#i went from fine with robert to being abandoned by robert to do you think luce is cute cause i think hes cute | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thesunisatangerine · 7 months

Text

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part three

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 3.4k

You woke again nearing midday and, as expected, Ale was nowhere to be found. If it weren’t for the still sensitive marks that she left on your neck and the soreness between your thighs, you would’ve thought it was all a pleasant dream. Something on your nightstand caught your eye as you stretched and when you picked it up, all the remaining doubt shattered.

On the piece of paper was a phone number with a little note that said ‘text me?’ and you couldn’t help the grin that made its way to your lips at the drawn smiley face at the end of it. You picked your phone up, added her to your contacts and sent her a hello-it’s-me text, noted the notification of an email from Derek, and then you got out of bed to get ready for the day.

When you returned to the bedroom from your shower, a message from Ale was waiting for you.

‘Hey, good morning! Listen, as much as I’d love to… have fun with you again, I can’t see you the next few days.’

You laughed at the varying degrees of sad emojis that superseded her text. Then you messaged her back.

‘That’s fine. Just text me when you’re free. And you already know where I am so…’

You abandoned your phone after that in favor of your laptop as you remembered Derek’s email. Upon opening your mail, you found it immediately.

‘Good news. Robert sealed a deal with a client and they want you to follow FC Barcelona in their Liga F campaign this season. We got 5 match passes so far–Robert believes that the client might be inclined to commission for more photos depending on how the club progresses throughout the season.

Find the passes in the attachment as well as the in-depth commission details but in short, apart from the customary team photos, they want photos of the following players prioritised in order: Alexia Putellas, Maria ‘Mapi’ Leon, and Caroline Graham Hansen. I’ll leave the research to you.

On an informal note, the window to decline is still open. As previously discussed, you don’t have to do this. Let me know what you decide as soon as possible.’

You checked the attached files and sure enough, you found the passes for Barcelona’s matches against the following clubs: Real Madrid, Roma, Alhama, Atletico Madrid, and Sporting Huelva. You noted the date for the one against Real Madrid–it was in a couple of days, the same one Ale suggested and a thrill of excitement went down your spine at the thought of possibly seeing her again. Maybe you should message her to let her know that you were going.

You sent a confirmation to Derek before you created a new tab to begin your research. ‘Alexia Putellas’, you typed and hit enter. When the results came back, you stilled.

You blinked.

Then you blinked again.

Of all the places you’d expect to find Ale’s face, a search result about a professional football player was the last thing you could think of. But memories flashed unbidden through your mind: the exclusive night club, Ale’s vague answer about her job, the way her eyes shone whenever you mentioned sports or football, her reflexes, her physique, Ale… Alexia–it all made sense now.

Groaning, you put your face in your hands as your cheeks and ears burnt from the embarrassment that flooded your veins. Oh, how dense could you get! She must’d thought you ignorant for not knowing who she was. Foolish!

But then again… if she didn’t get a kick out of you not knowing, why did she allow the second time to happen? And why promise a third? The thought calmed you down enough to decide not to text Ale–no, Alexia–about this like you’d originally planned especially since you were most likely going to see her at the game anyway.

After another moment to regain your composure for the time being, you proceeded with your research. You clicked on an article, and an article lead to another, which carried you over to a video, and so on. By the end of it, evening had settled and you only managed to discover little. But from what you found out, there was no question to Alexia Putellas’ nascent legacy, both on and off the pitch–an undisputed, modern trailblazer for current and new generations of female athletes. You were gutted to know about her ACL injury though–a quick deviated search made it known to you how serious of an injury it was, especially for an athletic career–and you wondered when she would be able to play again or if she would be playing in the match against Real Madrid. After all, she did say she was going to be there.

You wrapped up your research about Alexia then and you finally moved on to Mapi Leon, then Caroline Graham Hansen. Afterwards, you briefed yourself on the rest of Barcelona Femeni’s 1st Division players as well as the rules of football to come up with a strategy to tackle this task.

