curling instantly about your special spot.

"Oh my god- Natasha!" you moaned, and you could feel her smiling against your bundle of nerves at your reaction, seeing your eyes closed to concentrate solely on the pleasure that was being given you. This was all you had wanted for weeks, to be with her, spend time touching and pleasuring each other's bodies, feel the bond glowing and strengthening with the time spent together.

Natasha's skilled tongue and fingers drew a toe-curling orgasm out of you, your back arching to try and grind your hips on her face. She had been a master at work, her eyes never leaving your face as she watched you go through all the stages of pleasure.

You were then rolling the two of you over, and you wanted nothing more than repay her with your tongue but you still had to be careful of the stitches on your forehead. So instead, you used your fingers in her soaking cunt and your mouth sucked leisurely on her nipples which had her clenching around your fingers, your thumb stroking against her throbbing clit.

"Milaya, don't stop", Natasha cried out, hands clenching into the sheet below, her thighs shaking around your hand, a pink glow to her cheeks as she watched you move from one breast to the next. You didn't stop, wouldn't stop until she was cuming around you and the way her walls were becoming tighter, her breaths coming out in short bursts you knew it would be soon.

"Cum for me 'Tasha, wanna hear your moans", you encouraged after releasing her nipple for a second and then going straight back to sucking it harshly into the back of your mouth.

"Ah! Yes-!", Nat's eyes rolled back as she began quivering around your fingers and you didn't stop your movements, making sure to draw out every ounce of pleasure that you could, until her hips jolted through overstimulation.

Easing your fingers out of you, you quickly drew them to your mouth, moaning at the sweet taste of her before she was sitting up and kissed your lips. Her tongue stroked against yours and you could taste yourself on her, and you hoped she could do the same taste herself on your mouth.

Then you were both collapsing into the middle of the bed, limbs tangled together facing one another and trying to catch your breaths, sweat glistening off of your bodies. Smiling softly at her beautiful expression, feeling her thumb stroke near to your stitches, you asked, "what's going on in that head of yours?"

"I'm just thankful you're here with me, I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you", she admitted in nothing more than a whispering volume.

Reaching to take her hand in your own, you kissed her knuckles, feeling the scars beneath your lips, "You don't ever have to worry about that baby".

#natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha smut #marvel smut #marvel #natasha romanoff #black widow smut #black widow one shot #soulmate au #mine*

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 7 months

Text

darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 8: Birthright

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your wish comes true.

Hello! Welcome to the FINAL CHAPTER of this instalment, another 8000+ word chapter! Everyone's long-anticipated 'claiming scene' is here, so please give a round of applause to our angryboi, the Cannibal! Keep in mind that I've officially retconned Luke and Daeron's ages (they're 8 and 9 in gevivys now, not 5 and 6 like they were originally - please let me know if I've missed any instances so far!), Thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs for beta-ing this thingo!

TRIGGERS: more abandonment issues, reference to pervy suitors.

Scarcely any time passes between that eve and the arrival of Rhaenyra’s firstborn son, Jacaerys.

’Nyra’s world changes when her baby comes. She is as perfect a mother as you think any woman could be, spending nearly all the hours of the day looking at him or holding him or caring for him. Having a babe has changed her, softened her hard edges and given her a calmness she had once lacked. All she wants to talk about is him. When she is not talking about him or being with him, she is in Council meetings, or she is with Papa performing whatever tasks the heir to the Throne is expected to do. She tries to find moments to spare for you, though it is far less often than it used to be, and she always brings her boy with her.

Jace is a pretty babe, dark-haired and dark-eyed, so unlike either of his parents, and he always seems quite serious in expression—but there is something that holds you back with him. Even though you love him—and he is one half of ’Nyra, so of course you love him—it is like a wall exists between you and him. His mother is your sister, and his father is your cousin, and you… you have no place there. You are on the outside looking in at a life you cannot have.

A part of you wants to stare down at the babe and tell him that you were here first. That you will always have known his mama for longer than he ever shall, that nothing can take away the fact that she belonged to you before she belonged to him. But you don’t. ’Nyra is a new mother, and her child should be all that matters. If you were her babe, that is what you would want. She does not need the petty jealousy of her little sister to ruin things. It is better for you, for her, for him that you find other ways to fill your days.

Daeron’s birth makes it easier.

It is almost like Alicent barely even notices the arrival of her third son, though you do not blame her. She had screamed so loud that even you had heard her in your own chambers. It was not like that with Aegon or Helaena or Aemond. The commotion had been enough to rouse you from your bed to creep toward the Queen’s apartments, to hear Grand Maester Mellos tell Papa that her belly might need to be laid open like—

No. No. The throb of nausea is so vile just thinking of it. You put it out of your mind, doing your best to ignore the prickle of an old hurt and the word ‘Mama’ on the tip of your tongue, hushed and afraid.

Alicent is weak after the birth, and so you take it upon yourself to visit your new little brother, to keep him company where everyone else would have left him to attendants. He is so, so quiet, as though he is ashamed of the way he had entered the world, the way he had hurt his mother coming out. It is like he is an apology for the pain she was made to go through. He is sweet, barely crying though he goes for times without the attention he deserves, and he never fusses when you reach into the cradle to lift him up. You are not quite strong enough to carry him around places, but it is relatively easy to take him to the chair to prop him on your lap in the nursery while Helaena plays.

When Alicent heals, she makes no attempt to disturb your routine, and it is like you have your very own baby to match ’Nyra’s. Sometimes, you imagine that Daeron is yours like Jace is hers and that you are ’El’s mama too, and that you have the important task of being their whole world. Even though the idea of having babies is beginning to scare you a great deal, being a mama is nice. Playing pretend is nice.

But then, the wet nurses come or Alicent comes, and your brother and sister are taken away. It reminds you that you really are alone, after all. ’Nyra giving birth to her next son, Lucerys—Luke—only worsens that feeling. Her family is growingand growing while yours seems to only exist on borrowed moments. Still, you take what love you can and bury the rest of it—the despair, the resentment, the soft tender parts of you that cry out for someone, anyone at all to really, truly see you—far, far below the surface, so deep that no one can touch it, not even you.

You seek solace in knowledge.

Books become your very best friends. The older you get, the easier reading becomes—you leave behind folktales and children’s myths to begin browsing through tomes with smaller letters and larger, more difficult words. Stories turn into histories and treatises on all manner of topics, with dragons, direwolves, men, and the fall of Old Valyria being but some of your preferred subjects of study. You learn the names of the Lannister kings before the Conquest; you gather as many legends on the Age of Heroes as you can; you peruse chronicles detailing the first coming of the Andals to Westerosi shores. Through books, the very land you live upon seems to unfold like a map through time itself, all the secrets of the continent opening themselves up to you through tooled leather and yellowed pages.

It makes Papa immensely proud. “If a woman is to sit the Iron Throne after I am gone,” he says, “then perhaps a woman ought to be her right hand!”

You can tell this makes his other Councilmen nervous by the way they share glances. For all that Rhaenyra has been heir for years now, there are still many among the court who believe your brother ought to succeed him. But Papa does not seem to want to change his mind, for he is as determined to see your sister continue to attend Small Council as he always has been.

Still, you take it to heart. Being Hand of the Queen someday means that you will get to stay with your sister even if you are made to be married. It means you will be important in a way that you haven’t really been so far. But a good Hand has to know so so much about all the lands and people a King or Queen might encounter during the years of their reign. You outgrew Septa’s lessons moons ago, and the more you read, the more it becomes apparent that books aren’t enough to teach you all you need to know. There is no one and nothing that can help you become the cleverest possible version of yourself in King’s Landing—at least, not one willing to do such a task. The maesters would not abide by schooling a girl in the higher arts.

Thus, you firmly decide upon the gift you would like for your name day. Standing in the King’s solar two moons before the occasion is to take place, you impart your desire to your audience of one.

“I wish for a tutor, please,” you tell Papa. “Someone who can teach me anything I wish to know.”

Papa laughs. “And what is it you wish to know, my girl?” he asks. You are unsure if he is amused or delighted by your request.

His question makes you think. What do I want to know? There is no single answer you can produce. How do you describe the feeling of wanting to know something you don’t know enough about to be sure you want to learn it?

“Anything,” is what you reply with. “Everything.”

“Anything and everything.” Papa takes a drink from his cup, his nose scrunching when the liquid inside hits his tongue. You do not think it is wine. He returns the cup to the table beside him, reaching his hand out to you. You move forward to take it. “A lofty request. But you are soon to be ten summers!” He grins. A scab at his temple cracks with the motion. “That, I think, is a milestone worthy of celebration. Very well, daughter,” he says with a grunt. “If a tutor is what you want, then a tutor we shall find.”

He stays true to his word. Not long after you make your appeal to him, all manner of strangers the Realm over make their way to King’s Landing to seek an audience with you and Papa. It is the first time you are allowed to remain by his side in the Great Hall, though it means you must balance atop a twist of melted-together swords to rest your rear against the edge of the armrest, one of the few places upon the Throne that cannot cut you should you make contact with it. Papa insists, however, for these people have gathered to seek employment with you, and so you must be the one to approve them.

There is frightfully little to approve. Several of those who come to answer Papa’s ravens ignore you wholly, their eyes sliding over you as though you are not even there. One of them, a man named Robert, outright refuses to answer your query as to what would make cyvasse lessons so appealing to a girl of your station. It is enough to put you off the game entirely. But his conduct is by no means the worst. There are younger lads who possess no more skill than the average knight’s squire, clearly hastened to the Red Keep by the promise of a lucrative wage and companionship with the King’s daughter. More than one Septon shuffles in to lecture you and Papa on the merits of providing a holy education to the female mind, sinful as it is. Even noblemen like Lord Rosby come to offer to take wardship of you, suggesting that growing up with another girl your age is more than enough learning for a Princess. You suspect his proposal has more to do with the large sum he owes over East.

You and Papa reject them all, sending them away with nary a further glance. Those who grow angered by the refusal are easily frightened off by Ser Criston’s hand coming to rest on his pommel at the foot of the steps. Since Alicent had appointed him your sworn shield some moons after Rhaenyra’s wedding, he has taken to his task with a dedication that would worry you if not for the fact that he is made to take breaks. You think that if he were allowed, he would set up a pallet beside the door to your rooms to keep constant guard over you.

Four days after your tenth name day, someone different arrives. Someone new.

“Presenting Ser Lysan Marios of… er… the Free Cities!” the guard announces.

You crane your neck in curiosity as this Ser Lysan makes his way into the hall. He is dark-skinned, light-haired, and his robes are an odd assortment of various fabrics stitched together. It appears well-made, if unusual, and the colours are bright. Reds, blues, yellows, greens, oranges—it seems as though every shade is represented in the patches making up his attire, though you note that purple is missing. Not a noble, then. The man ambles slowly inside, helped by the use of a cane.

“I am from Volantis, Your Grace,” he says when he is finally within earshot, bowing lowly. His voice is deep and rich; if a hug were to have a sound, you think this would be the closest you might come to finding it. “But I do suppose ‘of the Free Cities’ works just as well as any other epithet.”

“You have come a long way, Ser,” Papa says. He is smiling like he always does when these visits begin. You wonder how long it will take for it to fade this time. “You are welcome here in King’s Landing.”

Ser Lysan laughs. “I certainly feel welcome! Such pleasant people you have here, Your Grace. Not a single one has attempted to steal my books thus far—and I confess I have brought plenty!”

This is what spurs you to finally speak up. “Books?” you ask. “What kind?”

When his eyes meet yours, it is like they twinkle, like stars. His mouth widens, exposing pearl-white teeth. “And this must be the young Princess to whom I would be most glad to embark upon the journey of erudition with! Salutations to you, Your Highness!”

He bows again, attempting to cast his arm wide in a flourish—but it appears he had forgotten he was carrying one of his aforementioned books in hand, for it promptly clatters to the floor when he flings his hand out. You giggle, charmed. You cannot help it. He seems so kindly.

“Oh! Oh dear,” he mutters, crouching to the ground to collect his quarry. “My apologies, Your Grace, Your Highness. Oh dear…”

Ser Criston darts forward as if to help, but the man has already taken hold of his prized tome by the time he is close enough.

“Ah—might I ask what areas you are learned in, Ser Lysan?” Papa asks, clearing his throat. His brow has furrowed ever-so-slightly, which means he finds the man before him a little confusing. It is more than a little funny. “My daughter has yet to decide upon an avenue of study.”

The embarrassment slides straight off Ser Lysan’s face. It is as though a bolt of lightning courses through him, such is the sudden shift of his expression into one of sparking joy. “Oh! What am I not a scholar of? I have studied in the physicians’ arts with the Healer’s Guild of Lorath; I have attended the great histories of Westeros and Essos with the esteemed intellectuals of Braavos; I have amassed a more-than-considerable lexicon of tongues across the known world—”

For a reason unknown to you, this piques your interest. “Languages? You know different languages?”

He nods. “Oh, yes! I am quite proficient in your ancestral tongue, Princess. Valyrio Eglio udrir jaehenka issa.” High Valyrian is the language of the godly. He winks. “I am also well-versed in the Eastern dialects of Valyrian, though admittedly they have not the lyricism of their originator. But I must confess, it is my particular interest to devote my academic prowess to the Lekh Dothraki, the tongue of those who ride.”

Papa’s knee twitches beside you. “The Dothraki? How have you come to make dealings with them?”

Ser Lysan waves him off. “Oh, I would not profess to be so grand as to make dealings with the horse-riders of the East! Ah, but mine wife was a Dothraki woman, who gave herself to me in payment for preventing a Volantene herbalist from poisoning her brother. A strange and alarming custom, I once thought. She was the most marvellous of creatures.” He sighs. For a moment, he is silent—then he jerks nearly full-bodied, as though he is awakening from some reverie. “The Dothraki are a misunderstood civilisation, Your Grace,” he says to Papa. “It is my hope that, in time, I am able to repay my wife’s goodness and bring knowledge to those who are ignorant of their ways.”

“I see,” Papa says. He coughs awkwardly. I don’t think he has ever met someone so inclined to talking, you muse. “And… what of your wife now? I had thought the Dothraki were opposed to crossing the sea.”

“They are.” Ser Lysan’s expression becomes shadowed, drawn. “It is my great sorrow that she has passed on to the nightlands, to roam the skies among the starry khalasar of her people.”

“My condolences.” This sounds more genuine; you know that Papa too still mourns your mother, even though he has Alicent now.

“My gratitude, Your Grace. But”—at this, he lightens, forcing a smile to his face once more—“that is not what I have come to discuss, is it?” He turns to you. “My apologies, Princess! If I am so fortunate as to be deemed worthy by you, you may well find such tangents a price to pay for the lessons I have to impart. I am not well known for brevity, I am afraid.”

He’s the one. He’s my tutor. You know it. The way he speaks so happily about all the things he has learned; the way he cares so much about showing that some people are not always what everyone else thinks of them; the way he talks to you as though you are a person rather than just a means of earning coin or living in a palace. You want to know what it is like to be surrounded by that happiness, to spend your days learning from a person such as he rather than continue to quail under the yoke of Septa Marlow.

You readjust to curl into Papa, to lean forward and whisper into the shell of his ear. “I like Ser Lysan, Papa.”

“You do?” He exhales, a long-suffering sigh of resignation. His stare narrows at you as though irritated, though it slowly morphs into a grudging sort of smile. “Naturally.” If he were ’Nyra, he would be rolling his eyes by now. To Ser Lysan, he projects his voice far louder and says, “It appears my daughter has no taste for brevity, Ser. If you wish to take up this post, we would be… honoured… to accommodate you.”

Ser Lysan’s brows raise in surprise. “Oh! No, Your Grace! The honour is mine!” He bows a third time, and it really ought to be excessive, but you cannot help how amiable you find him. “I pray I will not disappoint you, Princess.”

“I am very glad to meet you, Ser Lysan,” you say, fighting the urge to leave Papa’s side and go forth to follow the man before you wherever he might go, to let yourself be enthralled by his tales and his rambling, half-formed thoughts. “I hope we shall have a very good time together.”

You are not to know it at this precise moment—but you will.

“We have made our introductions, Princess, and I have learned the lay of the land as best I can, so to speak.”

Ser Lysan is settled in the chair opposite you, having just completed his surveyance of the room around him. You have been granted a solar for the very first time, a whole new chamber to fill with the tools necessary to begin your education. It is empty for now, though the bare necessities are present—namely, the considerable size of the bookshelves just waiting for their occupants to rest safely upon their surfaces. These will, in time, be filled by both your own and your tutor’s collections, or so he has assured you.

The crinkle of a page rouses you from your thoughts. Ser Lysan has unrolled a scroll of parchment, the nib of his quill already inked and prepared for some unknown purpose. He stares assessingly at you.

“What is it you wish to know?” he asks, hand poised to write.

It blurts out of you before you can think to stop it. “You can only be called ‘Ser’ if you are a knight, but you have said you are a scholar. How is it that you have come to be called ‘Ser’, then?”

You wince. Your question is far ruder than you had intended it to be. Thankfully, Septa is not here—she has begun spending more time with Helaena as of late. She would surely have reprimanded you. The query only serves to make the man smile indulgently at you, though. He lays the quill to the side upon his blotting paper. The ink pools dark across the fibres.

“If you must know, Princess… I was a soldier in the Battle of the Borderland. The triarchs sent us in to attempt to wrest control of the Disputed Lands from Lys, Tyrosh and Myr. They were once under Volantene rule, did you know?”

Ser Lysan gazes at a spot on the wall just past you, and it is like he is seeing something altogether different. Something from another time and place.

“At first, we were sure of victory. Volantis has long held dominion in the East for a reason, after all. Our armies were larger; our armour finer; our steel sharper. But then…” He sighs. “Those cities joined forces. Formed the Triarchy. No one saw it coming. We ought to have. Such is hindsight, is it not? We understand now the things we missed then.”

Ser Criston shifts by the door, clearly uncomfortable. You wonder when he will interrupt, when he will instruct Ser Lysan not to tell you such dark-natured stories. You can only hope it will not turn violent.

“One morn—the sun had barely risen—our garrison was set upon by the Triarchy’s forces,” the man continues. “It was… carnage. So few of us survived. Of those of us that did, even fewer still were able to stand. The alliance’s warriors enjoyed leaving a rather particular token behind on the battlefield, as we were to learn. Severed legs are quite effective deterrents, it turns out.”

“That’s enough,” Ser Criston barks, face set in a glare. Secretly, you are glad for the interruption. The tale had grown far too frightening for you.

“My apologies!” Ser Lysan says, coughing lightly. “I forget myself sometimes. To answer your question, Princess—I was able to make my way back to the main encampment, to warn the commanders just in time for our troops to pull back from the region. Many a life was lost; but thousands more were saved that day. I was knighted in the field.” A wan smile curves his lips. “That is where my title of ‘Ser’ comes from.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you say. “I… I am sure it is not a pleasant memory. I am sorry.”

“It is quite alright. I became stronger for it. I learned that if I wish to survive, I must fight for it with everything I have in me. The fires of adversity strengthen the spirit.” He pauses, eyes locked onto your own. They are dark, almost black, like all the light in the world has been quenched. “Let this be my first lesson unto you—if you want something, you must do whatever is in your power to achieve it.”

Silence lingers for one moment; two; three. All of a sudden, he is cheerful again, shuffling his papers like nothing of import has occurred. You share an uncertain look with Ser Criston, who looks positively bewildered by the shift. Ser Lysan is an eccentric man, you decide. This is no bad thing.

“Back to my previous question, Princess.” Ser Lysan picks up his quill once more, dipping it in the inkwell and tapping it against the rim to return the excess to the bottle. “I am knowledgeable in a great deal about the world in which we live. What is it that you would have me instruct you in? Histories, statecraft, linguistics?”

Before you is a man who has lived. He has come from a strange land bearing a strange name, learned in all manner of strange subjects. He fought for Volantis. His wife was a Dothraki woman. He bears the title ‘Ser’ and yet wears a patchwork robe. What you know of him is bleak and terrifying, and yet here he sits before you, as jovial as a young man in his cups. There is a steady peace to him despite all he has seen, all he has likely experienced.

How has he come to be so merry? You think about the manner in which he’d brightened at the talk of his learning. Could one achieve such simple tranquillity through knowledge alone? Can books, can foreign tongues and foreign disciplines empower you with that sense of fulfilment you crave, that sense of belonging you have felt absent all your life?

You want dearly to discover the answer. It is this that permits you to finally settle upon your response to him.

“Anything,” you breathe. “Everything.”