A mixture of anxiety and excitement rushed through you as you settled in for the night at the thought of seeing Alexia again now that you know about her identity. You didn’t know what you had gotten yourself into the moment you let her take you to the dance floor but the pull was there from the very beginning. And you decided you were going to see this through to the end.

No. This wasn’t going to change anything at all.

–––

There it was: Estadi Johan Cruyff, home to Barcelona Femeni, stood proud in its blue and red glory.

There was still about an hour and a half left before kickoff but already, people had gathered and started to enter the stadium, you being one of them. Security scanned your press pass as you entered and you were told to head through a different corridor which lead you out to the pitch. Once inside, it was no surprise that the stadium’s interior was no less grand than the outside, the well-tended grass was just a taste to the quality that this place had to offer.

Greeting the other photographers who’d settled in earlier as you walked, you searched for a spot and found it by the space adjacent to the corner flag farthest from the tunnel entrance. There, you placed your duffel bag and your portable stool as you worked to set up your equipment: you double-checked the batteries, attached the right lens to your camera, unwounded your monopod and connected it to your camera.

By the time you looked up, there was already a significant crowd awaiting the players for their warm-ups. You took this chance to take a few shots of the still half-filled stadium, tweaking your settings as you did so and you waited for the players to come out.

About an hour before kickoff, you spied movements inside the tunnel and immediately, your eye was to your viewfinder.

Players from both teams emerged from the tunnel and names popped in your head as you scanned the faces from Barcelona, taking shots of them as they stepped foot on the grass and took off in a jog. There was no sign of Alexia though but you spotted two of your marks on the pitch so you wasted no time to frame them in your camera.

A moment later though, you heard a sudden cheer from the crowd followed by a collective flutter of camera shutters. You lifted your eye from the viewfinder, turned your head to the side and saw that your fellow photographers had their cameras focused to the direction of the tunnel entrance. Your heart quickened. Could it be? And sure enough as you looked to the sidelines, you could make out Alexia’s blonde hair and her unmistakable silhouette. Through your camera’s lens you were able to see her better.

Alexia had on a black leather jacket paired with a top that revealed a strip of skin before the cut of her jeans, finishing her look off with a pair sneakers on and loose blonde hair. She was conversing with her coach, bumping fists and patting the backs of players from both teams who went over to greet her. Then she turned to the stands, waved at their supporters, and she moved close enough for pictures and autographs. She gave one last wave to the fans, shouted an encouraging word to her teammates with a fist in the air, before she headed back into the tunnel. While all of this was happening, you’d framed her through your lens yourself, taking the photos you needed, cheeks warm despite the cooling afternoon air.

Then all the Barcelona players jogged over to the sidelines and huddled, side to side, arm in arm. You took a shot. Not long after that, all of them left the pitch.

The game was about to start.

Alexia wasn’t lying when she said the stadium would get crowded: the stands were filled with blues and reds, flags were flown and waved about, chanted anthems resounded loud and proud in the air–the atmosphere was nothing short of electric.

You’d moved by the sideline close to the tunnel entrance for the beginning of the match along with your fellow photographers so you could capture Barcelona’s starting eleven. When the players came out, they were welcomed by singing and cheers from the crowd. And as they stood there, you took photos of the entire team first before you moved on to focus on Mapi and Caroline.

When the whistle blew and the match began, you were back to your original spot, looking to the stands above the tunnel entrance as you tried to pick Alexia out from the sea of faces through your camera. You managed to a few minutes later, and you found her looking rather pensive: one arm crossed over her chest, the other resting on it as she rubbed her chin with her thumb, eyes focused down at the pitch with her brows slightly creased. It looked like longing to you, a burning desire to return home–to start playing football again. The sight evoked such a feeling in you that you couldn’t help but capture the moment. This shot, however, you were going to keep for yourself.