You are not as brave as your sister. She is able to stand face to face against even the staunchest of her detractors—as of late, this being your very own lady stepmother, determined to discover what she believes to be ‘the truth’ of Jacaerys’s parentage, for a boy so dark of hair cannot possibly be Laenor’s, by her reckoning—without so much as a quiver in her lip. She can endure shouting, the strike of a switch, the endless train of whispers that seep through every crack in the walls of the Keep with barely a pause in her breath to mark the ignominy of it. She can laugh in the face of humiliation and continue on her way with her head held high and some cutting remark poised on the tip of her tongue like a steel barb waiting to meet its target. These are not things you are capable of. But then, you are only a girl; younger than Rhaenyra was when she was made heir.

Yet old enough to finally—finally—claim your own dragon.

It had taken you years to wear down Papa, the scar on your arm serving as a perpetual reminder of the dangers that lie ahead in seeking out your birthright. Whenever you had made the request—“oh, please, Papa! I swear that I am ready!”—he had only to look upon the mark bisecting your flesh before his eyes hardened, the musculature of his neck clenched and poised to shake in refusal.

Once, his rejection had been sufficient to prevent your asking for several moons’ turns at the least; but Ser Lysan has been of great influence in his two years serving as your teacher, your companion, and your dear friend. If you want something, you must do whatever is in your power to achieve it. These words have remained as carvings in stone within your mind since that very first meeting. It is not within your power to unleash fire and fury the way your sister might—but you have come to learn that such a thing was never in your power. Your strength lay in other qualities. Your courtesy. Your placidity. Your modesty. These are strengths in their own way.

You had continued to ask. Over time, the nature of your appeals changed from churlish, infantile insistence to restrained, unaffected enquiry. Upon rebuff, you had smiled and said, “Very well, Papa. Thank you for listening.” You had repeated this same tactic over and over, sennight after sennight, until, at last, Papa had been worn down to his bones from weariness.

“You’ll not let up, will you, my girl?” he had asked, utterly fed up.

Instead of responding, you had simply maintained your carefully blank gaze, prepared to don your quiet acceptance like armour when his denial should strike. He had sighed; rubbed his eyes. The pull of his skin had cracked open another fissure in the lines of his face, red slowly beading up to the surface.

“Fine!” he had finally exclaimed, his hand thumping down upon the table so hard that you had wondered at his not feeling it. This was before the maesters agreed to remove it from his person, and so the flesh was mottled grey and black from rot. “Do as you will, daughter. Far be it from me to dissuade you.”

Thus, the ravens had been sent to the Dragonkeepers residing on the ancestral isle of House Targaryen; the ship had been made ready; your retinue arranged; and you had been sent off on your first great journey.

The moment you step foot upon the shore in the low light of early evening, you hear it. You feel it. Like a rattling in the core of your bones, or an unearthly siren song catching faintly on the wind. It is not a sound, though, nor a sensation that you can describe in any language you know. All that you are sure of is that there is something here, something… expecting you.

Come, it says. I am waiting.

The Keepers linger past the shoreline, scarcely a stone’s throw away. “Urnēbās, darilaros!” one says, eyes darting nervously about. Be watchful, Princess! “Va īlō Zōbrios issa.” The Dark One is near.

“The Dark One?” you ask, frowning. “Who is that?”

Septa Marlow’s face pales so starkly that she looks like she has applied paints to her skin. She seems entirely distasteful of the island itself, a curl to her lip that she only gets when seeing or hearing something she does not like. Meanwhile, Ser Criston’s fist tightens on the grip of his sheathed sword. He too glances around, tracking the skies like a shadowy shape will make its appearance at any moment. He seems familiar with the name.

It must be a dragon, you think. Very few living creatures reside upon the island, save for those that had been introduced by your blood long ago. Dragons are the only wild things that can weather such inhospitable climes.

The Keeper leans in. “The Cannibal.” He shivers. “He is most wroth as of late. Beware of the beaches—too many of our Order have been lost to his appetites.”

The Cannibal. It is a story you have heard only when one had sought to frighten you—that of a winged beast so monstrous that not even his own kind would endure him. A creature so malevolent that he found his joy through death and destruction, ripping apart the younger members of his species so thoroughly that, at times, it was as though blood rained down from the heavens. The Cannibal, a being so malignant that any man who attempted to ride him had vanished cleanly from the face of the earth, consumed whole or left to rot away in some deep, dank pit below the mountainous terrain.

And yet—for all his supposed cruelties—no cities, no villages, no lands have been brought to waste beneath his flames. It is the one part of those tales that had never made sense to you. If he were as awful as that, surely there would be no one and nothing safe from him?

“Let us not waste our time, then,” Ser Criston says firmly, hand pressed between your shoulders to spur you onward. The weight of it grounds you in the present. He turns to bark orders at the attendants making their way ashore. “To the Keep!”

You are taken past the Great Hall, catching a glimpse of the Painted Table on your way to a smaller chamber. You know the name of Aegon I’s table is not quite correct; that it is made mostly of wood and rock, and that the rock itself is what Ser Lysan has told you is thermoluminescent, ‘thermo’ meaning heat and ‘luminescent’ meaning light. The table glows like lava when you ignite the candles below it, casting the great map of Westeros into fire. You should very much like to see it. But this visit is not to take in the sights of your family’s seat.

Much to the Keepers’ confusion and consternation, you reject the offer to examine the eggs they have concealed within the hatchery. Or rather, you feel that the eggs would reject you if you should try to seek your companion in one. It is difficult to explain even in your own mind, so you make no attempt at voicing these thoughts—these almost-whispers at the back of your mind, like a soft brush of fingers at the base of your skull.

Septa Marlow huffs her displeasure. “This is most unbecoming of you, Princess. You ought to know better than to refuse a gift such as this.”

‘They are not for me,’ you want to say. ‘The thought of them does not rouse me.’

You know not why you feel certain of this—that the mere prospect should stir you beyond simple anticipation. But it is as though you have always known this, for you do not find yourself disappointed by the missed opportunity nor by the censure.

A faint recollection sparks from your earliest youth, an old fear of what should occur if an egg comes into your possession and refuses to hatch, turning to stone over years and years. You do not wish for such a future. No; it is for the best that the eggs are left for another. Another time, another day, another person. Perhaps when it comes time to have your own children, you will revisit the notion.

To make matters even more complicated, however, there are no hatchlings upon the isle. It is what you had counted on all this time, but it seems that this is not to be, either.

“Zōbrios pōnte iprattas,” Acolyte Zūgis tells you, wringing his hands for good measure. The Dark One ate them all.

What a nervous man, you think. Since meeting him on the beach, he has been continuously anxious, ready to jump clear out of his skin at the slightest disturbance. You wonder if his path is best suited to Dragonkeeping if he is so afraid of it.

“Pōntālosa sikagon kostis, yn jēdraro toliot dorolviktys se dorolviktys sittaksi.” His mouth twists. Sometimes they hatch by themselves… but that has become rarer and rarer over the years. Your stomach twists at this. There was once a time where dragons hatched aplenty upon the isle. No more, it seems. “Vermithor dārligon kostā, darilaros. Yn uēpys issa se zaldrīzāeksio bōso jēdo syt mijetas. Qopsa kessa, se avy hinikilāks.”

You can try to claim Vermithor, Princess, he concludes. But he is old and has long since been without a rider. It will be difficult, and dangerous.

Neither Septa Marlow nor Ser Criston understand High Valyrian—but the name Vermithor agitates them nonetheless.

“A dragon of such size and stature is not appropriate for a well-bred lady,” Septa exclaims, fingers like claws clasped together before her. “What of Silverwing? Good Queen Alysanne’s mount? Does it not reside here? ‘Tis far more suitable beast.”

The Keeper shakes his head. “We believe Silverwing is gravid. She has shown much aggression as of late. The last of us to attempt approach…” The silence that hangs at the end of the sentence leaves no mistaking his meaning. He clears his throat. “Well. It is far too perilous at present. Vermithor is the Princess’s best option.”

“The Princess is a child,” Ser Criston says, expression flat and eyes flinty. “Vermithor is a dragon of war. I am sorry, Princess”—he kneels before you, angling his head up so he can look directly at you, and one hand folds around your elbow—“but I cannot let you risk yourself so.”

You know what you are being told, albeit in a roundabout way. The despair renders you mute. What am I to do? What am I to do? You nod, an agreement to your sworn shield’s words, though your heart is scarcely in it.

“Perhaps on the morrow,” the Keeper says, “we may… reattempt with the eggs, then. We have several, though they have been kept for some years now.”

Ser Criston makes his agreements to Acolyte Zūgis, entering into discussion with him and Septa Marlow as to the following day’s schedule. None of them so much as turn their faces to include you, despite the fact that you are central to their plans.

While they talk, another thought comes to mind. You wonder why none have so much as dared to broach another possibility—that there are three wild dragons upon the isle. Silverwing and Vermithor are not your only options.

Sleep is hard to come by, that same, pulsing sensation tingling through your limbs and keeping you awake.

Come, it seems to say. I am waiting.

You rise before the sun comes up. Septa Marlow is likely to be awake at this time, but she will not venture your way until the skies are bathed in light. Ser Criston does not begin his shift until an hour after you rise; his replacement is usually whomever can be spared.

It is even easier than usual to make your escape.

Dragonstone is an old fortress, and so there are a great many secret passages winding between rooms. You need only to check behind the tapestry along the inner wall to determine that an opening has been concealed. Brandishing the candle from your bedside, you slip into the looming maw that awaits.

Inside, it smells of damp and salt, and you can hear a faint, steady drip. It continues no matter which direction your feet take you, and you feel your breath stream from your mouth and nose in a cloud of warmth that gives the skin of your face and neck momentary respite from the wintry chill. The walls are rough-hewn, made for function rather than appeal, so you are careful where you place your hands.

Because you are so unfamiliar with the layout, you wander for what seems an age before you finally surface upon the outdoors, a dim glow emanating from between metal grates at the end of a dark tunnel. The hinges squeak shrilly as you push them open, shutting behind you with a clang. Your slippered feet sink into the sand upon the beach.

You do not know where you are headed—to find Vermithor or Silverwing, to find one of the wild ones, or simply to wander. All you know is that one of them is calling to you through the magic of old, the magic that ’Nyra and Papa have always said lives in the blood of the Targaryen line. It is how Papa knew that he was destined to be Balerion’s last rider. It is how ’Nyra found the courage to mount Syrax when she was so young. You feel it now, singing in your blood as it has since you crossed into the shallows surrounding the island.

Come and find me, it says. I am waiting.

You trudge along the beach, allowing the sand to sink into the opening of your shoes, to fill the small spaces between shoe and skin with stinging grit that collects between your toes and rubs to rawness. The wind whips at your hair and your robe—you did not bother to change from your evening wear—and the sound of the waves crash like thunder.

You walk. And, as you walk, you wait for the purpose to reveal itself, a part of you hoping that whomever you are meant to claim will find you.

You ought to be more careful of what you wish.

A dark shape swoops across the sky above you, casting you even further into shadow, and you hear the rumble of something powerful. The beat of its wings is great enough to be heard from a distance, you think, and stirs up the sand before you into a cloud of dirt and dust. The beast growls, deep and terrifying, raising the hairs on the back of your neck.

It lands ahead.

Oh, no. Oh, no.

The Cannibal.

He is enormous, far greater in size than Syrax, than Caraxes, than any dragon you have ever seen or read about. His scales are black—no—blacker than black, the complete absence of colour or brightness, and each muscle honed from years upon years of eking out his existence ripple below the skin. His lips peel back, exposing at least two rows of sharp, jagged teeth. Perfect for tearing me to bits, your mind supplies in your panic. His stocky frame hunches low, claws sunk into the sand, as though poised to attack, and he hisses, a rattling threat that fills you with the urge to run.

His eyes glow green. You feel it again.

Come. I am waiting.

What is it Ser Lysan said, again? If you want something, you must do whatever is in your power to achieve it.

Come. I am waiting.

It may be courage, it may be madness, but you are moving onward before you realise it. The dragon hisses again as you approach, and any moment you expect to be bathed in dragonfire or snapped up in his almighty jaws, but your footsteps remain as rapid as your heartbeat.

The attack does not come. The fire does not come.

Something more is at play here. You may only be twelve summers, but this you know. A dragon as fierce as the Cannibal would never let a person so close as this under ordinary circumstances. Old magic thrums through the air, a tether forming between you and the form ahead. A bond. A claim.

You reach out a hand. Skin to scale. Heat that ought to burn courses through you, but you are safe. You feel his pulse, your pulse, pounding through dermis, reforming your own to match.

Your eyes well. “Gierior glaeson ñuhon avy rhaenagon jumptan,” you whisper. I have waited my whole life to meet you. In the rumble he releases, you think he must believe the same of you.

Dressed only in your nightgown, you make the climb up his wing. He lets you, chuffing irritably as you seek out the correct handholds and footholds to make your way up. It is entirely different from mounting Caraxes; this dragon is much, much larger, and so you are forced to actively coordinate your movements to ascend the perilous terrain. Still, there is enough of memory remaining to you of that day, years ago, that you can draw some reference from. You rely on those recollections to hoist yourself up. Finally, you are able to settle somewhat awkwardly between the blunted spikes below his neck.

From far off, you can hear faint voices. Atop the crest of the Cannibal’s shoulder, you look to the horizon. The sun has risen. The world is awake, which means that Ser Criston and Septa Marlow will be leading the search for their wayward princess.

It startles the dragon. Before you are ready—before you would even have dared to tell him to fly—he shifts, growling so deep that the vibrations buzz through your legs, your toes. You jostle where you have perched, gripping frantically to the spike in front of you as he sets off on a crawl that morphs to a run, building momentum to flap his wings up and up and up—

“Princess!” echoes through the breeze as you rise. Below, you see the forms of the guards, of Ser Criston, of Septa, growing smaller and smaller as the dragon—your dragon—takes to the air.

You keep hold of the Cannibal’s spike as he soars through the skies, letting the wind billow your hair about. It is both the same and so, so very different from your first flight. It is freezing up here, for one thing, and you can discern no sound but that of the air whistling so stridently in your ears that it is like a shriek, and the dragon below you is warm enough to keep the worst of the chill at bay. Your belly swoops and twists with each wingbeat, the momentum rocking you forward every time, but none of the discomfort is enough to tamp down the sheer exhilaration.

The Cannibal turns, revolving away from the distant line where sky and sea meet toward the island again. The change in direction gives you a momentary reprieve from the rush of air hindering all noise, and you hear something else.

Beneath your legs, beneath your skin, you feel it as the Cannibal bellows to the world, a roar that pierces the still of morning and announces to all that his wait is over. That he has claimed his rider, that you have claimed your mount—that you have done what no one else has been able to and emerged victorious.

That feeling—the one that has plagued you—has changed, you realise. You have found me, it seems to say.

Yes, you think, turning your head to admire the expanse of this creature, this being who is and was always meant to be yours. I have.

When you land, Ser Criston and Septa Marlow nearly shake you from your body with the force of their panic, their vexation, their “You do not ever run off like that, do you hear me, Princess?” and their “Just wait until your father hears of this!” They try to dissuade you from your course, but the Keepers wring their hands and mutter that the deed has been done; there is no unbinding what has been bound by the magic of old.

Still, their refrain is just as shocked, just as bewildered. “The Cannibal, Princess,” they say, shaking their heads. “The Cannibal…”

“No,” you reply. “His name is Athfiezar.”

Dothraki is fairly new to you, ‘tis true, for Ser Lysan did not agree to teach you until well into your acquaintance. And there is a certain irony in the choice; many a person will surely raise their brows in question of your use of such a savage tongue, which is rather best suited for a dragon of his reputation. But the word—the name, for he has long gone without one, and it seems only right that he should have something of his own, free of the censure of old—seems apt enough. Love. That pure, uncorrupted kind, the kind you think you have been searching for your whole life, the kind you find in small moments that are never, ever enough for the gaping maw that is your heart awaiting someone to fill it. You just know the Cannibal—Athfiezar—is a creature with a soul like yours. How long has he gone without love?

Never again, you think. Not with me.

You hold onto that thought as Papa rails at you upon seeing the hulking behemoth touch upon the top of the Dragonpit, heralding your return to King’s Landing.

“You could have died! What in the blazes were you thinking, girl?” he yells.

He has never yelled at you before, and perhaps you might have cried once, but you keep firm to the memory of Athfiezar’s eyes upon yours, the life palpitating through his immense form into yours like some sort of cycle, elemental, mysterious. No matter what Papa says, no matter how he says it, it is as the Keepers said. The deed is done.

The news spreads like wildfire, bringing with it a most unwelcome attention. For much of your life, you had been largely ignored by court and commons—now, with having claimed such a dragon for your own, many a considering eye falls upon you. Their thoughts are louder than if they spoke them: perhaps we have gotten the wrong measure of this one. Perhaps she is worth more notice than we had given her. Invitations to tea come to your door with a regularity that is almost predictable; and, maybe worse, many an enquiring lord approaches Papa with the pivotal question upon their lips: “When is she to be wed, Your Grace?”

Your mother was wed at eleven—it is not impossible that you should be given to some man to settle a treaty or forge an alliance in due course. It is your duty as Princess, after all. One day, yes; but not now. Besides, all they truly desire is the power you have suddenly amassed. They do not want you.

You retreat into yourself, using all the courtesies Septa had imbued into you like plate steel to shield yourself from the worst of it. Save for your two freedoms—your Ser Lysan and your boy, Athfiezar—you commit to being the most polite, the most recalcitrant, the most dull creature you can be. You help ’Nyra with her boys where you can, for a useful girl is best kept than discarded, and your sister is the heir which means her rule will someday be law. You take on two ladies, noblewomen from Houses in the Reach, in accordance with your stepmother’s wishes. You try your very best to devote time to each, spreading yourself between what is rapidly developing into entirely separate factions in the Keep—the Princess and the Queen, the Blacks and the Greens, or so they are called. Such silly names, you think. And, over time, it all becomes less performative and more intrinsic. Your propriety is your defence, and you use it well.

But it will not last forever. One day—one day soon—you will be called in by Papa. You will be told that your life is no longer to be your own, but passed on into the care of a man you will call husband. You will be asked to choose he who will be your master, he who will use your womb to give his House sons and daughters of royal blood, and you will be expected to be glad for the opportunity to make the decision, that it was not taken out of your hands entirely.

You wait for the day, spending what evening hours you can in the Sept entreating the gods for their intercession. Please, you think, on your knees before an effigy of the Maiden. Please. Deliver to me a husband who will love me as I am.

You wait, you hold your breath, and you pray.

“The claiming of the Cannibal came as a great shock to the Realm, not least because of she who had claimed him. King Viserys’s younger daughter by his late Queen Aemma Arryn was by all accounts a diffident, well-mannered girl most unlike her elder sister… Several parties were of the view that the Princess ought to be wed quickly to keep her mighty mount out of the hands of those considered less than desirable. However, it was not until the year of 126 A.C. that the King finally consented to the courtship of the girl, with many a man seeking her hand. Of those suitors, only three were truly deemed worthy—Lord Jason of House Lannister, Lord Denys of House Tyrell, and the Princess’s own half-brother, the Prince Aegon.”

- 'Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros' by Archmaester Gyldayn

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sunny44 · 11 months

Text

Surprise

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x mom!wife! Reader

Warnings: just fluff

Summary: Surprising Lewis with little Hamilton’s first time in the paddock.

Lewis and I met in Spain when we were on vacation.

I was on vacation from my job and he was on summer break and by some kind of miracle we met in a bar.

I was alone drinking while my friends were dancing, I was excited that we were going to go out until minutes before my ex-boyfriend had the courage to send me an invitation to his wedding with the woman he cheated on me with.

My mother had sent me a message warning me because the address he knew was the address of my parents' house.

So this let me down completely.

Not that I was still in love with that idiot, far from it, but the fact that he had the courage to invite me made me realize that I have spent three years of my life with that person who didn't even deserve one month of my time.

And that's when Lewis showed up, I guess the fact that he found a sad woman in a bar, drinking alone on a Friday night caught his attention.

That's when we started talking and I as a person completely uninterested in any kind of sport didn’t knew who he was, in fact I only found out months later that we were already talking.

He didn't hide who he was, in fact he told me both his name and what he did, but he didn't specify that he was a formula 1 driver and that he was one of the best ones that existed.

We exchanged numbers and talked for months until he was in England for a race and invited me to go, this was when I fell in love with the sport but also where I realized how much damage it would do to my life just to be seen with him.

People found my social medias which at the time were bombarded with horrible comments about me and my appearance and that it was impossible for him to be with a person like me.

It was then where I became terrified and distanced myself a bit from him because of this. After much insistence he managed to convince me to go out to dinner with him.

That same night he was honest with me, that if we decided to try to have a relationship unfortunately it would be like that, people hating me without even knowing me and telling lies about me.