Now that you knew where Alexia was, following the client’s requisites just got a lot easier. Up until the final whistle, you immersed yourself in your work and the game, focusing more on Mapi and Caroline as they were playing. There were times that allowed you to shift your camera to the stands to where Alexia was and took shots of her, too. By the time you knew it, the game ended and Barcelona won 1-0.

You expected a celebration from Barcelona because they were in their turf after all so you loaded up your camera with a freshly charged battery. The next thing you knew, Alexia was there with the team, hugging and patting them congratulations and her teammates beamed at her, happy to see her there.

Click You took a shot.

The players then began their procession around the stadium, waving at and signing things for their supporters. Through your camera, you saw Mapi signing the shirt of a young girl. Click. Next to her was Caroline, reaching over the barrier to sign a ball, smiling as she talked to the boy holding it. Click.

The procession was near enough that you could hear their banters, growing louder as they approached where you were and the beating of your heart thumped as loud as the chants from the crowd. You congratulated the players as they passed and kept your camera away out of respect. You looked at the end of the line and you met Alexia’s gaze. She was smiling at you while she talked to Irene Paredes beside her and she never took her eyes off you. There was a gleam in them, something akin to mischief and… a challenge? If so, why?

At that you raised an unimpressed brow at her, both a question and a statement. Your reaction seemed to amuse her because her smile turned into a full smirk.

The procession passed but Alexia lagged behind, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Irene who threw Alexia a questioning look. You watched as Alexia waved her off before she began walking your way and you didn’t miss the fluttering of shutters from your fellow photographers’ cameras. Some called Alexia’s name to get her attention but she ignored them, her attention only at you. You barely had enough time to school your features and hide any signs of familiarity before she was standing in front of you.

“Hey, you. You made it here after all.” Alexia said cooly, lips slanted in a half-smile, one hand in a jean pocket.

“Yeah, I did. Sorry, but do I know you?” You asked in an excessively dry tone paired with an raised eyebrow, but you made sure your voice was just loud enough for her to hear. Catching your drift, Alexia laughed, rubbing the bridge of her nose to try and cover it up.

“I suppose not,” she extended a hand towards you, “I’m Alexia, and I’m sorry about… you know.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Alexia. Congratulations on the win, by the way.” You shook her hand, ignored the way her warmth seeped into your skin, and hummed. “You know, you remind me of someone I know. Your resemblance to her is uncanny.”

Alexia nodded as she took her hand back, lips quirked. “I think I know who you’re talking about. I think she also wants to know if she could stop by later tonight?”

Your cheeks warmed and you didn’t fight the smile that made its way to your face. “I did tell her she could whenever she’s free.”

“So, yes?”

“Yes.”

———

You braced your weight against the headboard, forehead over your folded arms, eyes barely open and the erotic sight in front of you did nothing to help the building flood in you. With your thighs bracing her head and from this angle, you could only see Alexia’s closed eyes but you felt her hands roaming and supporting your lower back as her mouth and tongue worked on you.

She was taking her sweet time though, brushing her tongue over your clit lightly, sucking just enough to build up the pleasure but nothing too much to bring you over the edge. You whined because she did it again only with more pressure this time, circling your clit a few times before she moved away again. You were starting to learn that she liked to play; she liked to take her time and get as many reactions from you until she was satisfied, until she’d completely unravelled you.

A particularly cruel swipe of her tongue, accompanied by the obscenely wet sound it made, nearly incited a sob from your lips but the plea you made was nothing short of similar.

“Ale… please…” You panted.

“–my name.”

“Huh?” You whined out, not hearing what Alexia said after a flick from her tongue sent shivers down your spine.

“Say my name.”

Then she circled your clit with more urgency after she said that–demanding. You keened and ignored her, canting your hips forward to chase that delicious friction you were desperately searching for.

“Ale… Ale… please!”

Then she stilled completely and you cried out in protest, eyes flying open to meet lidded hazel ones.

“What–”

“Say my name.” She licked your inner thigh deliberately close to where you wanted it the most.