In other circumstances I would have walked away because this life of being known was not for me, I liked being unknown to the public eye and that the amount of people who would judge me would be less than being the girlfriend of the most famous Formula One driver.

But I knew that if I didn't take the risk I would miss out on one of the best things that would happen in my life, and now I'm sure I would have regretted it.

Lewis and I have been together for 5 years now, and every day I realize how much in love with him I am.

The first years of our relationship were very hectic, the weeks away for races and events, the thousands of messages exchanged during the day and FaceTime calls at night, and those were also the most complicated years of the relationship.

It was like a test, a test to know if the relationship would survive the thousands of lies about betrayal from both parts, the manipulated photos to look like things that weren’t true, the nights of crying and tears for not knowing what to believe even though we were absolutely sure that everything was just a big lie.

I'm sure these years were essential for both of us to learn to trust each other.

——————

It was the weekend of the Silverstone GP and I had lied to Lewis that I couldn't go because I had a lot of work to do, but in fact here was Luke and I in the car heading to the track.

Lucas Hamilton was our 3 year old son. This would be his father's first race that he would be watching straight from the garage.

When we found out that I was pregnant, we agreed that above all, Luke would be preserved from the toxicity of the internet. His fans knew that he existed and also knew his name because when he was born we thought it was only fair that the fans knew about him from us and not from the paparazzi, but they had never seen more than a small body in the pictures we posted.

Lewis had already shown interest in taking the little one to watch him race but I still didn't feel comfortable about showing him to the world, but I knew how much he wanted me to go this weekend and I also knew how upset he was that I couldn't go.

So nothing better than to surprise him with our presence plus Luke's first time.

Toto had helped me with the plan, sent me the paddock passes and let the security guards know that I would be here.

I got out of the car, I put the paddock passes on mine and Luke’s neck and carefully pulled him out of the car.

"Where's daddy?" He asks as soon as I lock the car and we start walking towards the paddock.

"We're going to go see him now okay?" He agrees and takes my hand again as soon as we enter the paddock

As soon as they recognized me the cameras all turned to me and with Lewis Hamilton's faceless son along it was as if the photographers multiplied.

As we were getting close to the garage, Lewis was coming out of it with Roscoe along with him and as soon as Luke saw him he let go of my hand and came out screaming.

"Daddy." Lewis recognized that little voice on and he opened the most beautiful smile as soon as he saw his son running up to him, even Roscoe started barking.

"Hey buddy." He bent down and picked him up on his hip. "What are you doing here?"

"Me and mommy came to see you." He says excitedly and soon he sees me. "I missed you daddy."

"I missed you too buddy." Just then the three of them come toward me. "You said you were going to work."

"I lied, I wanted to surprise you."

"You sure surprised me." He gives me a kiss.

"It's bad to lie mommy."

"It really is, isn’t." Lewis says in a teasing tone. "We're going to have to ground Mommy."

"That's right."

"Are you taking your father's side?" He agrees.

Luke was definitely a daddy's boy, besides being an exact copy of Lewis, even more now that he’s bigger, the only thing that’s the same as me is the eyes, Lewis has dark eyes and mine’s are green.

"Daddy can I sit in your car?"

"Of course you can, let’s ask uncle Toto to give you some gloves too, come on."

We pulled into the garage where Lewis put Luke into the car, after we were together for a while Lewis had to go because the race was going to start and when he won we ran to the front of the podium where as soon as he jump out of the car he came running over to where we were.

And I could have sworn that this race was the most special one for him.

Bonus scene!

Y/nhamilton instagram post

Liked by @lewishamilton, @anthonyhamilton, @mercedesf1, @sebastianvettel and others 91939

Y/nhamilton The best Weekend we had in a long time. Me and Luke had the best time here in Silverstone and there’s nothing better than an F1 race, specially when daddy win the race.

Thanks to everyone that came to support my husband, Lewis and our family really appreciate the love.

Tagged: @lewishamilton

LewisHamilton thanks for everything, you are the best mama and I’m so lucky to have you. Thanks for bringing our baby boy to the race.

Y/nhamilton we love you so much

Sebastianvettel so nice to see the two of you this weekend, beautiful family

Y/nhamilton thank you Seb, we have to plan a meeting with the kids

Yourmom miss you guys so much, the three of you have to come visit. He also looks a lot like Lewis.

Liked by LewisHamilton and y/nhamilton

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whyse7vn · 2 months

Text

KIM NAMJOON

RANDOM 01:

!gc namjoon who has never experienced peace since joining the group

!gc namjoon who feels like being in the group has aged him 50 years

!gc namjoon who despite this would rather drop dead than have not met all of you

!gc namjoon who knows every single member like that back of his hand

!gc namjoon who often worries his members find him boring

!gc namjoon who forced everyone to download life 360 while on tour because you all wouldn’t stop getting lost and it was stressing him out

!gc namjoon who has a fun fact about everything like fr everything its kinda crazy

!gc namjoon who still to this day checks the life 360 app (that thank god none of you have deleted) every morning afternoon and night to make sure everyone is safe

!gc namjoon who has now reconsidered his position on having kids if parenthood is anything like looking after his members you can count him out actually!

!gc namjoon who on one random night in 2017 went to an equally random art gallery on his own “impulsively” and definitely NOT because you briefly mentioned you needed “artsy guy” in your life

!gc namjoon who after the “impulsive” art gallery trip which he actually did enjoy way more than he expected to seemed to have a complete personality shift finding interest and beauty in the smaller and simpler things in life

!gc namjoon who won’t admit this out loud but one of the reasons he hasn’t learnt how to drive yet is because he enjoys the fact that you drive him everywhere, you’ve even given him the silly little nickname of “number one passenger princess” that makes him feel all giddy inside

!gc namjoon who always puts his members first

!gc namjoon who wouldn’t of minded having you as his roommate but when 21 year old jungkook came to him all puppy eyed and nervous asking namjoon if you would like the idea of living with him all joon could do was smile “that’s a great idea kook! i’m sure she’d love it”

!gc namjoon the most patient man you know

!gc namjoon who buys you flowers for every single major holiday without a fail

!gc namjoon who once set you and jungkook’s kitchen on fire

!gc namjoon who has almost asked you to be his girlfriend a total of 5 times so far

!gc namjoon a true gentleman and romantic at heart

!gc namjoon who gets so upset when you refer to him as RM whether it’s a joke or work related it’s joon to you always and forever

!gc namjoon who for every piece of artwork in his home from paintings to poem books can relate said artwork to one of his members, he finds comfort in collecting pieces that remind him of his favourite people

!gc namjoon who genuinely freaks out if the group chat isn’t active at least once everyday

!gc namjoon who went through a really intense gym phase and would genuinely force all his members to wake up at 6 am and go on runs with him. however the whole group run thing only ended up lasting around 3 days turns out yoongi is really not a morning person and jimin surprisingly was (at the time) and that does not mix well !! long story short yoongi punched the shit out of jimin while tae recorded, you and jin laughed, hoseok was on the brink of passing out, jungkook was crying… for some reason? and namjoon was stressed safe to say group runs or work outs never happened again after that and namjoons intense gym bro lifestyle slowly mellowed itself out

!gc namjoon the groups designated decision maker no matter how small all large the issue what joon decides is right and final an unspoken agreement between the members

!gc namjoon who often wonders how you all put so much trust in his words and decisions honestly it scares him a little a LOT

!gc namjoon who hates boba

!gc namjoon who allows you to meal prep for him, he thanks the lord you do this for him actually saving him from having to cook for himself most days

!gc namjoon who is really good a board games

!gc namjoon who talks in his sleep

!gc namjoon who is quite a traditional man

!gc namjoon who doesn’t believe in hookup culture, flings and friend’s with benefits

!gc namjoon who prefers cute dates, long walks and sharing interests

yet !gc namjoon who lets you lead him into an empty room away from the obnoxiously loud party thrown for jungkooks 24th(?) birthday

!gc namjoon who from then on lets you steal kisses from him

moments with him

!gc namjoon who doesn’t believe in “casual”

!gc namjoon who can’t do “casual”

!gc namjoon who is aware of his feelings and of everyone’s feelings

!gc namjoon who knows his members like the back of his hand

he knows their realising their own feelings

each others too

he knows jaehyun was a wake up call not just to him but to everyone

!gc namjoon who knows he’s running out of time

!gc namjoon who wishes he was selfish

wishes he was an asshole

a self serving piece of shit

who wishes he could just shout from the rooftops how utterly obsessed and fuck he’ll admit it at this point in love with you he is

he wishes that he could love you without hurting others

!gc namjoon who has become a casual in your life

a casual kiss

a casual fuck

a casual dinner

casual moments

!gc namjoon who has become accustomed to being your romantic casual because despite initially not believing in the concept namjoon is more than willing to throw away all his morals and beliefs if it means he gets to have you hold him for a night, kiss him for a night, be with him for a night

namjoon is willing to do pretty much anything and everything to be a part of your life, a temporary go to, name it and he’ll fill that role no questions asked

kim namjoon is willing to be

your casual.

—

tags: @piw6n @92jinnies @birdie-vhs @kooksmilitarywife @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @leleluvsbts @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @jazminethecreator @k4ngelz @jmnscutie @sopebubbles-replies @cynicalyoongs @lightningpussy54 @eunthv @gigiiiiislife @lowkeykin @elissasimp

#bts crack #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts text #bts x y/n #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x reader #bts fic #namjoon × reader #namjoon x y/n #rm x reader #rm x y/n #!gc namjoon #gc offline #kim namjoon

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biconickyoshi · 2 months

Text

Okay y’all… I was very critical of eps 3 & 4 (especially 4) of NAtLA. Then all of a sudden eps 5 & 6 kinda slapped me in the face with how much better the show suddenly got.

Spoiler-free thoughts first:

Zuko, Iroh, and Aang have cemented themselves as the best parts about this adaptation - which is really funny considering I’m currently writing a longfic AU where Zuko and Iroh discover Aang in the iceberg right after Zuko is banished at age 13 and end up becoming the first members of the Gaang (albeit reluctantly at first lol). Episode 6: “Masks” (the Blue Spirit adaptation) was so good, I’d venture to say that it actually improved and fleshed out some things from the original series.

Episode 5: “Spirited Away”, while not as good as E6, was not as bad as I heard people say it was going to be. I think that the changes they did make didn’t bother me nearly as much as the changes they made in the last episode, and it was actually entertaining.

There were several scenes that made me cry in both of these episodes (moreso in episode 6, which I’ll get into further down in the spoiler section). These are the scenes that I feel like really tapped into the heart of the original show rather than feeling like a soulless remake.

Now for my in-depth thoughts (INCLUDES SPOILERS):

EP 5: “Spirited Away”

- Staring out, I was bummed because I had just rewatched the first two eps of the original animated series lol.

- It was an interesting choice to have all three members of the Gaang get stuck in the Spirit World, but I think it worked.

- Wan Shi Tong just showing up randomly was a bit unnecessary, but I suppose it will be kinda interesting to see him again in S2 since he’s already met the Gaang

- Hei Bai plays a much smaller role in these eps, but I strangely didn’t mind that either?

- Seeing Katara’s last memory with her mom was devastating, especially the fact that she had to witness her death and hide in the igloo with Kya’s charred body :(( she definitely has severe PTSD.

- Even Sokka’s memory made me tear up a bit

- Koh being the villain and a soul-eater or whatever was a bit of an odd choice, but I guess I can see why they did it. I do prefer him just being an asshole who steals ppl’s faces lol

- Appreciated the Fog of Lost Souls reference from the LoK lore

- Aang reuniting with Gyatso made me cry. I know some people didn’t like him being in the Spirit World, but I really liked it. Also, the fact that Gyatso was the first person to tell Aang that it wasn’t his fault the Air Nomads died, and that if he had been there he would have died too? THANK YOU! My poor boy has been berated enough for “abandoning” the world.

- We got some interesting lore about the afterlife for humans from Gyatso and Aang’s convo, which we’ve never gotten in AtLA media before. Idk if it’s just for Air Nomads, but Aang mentions that Gyatso stayed behind instead of “seeking enlightenment”. I know that the end goal in Buddhism is to reincarnate until you eventually achieve nirvana, so I wonder if that’s what they were alluding to (I’m not an expert on religions so pls correct me if I’m wrong)

- Oh yeah, I forgot June is here lmao. As a queer person I loved her (bc beautiful goth woman) but I didn’t like the weird choice to make her hit on Iroh - I guess to contrast the Iroh being creepy towards her thing in the OG series. I wish they would have just had them interact normally tbh, no weird “flirting”

EP 6: “Masks”

- Here we go y’all. The best episode in the show so far and probably the best the show is gonna get this season. I’m still pretty shocked at how good this one was.

- I think the decision to include flashbacks to Zuko’s Agni Kai was a good decision here. It felt like an appropriate episode for them and the flashbacks were very well done.

- In general, Dallas is doing a phenomenal job at portraying a Zuko who is angry and aggressive, yes, but also so very sweet and compassionate at his core. I love when little inklings of his true self shine through.

- Roku was… not what I expected. He was very much more of a lighthearted and jokey person… I didn’t hate it, it was just unexpected lol. I wonder if they did that to contrast him with Kyoshi. Which, speaking of, I’m glad Roku clarified that Aang doesn’t just need to be a merciless warrior (and that he didn’t berate Aang for “abandoning” the world like she did). But I still am annoyed about the mischaracterization of Kyoshi in general.

- RIP Shyu :/

- Thought it was kind of strange how June captures Aang at Roku’s temple lol. Like how did she get on and off the island??

- Zhao continues to feel like a completely different character to me lmao. I think this version is pretty funny, but it’s so weird to see Zhao being portrayed as so goofy and incompetent when he was such an intimidating force and the main villain of Book 1 in the OG series. Just a weird direction they went with his character.

- The Yuyan archers look cool as fuck. 10/10 no notes

- Still not sure how I feel about Azula already being this insecure and jealous of Zuko. I think it makes her feel a bit more realistically like a child, but the whole point of Azula’s character is that she is really good at maintaining this cool and calm persona on the surface, which she uses to scare and manipulate people. I can see her maybe getting to a point later on to where she hardens herself into that though. We’ll see.

- Baby Zuko asking Iroh how he looks and his little smile 😭😭😭😭 I had a physical “aww” reaction to that. THAT’S MY SON (me and Iroh shouting in unison)

- War Room scene was handled very well. No complaints. I like how Ozai tried to test Zuko with battle strategies.

- Blue Spirit break out scene was extremely close to the original, and it was really good. They adapted it almost shot for shot with all the important parts.

- Here’s probably my favorite part of the episode: Zuko and Aang’s talk inside the abandoned house after they escape from Pohuai!!!!!! Gahhhh I could gush about this scene all day. I love how they expanded it to be an actual friendly conversation between Aang and Zuko. Like we get to see Zuko’s true self coming through - the sweet, kind boy we know he is. Zuko and Aang just have such great chemistry as well, wayyy more than Aang has with either Sokka or Katara. Like I adored them bonding over painting and caligraphy!!! I think this is the best acting we’ve seen from Gordon so far, and Dallas did a phenomenal job switching back to that hurt, angry version of himself (of course a trauma response). And the fact that Aang said “sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you” when he blocked Zuko’s firebending attack??? My sweet boy 😭

- The final flashback to the Agni Kai was really well done too. I’d already heard Zuko fights back, which I wasn’t sure I’d like, but I actually didn’t mind it. I really liked that they showed Zuko’s hesitation whenever he did actually have an opening, and that was what angered Ozai the most - Zuko showing compassion, “weakness”. Daniel Dae Kim is of course doing a phenomenal job (no surprises there), and I really liked that Iroh actually attempted to stop Ozai at one point. It also looked like young Azula had tears in her eyes, which I again actually liked because it humanizes her.

- I loved that Aang was still there when Zuko woke up on the boat 😭 he wanted to make sure he was okay!! I full on started crying when we got the “do you think we could have been friends too?” lines from him. Again, Gordon killed it. I love how you can tell that Aang knows Zuko has been hurt and that’s why he acts the way he does. He doesn’t blame him for any of it. 10/10

- the last flashback to Zuko in his bed recovering from the burn… god the tears just kept flowing. I really liked the choice to have Ozai almost give Zuko a chance to like… idk understand why he did what he did, and how compassion is “weak”?? And then Zuko’s response to give people a chance 😭😭😭 as if I couldn’t love him any more!!! And then of course Ozai gets pissed. But seeing baby Zuko just cry in his bed UGH I’m dehydrated at this point

- Of course I can’t finish this review without mentioning the 41st division. What an incredible way to expand upon the source material by making them Zuko’s crew!!! It shows just how much Zuko truly cares about others and it moved me so much (once again to tears).

I don’t have high hopes for the last two episodes, but honestly, if this is what the live action can be, it gives me a bit of hope (at least for future seasons). I really think that Dallas, Gordon, Paul, and Daniel were the stars of this ep and are a big part of what made it so good.

#atla #natla #netflix atla spoilers #natla spoilers #atla live action #avatar the last airbender netflix #avatar the last airbender #atla netflix #atla meta #natla meta #zuko #aang #iroh #ozai #zukaang

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cressthebest · 22 days

Text

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 3

chapter 5:

1. oooooo reg did the katniss thing with the dagger throwing and mock bow!! great start!

2. GOD the pain in this fic jfc. like, sirius knowing that he killed everyone in that arena for reg, in reg’s name. that fucking HURTS

3. GOD james just knows/thinks he’s gonna die, and is preparing for every moment with sirius to be his last

4. jfc james has always been like this. keeps reg’s hat in his drawer still. ten years later.

5. christ, okay, so he HAS always had a crush on regulus

6. OH and reg has always had a crush on james. this is wonderful news!!

7. awwww wolfstar is adorable. their awkward and blunt flirting is so them 😭😭

8. james rambling to remus for an hour just for funsies >>>>>>>>>

9. god i love that sirius and pandora acknowledge their privileges

10. LILY AND REMUS WERE BESTIES JUST LIKE THE GOOD LORD INTENDED

11. okay, god, just the humane treatment of remus by sirius should not have made my cry like it did. and the fact that remus is forcing himself to be comfortable around sirius is something that just completely and utterly destroys me

chapter 6:

1. god, this wolfstar is both slowburn and love at first sight

2. 🤢 rita skeeter

3. CHRIST regulus thinks no one loves him, but that is far from true

4. reg can cry on demand, and boy am i jealous of that ability

5. “James, on the other hand, looks like a spooked deer.” yes, yes, good. animagus reference

6. their constellation capes >>>>>>>>

7. DORLENE DORLENE DORLENE DORLENE DORLENE DORLENE DORLENE DORLENE DORLENE DORLENE DORLENE DORLENE

8. possessive remus should not be this hot

#lily mention!!!!!#marauders #fanfic #regulus black #ao3 #james potter #jegulus #crimson rivers #remus x sirius #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #dorlene

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withnofreetime · 2 months

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HETALIA ☆ WORLD STARS (514)

Germany/Japan: Este hombre está muerto, pero no le han avisado.

Translation notes at the end: ‘cuz I took a lot of “creative freedoms(?)” and sometimes I forgot the meaning of words (“kanji”). Warning: I don’t know Italian, German (my sister knows) and French (a bit). Bad words.

T/N:

Page 1.

"Fratellone", an informal way to say "Big brother".

Page 2.

"All roads lead to my house", probably Sir Hima was trying to emphasize the proverb: "All roads lead to Rome".

"Avoglia", has too many meanings and uses, but in this case is "Of course!"

"Stronzi", plural of "Stronzo", literal meaning is "t*rd".

Page 3.

"Clown", I wanted France to speak French, but… there's no point...

"Bastardo", "bast*ard".

Page 4.

"C'est bon?!", two things: 1) it means "It's okay?" and 2) the diavolic song "Bon Bon Bon / C'est Bon C'est Bon!

"Merci", "thanks".

"Je vous apprécie!", in France is not common to say "I love you", so this is the most similar (and not creepy) I could find (thanks to French people of Reddit).

Page 5.

"Italie", "Italy".

Page 6.

"The City of Light", is called that because it was the first city to use gas as a source of street lights.

Page 7.

"En conséquence", because of "La Déclaration des Droits de L'Homme et du Citoyen". (Joke)

"Vaffanculo", a bad word, with a different meaning than the literal translation: "F*ck you".

"German tourists", in 2019, more than 12 million Germans travelled to Italy, and they are by far the number one. Ironically, for France (2018) it is almost the same with approximately 12 million German tourists arrived, and more than 18 million (2019) spent more nights there (second place, tho Italy is 58 million).

"Oddio", "oh, god!"

Page 8.

"Na", german slang "Hey!" (??)