“Alexia, pl–” You didn’t even need to beg because right after her name left your mouth, overwhelming heat was all you could feel as she ate you out earnestly. Her hands gripped your thighs so tight that you wouldn’t be able to pull away–not that you could ever do such a thing.

“Oh, fuck!”

Euphoria tore through your body in concurrent waves with brutal intensity that it ripped the strength from your bones while your muscles shook helplessly. Even the gentle touches from Alexia tongue as she cleaned you up were enough to make you hiss from overstimulation.

God… she really did a number on you this time.

After you finally calmed down, you shifted so that you could lay by Alexia’s side, kissing your way up from the column of her neck to her lips where you found your taste heavy on her tongue. You dragged your fingers from the crest of her hip to her breast, feeling the ridges of her hard-earned muscles as you did so and revelled in the way they tensed beneath your touch, the softness of her breast a beautiful contrast to the firmness of her stomach.

Alexia gasped when you rolled her nipple between your fingers and you gladly swallowed it as you deepened the kiss. You slotted your leg to apply pressure between her thighs, ample wetness coated your skin and you couldn’t help but moan at her arousal.

You nipped a path down between the valley of her breasts but not before you had given both of her nipples the attention they deserved. You continued your journey, licking and nipping at her skin as you moved down her toned stomach.

As soon as you reached her navel, she parted her legs to make space for you. You kissed her inner thighs, loving the way they tensed beneath your lips and as you trailed closer to her core, you flashed your gaze upwards to meet hers. When you finally got the first taste of her tonight, you watched intently through lidded eyes as she closed hers, dropping her head on the pillow and sighed out a long, low moan.

You gave her a few slow and broad strokes, closing your eyes as you savoured her taste. When she began to urge her hips quicker, you picked up your pace all the while mapping her thighs and stomach with your palms.

You found you liked how responsive she was to your touches, liked the way she demanded for more which you gladly gave to her as she asked for them. And when she cradled the back of your head and buried her fingers in your hair so she could meet your tongue the way she wanted it, you moaned loudly, taking from the way she took hers from you.

“Yes, right there, just–” Her back arched and you clung to her hips like a lifeline. You rolled your tongue against her and sucked, not wanting to disrupt the pace of her fall.

And fall, she did.

She came on your tongue and you accepted it with a grateful moan, slowing down your pace as she came back down from her high. It was sticky and heady, a reward that you lapped up eagerly, and from the pleased way Alexia threaded her fingers through your hair, she was satisfied. Like her, you took your time cleaning her up because after all it was only polite to do so and you enjoyed the way her leg muscle tensed when you kissed her clit one last time.

Content with your work, you kissed the top of her left thigh as a form of gratitude but instead of making your way up, you traced the line of muscle that lead down to her knee where scars from her injury had carved themselves permanently into her skin.

You’d kissed those same scars the last time you were together without knowing the story behind them and now that you know, you dragged your lips over them ever more softly, looking Alexia in the eye as you did so. She watched you intently with lips slightly parted, eyes dark and lidded.

Alexia bent forward so she could reach out to you, lifting your chin with a gentle hand. Then she brushed her thumb over your upper lip to wipe the wetness there but before she could pull it away, you parted your lips and took her thumb into you mouth, sucking and licking off the taste there, never taking your eyes off hers.

“My god,” came her breathless murmur before she moaned out, “come here.”

Then she guided you to her mouth with her gentle grip on your chin and before you knew it, you were under her again, sighing in grateful surrender to the mercy of her and her hands. She kissed and ravaged you many times over–and you, her–that by the end of the night, you’d completely forgotten the weight of her name.

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n: a bit late but i finally finished it omfg #ngl i rushed this so im extra sorry for any grammar and spelling mistakes...#and how do people write smut its so bloody difficult ahhhhhh #hope you guys like this and would love to know what you think about the story so far #just a reminder: im tweaking minor details as i go so the most accurate copy of all the parts will be on my ao3 (@thesunisatangerine)#apologies for any grammar and spelling mistakes ill work on em later #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

672 notes · View notes

the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf · 9 months

Text

You're waiting for a train...(2)

To Build Cathedrals

Robert Fischer x reader, Arthur x reader (if you squint)

description - You leave your dad to go look for a new architect as you and Arthur set up the workspace. But your mind is plagued with dreams of its own.

word count - 2.7k (ooo we're getting bigger)

warnings - allusions to sexual assault, mentions of death, allusion to child abuse

a/n - This chapter looks more into how y/n's mind is shaped much like her father's and we also see a hint of Arthur and y/n's relationship (and yes it is weird that she sees him as her uncle). I've realised this is gonna be a slow burn for Robert x reader because of the chronology of the inception plot I'm trying to follow; I promise it'll be worth it!

Previous Part Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Dad and I stood as statues outside the university. It all felt so familiar from my youth but when I walked through, I felt as absent as a stranger.

“He’ll want to see you.”

“I’ll leave the conversation to you. He doesn’t want to see me.”

“That’s not true.”

“I know what he thinks of me. You didn’t have a choice, I did. In his eyes, I chose wrong.”

Dad let his arm rest on my shoulder in a silent act of comfort. I sucked back the tears, so he thought I was okay. The reality was I wanted nothing more than to run in there and jump into my grandads arms. But I couldn’t, in good fait,h knowing he thought of me as the girl who abandoned her siblings for no life at all.

I wiped away a rogue tear.

“Anyways, Arthur needs me to help him set up. But I’ll be waiting at the warehouse, okay. And I promise I won’t leave to go anywhere without Arthur.” I raised my hand to cup his cheek, so he felt the sincerity of my words. I went to leave my father to his search.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find someone as good as you were.”

Without turning back, I shouted. “Find someone better!”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*Cobb’s pov*

“You never did like your office.” Dad raised his head surprised to hear my voice, even more shocked to see my body.

“No space to think in that broom cupboard.” He quipped. “Is it safe for you to be here? Where’s y/n?”

“Extradition between France and the USA is a bureaucratic nightmare. Y/n is fine, she’s with Arthur.”

“I think they might find a way to make it work in your case.”

I made my way down and sat the meek gesture of toys on his desk.

“Look, y/n bought these, she thought the kids would like them. Saw them in Amsterdam.”

“It’s gonna take more than the occasional stuffed animal to remind those kids that they still have a father…and a sister. Y/n knows that.”

“She’s trying her best. She wants to make the best out of the situation she’s in.”

“The situation you put her in.” His voice became stern, and I cowered like a small boy.

“It was her choice. She said that she couldn’t let me go just like that.”

“She was your child; you shouldn’t have let her have the choice in the first place. The choice was life or death and you let her choose death just so you could imagine you still had a family and that it all hadn’t crumbled before you.”

“Yes. I am being selfish because I like that she’s still with me. I like having her here because without her I couldn’t cope.”

“You let her follow you into this life and it seems she suffers the consequences the most.”

“She told you?”

“She told grandma.”

“What the projections or the subjects do is unpredictable. Sometimes they respond to the presence put in front of them, in her case, a beautiful young girl.”

He looks down, ashamed of what he’s hearing.

“Look I’m just doing what I know. I’m doing what you taught me.”

“I never taught you to be a thief.”

“No, you taught me to navigate people’s minds. But after what happened, there weren’t a whole lot of legitimate ways to do that.”

He suddenly felt the meaning of my visit and retreated back into his chair. He punctuated the silence.

“What are you doing here, Dom?” I paused, wondering how to phrase this without inviting a lot of questions.

“I think we found a way home. It’s a job for some very very powerful people. People who I believe can fix my charges permanently. But I need your help.”

“You’re here to corrupt one of my best and brightest.” He taunted me by brandishing the end of his pen.

“You know what I’m offering, you have to let them decide for themselves.”

“Money.”

“Not just money. You remember, the chance to build cathedrals, entire cities, things that never existed. Things that couldn’t exist in the real world.”