Page 9.

"Je suis vraiment très belle!", "I'm really so beautiful!"

"Merci beaucoup", "Thank you very much!"

"Vero", an agreement word.

Page 10.

"England smile", I had two theories:

1) The story that Italy, the genius, has it all figured out is true and England knows it, or...

2) It has something to do with the fact that France's most visited tourists are from the UK, so sharing/robbing France's credit for winning "alone"; but it's unlikely because I don't see the point with what Francis says below.

"Che palle!", used to indicated frustration or annoyance, don't want to write down the literal meaning.

Page 11.

"Pfui" is a German expression to show disgust.

"È inutile piangere sul latte versato", an Italian idiom that translates to: "No use crying over spilt milk".

"Nein", "No".

"All part of the plan–!?", I have faith in Italy.

Introduction.

"Este hombre está...", "This man is dead, but he hasn't been warned", my words towards Italy and France.

Is there a problem/error? Please say so!

#hetalia world stars #hws america #hws england #hws france #hws germany #hws italy #hws japan #japanese to english #english translation #hws canada #hws russia #hws china #just a peak unfortunately

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apompkwrites · 1 year

Text

the shroud experiments: results and findings || idia shroud

masterlist characters: idia & ortho (platonic) genre: angst contains: idia pov!!! (for the most part), probably ooc idia? never fully written for him before, death, unhealthy coping, mourning, self-hate, reader is described as thinner than before once (not indicative of weight/body size), blot creatures :DD summary: idia shroud, more than anything, wanted to be a good brother. oh, how far he was from being one. notes: i already apologized to y'all so no apology here :) nothing bad ever happens to the shrouds! /ref. anyway, can you believe that idia was the character i started with? look at how i treat my boy parts: [og post] | [the unwanted shroud (1)] | [the shroud experiments: pre-test (2)] | [the shroud experiments: testing (3)] | [the shroud experiments: results and findings (4)] | [the robotic shroud (5)]

idia loved his siblings with all of his mind, body, and soul.

there was the baby of the family, ortho. he remembered when he was brought home like it was yesterday. he wasn't a quiet child, but he didn't cry either. in fact, he giggled. he laughed and laughed, tugging at idia's hair and letting out more giggles as little sparks of fire flew at him.

and then there was (name), idia's first younger sibling. much like ortho, he could remember when they were brought home. they didn't laugh like ortho, but they didn't cry. when idia's parents first brought them home, bundled up in a plush blue blanket, they were sound asleep. they offered (name) over to idia, who, upon slowly taking his younger sibling into his arms, felt a rush of euphoria as they nuzzled into his hold.

that was the moment when idia found his purpose. his true calling in life. to live for them.

so when the incident happened... a part of him died alongside ortho. he remembered when his parents told him the news, ortho's body covered by a blanket just a few feet away. that was the last time idia left his room. he didn't dare leave, afraid of the little reminders of what was left of ortho.

he kept himself occupied, working day and night until he perfected ortho's reincarnation. no, not reincarnation. he could never compare the real ortho to his creation.

all idia cared for now was coping. he knew that his parents would not take care of him. they made that obvious the day after ortho's death. they dared not to check up on him, not even a knock on the door to confirm he was even still alive. radio silence from the both of them was what idia received, and soon it became what he expected of them.

he didn't mind that now, of course. there was no use trying to change his parents when their pride and joy was dead and buried six feet under the ground. he knew that the moment ortho died, all of their love for him and (name) died alongside him.

there were days when idia wondered how (name) was handling this. if he was destroyed over the news, he couldn't even imagine what it was like for them.

he remembered his parents chastising them when revealing ortho's death to idia. they would ramble on to each other under their breaths as if idia couldn't hear them. that was what stopped idia from asking about them.

he wanted to. he wanted to know what happened to (name) so badly because he couldn't stand the thought of losing both of his siblings in a single night. but before their name could even escape his trembling lips, he heard them.

"that wretched child" was what they called his lovely little sibling. they spit out the title like poison, describing the little baby that idia remembered holding in his arms that day, their chubby face hiding in his chest and their little hand grasping at his shirt.

that was when idia, in his overstimulated and grief-stricken mind, decided that he did not want to associate with them for the unforeseeable future. he couldn't stand talking to them when all he could think about was how they lost the baby and despised the other.

he felt bad, of course, for leaving (name) alone with them. but, at his age, there wasn't much he could do. at least, that's what he told himself.

he was just glad that, from what he saw on the cameras, they weren't being mistreated by them. in fact...

he never saw them leave their room at all.

they really were related, their habits coinciding almost identically. honestly, idia was surprised that their parents let them stay in their room. it wasn't like they had less power over them than they did idia, right? sure, he was meant to take over the organization when he was older, so they would naturally feel less obligated to take care of him.

(that was the reason they were so separated from him, right?)

but (name), as much as he loved them and meant it in the most positive and even envy-filled way possible, didn't amount to anything in terms of the organization. so why would they not be more hands-on in terms of parenting with them?

why were they mourning alone?

sometimes it would hit idia that maybe, just maybe, he should leave his room. not to interact with anyone else except for his little sibling. not once did he see them nor get to ask them how they were coping with the loss of ortho. and when those moments happened, idia would beat himself up over it.

what kind of older brother was he? what kind of older brother lets their little sibling wallow in the pain and trauma of watching their youngest brother die in front of them? what kind of older brother hides away in his room and lets them surround themselves in reminders of what had happened?

a lousy, sorry excuse for a brother, that's what.

he never did act on those innermost desires to leave his room. he never did act on those desires to comfort his little sibling.

and he hated himself for it. he couldn't do it and he hated himself.

what a worthless brother he turned out to be.

“idia! someone was in the hallway!”

ortho was the only one allowed in his room. maybe it was because idia didn't have the heart to tell him no. so it wasn't unusual for ortho to barge in, ranting on and on about something that happened outside his room.

"yeah? what'd they want?" idia was very quick to dismiss the idea of a staff member lingering in the halls, his attention settled on the gacha screen in front of him.

"huh? oh, nothing," ortho merely shrugged in response, fixing idia's room and picking up trash that had missed the trashcan. "it wasn't one of the staff."

now that got his attention. no one was supposed to be on this floor other than staff because idia sure as hell knew that his parents were not home. they never were so if it wasn't staff then...

"wait, who was outside, then?" idia had never moved as fast as he did just then, whirling around in his chair to face ortho. the sudden movement seemed to startle him as he stopped in his tracks, his hands still clutching a wrapper that had been on the floor.

"i didn't recognize them," ortho explained, dropping the wrapper in the trashcan. "that's why i came to tell you!"

"no way... there's no way," was all idia could mutter as he scrambled to close out the game and turn on the security cameras.

there was only one person that idia was sure ortho would not immediately recognize.

and when he scrubbed through the footage, idia's hypothesis was proven right. there, in the halls, just outside his room, was (name). for two years, he hadn't caught a glimpse of them outside their bedroom, let alone in the hallway. and yet, there they were!

and they were... oh gods, what had happened to them in those two years?

they were thinner than he remembered them being. did they eat enough? but that wasn't the worst of it. no, what was the worst was the fact that their body was trailing with blot.

it dripped from their clothes, most likely from the blot-covered body parts that were hidden underneath their baggy clothes. and because of that, they served as the only clue that someone had been down those halls.

idia didn't have to think twice about leaving his room the moment he saw (name) leaving their room. the urge to see his little sibling again after two years was overwhelming and much more convincing than the thoughts and feelings forcing idia inside his room.

even ortho was surprised to see how quickly idia opened the door.

what idia didn't expect to see when he followed the blot droplets was the fact that they led to the lower levels containing the blot monsters. what business did (name) have there?

a sudden sense of dread filled him the moment he stepped into the hall, the clamoring and wailing of the blot monsters sending a chill down his spine. even if he had seen them before, it took a bit for him to get used to them.

as he followed the droplets on the ground, he couldn't help but wonder... was this where (name) had been for the past two years? he hadn't seen them leave their room so maybe... maybe they weren't even in their room.

all he could think about now was apologies. he wanted so badly to apologize to them, beg for their forgiveness for leaving them for so long. for letting things get this bad. for making them mourn alone for so long.

for being the worst brother imaginable.

and that thought only echoed the moment his eyes landed on them. there they lay as if frozen in time. they didn't move at all, eerily similar to when they were first brought home.

except, they weren't even breathing. a faint flatline was all idia heard, cementing the fact that (name), his precious little sibling, the only one that was alive after the incident.

was dead.

soul transfer complete were the words that occupied your vision. soon, something popped up under it like a dropdown menu.

first objective: erase all research on soul transference and idia shroud's stolen blueprints.

it seemed as if there were more objectives, ones that would only unlock once you completed the first one. alongside them were little notes about your surroundings, most notably the blot creatures that were apparently rooming a few cells down. with that thought in mind, you got to work.

the notes were of higher priority, explaining why your creator listed it first in the two things that needed to be erased. the main issue was that they were in a notebook, material goods that needed to be destroyed without any trace of it so as to not be repaired through magic.

and so, the quickest way to ensure that they were left undiscovered was to give them to the blot creatures. the ones that, according to your creator, had an appetite for anything thrown in their cell.

and what better creature to give extra food to than the one that seemed to occupy its cell more than the rest? the little guide left behind by your creator came in handy as it pinpointed the exact cell that it was in.

what you didn't account for was the fact that it didn't take too kindly to you. maybe it was your appearance...

but, despite its unwelcoming aura, it gladly accepted the offering with no hesitation, gobbling up the notebook like it was nothing but a pill.

first objective: erase all research on soul transference and idia shroud's stolen blueprints.

the final remaining research resided in the screens that surrounded you in your creator's room. you were quick to erase the data, trying your best to ensure that no trace of it remained. what you, nor your creator, accounted for was them.

"no..." was all idia shroud could utter, his eyes first landing on your creator's abandoned body.

first objective: erase all research on soul transference and idia shroud's stolen blueprints - 75% complete

taglist: @brokenncrowns @help-meplz @destinationdesignation @rainys-personal-garden @kalims @sxftiebee @luxaryllis @auld-a @the-dumber-scaramouche @ayra2452008 @tinywho-man @spadecentral @justeclem44 @bajifairyy @mulandi @yleivs @randomlyappearingartist @meerpea @test-subject76

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland angst #twst angst #twisted wonderland idia #twisted wonderland idia x reader #twst idia #twst idia x reader #idia x reader #twisted wonderland idia shroud #twisted wonderland idia shroud x reader #twst idia shroud #twst idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x reader #black sheep

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britswriting · 8 months

Text

The Announcement | Quadruple The Love H.S

Follow Y/N + Harry's journey from being a family of two, to a family of six! Also know as, Harry + Y/N have quadruplets! This series will contain blurbs, social media posts, interviews and everything family + fame!

full masterlist qtl masterlist Read on Wattpad

harrystyles and ynstyles

•∘ ∘•

♡ liked by: annetwist, niallhoran, liampayne, and 3,765,874 others harrystyles: Been busy on break

annetwist: I can't wait!!

gemmastyles: I've already bought onesies 🙈💞

liampayne: Welcome to the club, mate!

ynstyles: You owe me £5 for not spilling the beans!

harryfan1: OMG WHAT

harryfan2: She said.. I'm having your baby! ↳ harryfan3: And it's ALL OF HIS BUSINESS OMG

harryfan4: Guys... we're getting dadrry. I repeat, we're getting dadrry!

ynstyles

•∘∘∘∘

•∘∘∘

∘∘•∘∘ ∘∘∘•∘ ∘∘∘∘•

ynstyles: First trimester diaries! 🍼 First things first, finding out your pregnant, at least.. when you're trying, is the best feeling ever!!!! Harry and I took so many photos and videos (far too personal to share, (See slide four to see me on the verge of screaming and crying over the fact that I'm pregnant lol) you see me cry enough as it is lol) and we sat on the bathroom floor in pure happiness and disbelief. (and a lot of concern on my end..) I couldn't stop looking at my stomach and bubbling nonsense to Harry as we began our true first steps into parenthood. (I'll eventually talk about our journey, but if you're new, it hasn't been an easy one💝) As we watched my stomach grow, we couldn't stop touching it! The idea of feeling a kick, or a flutter... or even just the thought of a baby inside of me; pure happiness. (Pst, Harry sleeps with his hand on my belly and it's my new favorite thing ever!!!! It's so cute!!!) For those wondering, Morning sickness is brutal. I'm already losing sleep, vomiting my guts even in the middle of the night and much to my dismay, awakening Harry every time I scurry to the bathroom. (If Harry looks extra tired on camera, I apologize! - he'll tell me off for this, shh!) Tiredness is unreal. I mean, I figured growing a human would be hard, but I'm convinced I'm asleep more than I am awake. I wake up, vomit, eat some crackers take my meds, sleep repeat. Ultrasounds are the craziest experience ever!! Harry and I lost our minds and Harry's soft smile when we saw the screen is burned in my brain forever. He's honestly already such a good husband but I know he's going to be an even better father! I honestly can't wait!! @harrystyles I love you so much! Thank you for making me a mumma <3

annetwist: Congrats! I'm excited to finally talk about it!

yourbff: I can't believe you didn't tell me for 3 weeks smh ↳ ynstyles: It was unbearable for me too!

comments on this post have been limited

"Love, staring at it won't make the line appear quicker" Harry tried to ease, his hand on my back as my eyes laser locked on the pregnancy test.

"The line has to show at some point!"

Harry snatched the test off the counter, my mouth a gape, ready to throw protest when he grabbed my hand and led me to sit down on the cold tile with him.

"Harry! Give me the test!" I whined, my tear ducts filling as the past couple months of worry begun to spill over.

"Y/N, babe, just sit down with me. We're dong this together, alright?"

I reluctantly sat next to him, Harry setting the test on his thigh, his right hand clasping my left as we stared down at it.

"What if it's just one line?" I asked softly, my biggest fear being vocalized once again.

"Then we'll try again" He repeated instantly, a singular tear rolling down my cheek.

"Harry, it's our sixth round in three years" I cried, my eyes squeezing shut as the emotion left glistening trails down my cheeks.

"Y/N, we don't have to do it again" He told me calmly his thumb rubbing against my knuckles, something he did frequently to quietly soothe me.

"You already know how I feel about adoption" I whimpered, guilt encasing my chest as I slowly opened my eyes, my blurred vision attempting to peak at the test.

"I know" He replied, not offering much else as he starred at the test.

"I'm a horrible person" I begin to cry again, taking my hand out of his as I covered my face.

"You're not a horrible person, y/n"

"What woman doesn't want to adopt, Harry?! We could! We could have already had a family! What kind of person is afraid too adopt?!"

"A person whose thought about every avenue. Y/N, it's perfectly normal to want what you want. Can you open your eyes please when I talk to you?" He asked, His green eyes were full of hope, my throat tightening as I glanced away. "Y/N" Harry warned, getting me to look back at him. "I know you're afraid of everything that comes with adoption, and if it's a huge fear of yours, whether it's that you won't love them the same, or they won't love you, or all of the separation issues you've read about.. it's just a different journey that we'd take together. We'd figure it out. You're not the first person to be nervous to adopt if that's a path we need to consider. However we start our family, is how we start our family. I know having a biological baby means a lot to you, but if that's not where life takes us, I think we both need to prepare ourselves to come to terms with that" He told me honestly, my lips pursed as I nodded.

It was true.

As horrific as it made me feel, I was afraid that if I adopted, I wouldn't love that child the same way I would my own. Maybe it was silly.. but my dream was to always have a baby of my own, and now that it's became an entire ordeal including medical professionals and obsessive calendar counting, I knew I needed to let my brain dance with the idea again... but could I really do that to a child? Bring them into this loving home.. and not love them the way they deserved? Would I ever view that baby as my own? Or would it feel more like a godparent babysitting situation?

IVF has been a rough path that Harry and I have walked down. One we didn't take lightly, and one we definitely probably over researched before even attempting such feat.. but with all the cons.. there were the pros.

So we tried, and we tried, an we tried.... and we gave up. Adoption maybe? Foster care? Surrogacy? Egg donors? There was a million routes.. but none of them felt like my dream. I wanted to have sex one night and wake up pregnant the next morning with my husbands child, and I struggle a lot with the fact that that isn't how it's happening.

It would be so easier if I could blame Harry, and his annoying sperm.. but the reality is, Harry is perfectly capiable impregnating someone.

I'm the problem.

Learning that you're supposed sole duty of a period every month wasn't even worth it... definitely landed me in some pretty intense therpary.

There has been more dark days than light for both Harry and I.

I'd be lying if I said divorce had never crossed our minds.

Things got bad, before they got good again and now here I sat next to him, wedding band on my finger as tears streamed down my cheeks, ready to be once again disappointed by my body.

"Can we just see what this test says and go from there, please?" I asked quietly, Harry nodding. "Can you look? My eyes are blurry"

I did my best to clear my vision when I heard the inhale of Harry's sharp breathing.

"What?" I asked, panic making my body tense. "What?!"

"It's two lines! Y/N! You're pregnant!" He practically yelled, my entire body stilling.

"What?"

"YOU'RE PREGNANT!" He yelled, scurrying off the floor, helping me up and yanking me into a hug and a kiss.

"Oh my god" I exhaled, my vison thankfully clearing as I snatched the test, seeing the two pink lines for myself.

"That has to be fake" was my immediate reaction as I held the test up to the light, the pink line darkening right in front of me. "Where is the clearblue one?" I asked Harry, Harry's arms wrapping around me, his palms resting against my stomach as I pulled open one of the drawers, finding my stash of pregnancy tests.

The drawer was probably my most opened drawer in the entire household; which meant it was also my most hated.

All it held was dreams and disappointment.

"Can you grab me a few water bottles, please?" I asked, setting the test aside as I opened one of the more expensive pregnancy test boxes.

"Baby, it's so dark" Harry showed me, crease lines between his brow as his dimples pops from the smile he had.

"I know, I know.. I just.. want to be sure. I need to pee again! Water, please!"

Three water bottles later, I found myself peeing on yet another stick and plopping the capped test onto toilets paper on our counter.

I hated waiting.

"Babe, are you going to look?" Harry asked, a goofy smile still on his face as he leaned against the door frame.

"What if the test was wrong?" I asked again eyeing the drugstore pregnancy test next to Harry.

"Baby, they're supposed to be one of the most accurate tests"

"But false positives are a thing!" I shouted, shaking my hands as I paced the space between the toilet and the bathtub.

"Y/N" Harry sighed, "I know you're worried, and we can make a doctors appointment to verify.. but baby, I think this is it. I think we've done it"

I hesitantly walked up to the counter, my eyes locked on my mess of a reflection in front of me before slowly finding the test.

"Oh my god" I exhaled, the bold "pregnant" staring back at me. "Harry!" I quickly showed the test, a smile starting to form at my lips as my eyes welled up with tears again, "I.. we're... oh my god!" I shrieked, jumping a little as I waved the test next to me.

I quickly pulled out my phone, the video shaky as ran over to Harry, kissing him before showing the test to the camera.

"We're pregnant!" I yelled out, Harry grinning as he leaned down to kiss me again, the video stopping and I turned to the camera, Harry snatching the drugstore test, both of us holding up the tests as we took countless photos before posting in the mirror, taking all sorts of different angles of my belly.

I can't believe we're pregnant.

"I told you you weren't fat" he chuckled as we inspected my bloated stomach.

"I'm fat with your baby!" I laughed, my hand running over the puffy skin. "God, I'm going to get more stretchmarks"

"Good thing you married a man who happens to love them" He pecked my cheek, his hands on my hips.

"We need to make a doctors appointment pronto and make sure these tests are correct" I informed, setting the plastic test on the counter.

"Baby..."

"I know, I know! I just.. I want to be sure, okay?"

"I know. I love you no matter what, but I really think this time.. this time is it"

🍼

Hello! I've had this idea for a while, and I thought it would be fun to make kind of an open ending series? Meaning we can work on this for as long as we want! From finding out, to their birth, and just watching them grow up! If you have any requests, feel free to ask! I don't plan on posting them in order (like birth, growing up etc), but I will have them posted in (hopefully) chronological order in the masterlist!

Feel free to leave requests in the comments or on my ask via my profile!

If you have any baby names, let me know! I have the sex's picked out, but not the names!

I wanted to make this longer, but Tumblr has a 10 photo limit so...

I'm hoping as I get into it, I can write the blurbs better, just with their storyline, it was a bit hard to make it very happy and fluffy lol.

Welcome to my Quadruplet series! (I might post it on wattpad, I'll update the masterlist with a link if it is!!)

pst. my little circles won't stay where I want them to, if you know how to fix that lmk, otherwise we can both be annoyed together!

-Brit <3

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