“So, you want me to let someone else, follow you into your fantasy.”

“They won’t actually come into the dream. They just design the levels and teach them to the dreamers.”

“Design it yourself.”

“Mal won’t let me.” I saw his face droop at the mention of her. Already sighing at the sight of my delusion.

“What about y/n, she was always better than you were anyway.”

“She refuses. She’ll help with a maze or a paradox occasionally when she gets bored of our architects incompetence, but she won’t build herself anymore. I don’t know why. She won’t tell me.” He sat forward in his chair. Eyes pleading with me to bring y/n home.

“Come back to reality. Please.”

“Those kids are waiting for their father and sister to come home. That’s their reality. This job-this last job- that’s how we get there. I would not be standing here if I knew another way. I need an architect who is as good as I was.”

“I’ve got someone better.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“Ariadne?” A perky petite girl runs to meet Miles’ inviting hand. “I’d like you to meet Mr Cobb.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“If you have a few moments, Mr Cobb has a job offer he’d like to discuss with you.”

“A work placement?”

“Not exactly.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*your pov*

I made it to the warehouse and walked in to see Arthur fiddling with different pieces of equipment.

“You look funny handling tech equipment in that suit.” I loudly teased to get his attention.

He turned towards me with a smile. “Thought you’d be with Cobb and the new recruit.”

“He can do it without me; besides I didn’t fancy the third degree from grandad.”

“He’s just protective. This job isn’t exactly made for you.”

“What? You don’t think I can handle myself?”

“Oh, don’t worry I know you can. The scar on my eye proves it.” We laughed together in a way we hadn’t done in a while. I’d always found comfort around Arthur. When I first left with my dad, I was young and innocent. I had no idea what I’d signed up for. So, once we started working with Arthur I began to loosen up a little as I felt I had someone I could truly trust. Yes, there were people like Eames who came around for the odd job and who I could rely on on the mission. But Arthur was different. I trusted him in a way that encapsulated my whole heart.

We began to unpack the equipment, preparing for when dad would be back to introduce the new recruit to dream-walking. I had just found some old deck chairs stuffed at the back that I dragged to the centre. They made a horrible squeak as the metal scraped on concrete.

“Are you okay?” Arthur pondered.

“Yeah why?”

“Just after Nash and that last job, I worried you would shut down.”

“This could be Dad’s chance to clear his name, I got no time to shut down.” I put on a confidence and winked his way before punching his arm as I passed for good measure.

“Anyways,” I spoke facing the window. “It’s not like I’ve not dealt with that before. It’s old news.”

“I know.” Arthur said solemnly, refusing to look my way. “But you shouldn’t.”

“Well, it happened, it happens, and it’s going to happen again.” I giggled through my tear-filled eyes. I felt Arthur’s presence behind me, bringing me into the lightest hug.

“You know I’m here for you. And if you don’t want to tell your dad when it happens, that’s fine but promise you’ll at least tell me. You know I love giving a guy a good punch, especially on your behalf.”

I turned around in his arms and found our noses almost touching.

“Thank you, Arthur. My knight in shining armour.” I could see the muscles in his neck strain as he very gently leaned in. I copied and moved until our lips softly grazed.

*SCREEEEECH*

We jumped back from each other, in a spook.

“That’ll be them I guess.” I quickly fled the scene and brushed my fingers against my lips. That was about to happen, wasn’t it?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Ariadne gasped as she awoke. Her eyes were flamed, and her pupils darted around the room, trying to make sense of it all. The music bubbled throughout the room adding a flare of theatrics to the situation. This was her second time under, so I assumed her jerk meant she hadn’t woken up in the most pleasant way.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.” Arthur quickly reassured her. Calming her down through gentle caresses.

“Why didn’t I wake up?”

I answered whilst making sure Dad was okay. “Because there was still time on the clock, and you can’t wake up from a dream unless you die.”

“She’ll need a totem.” Dad announced, already leaving the room.

“Dad give her a minute, geez.”

“What? Dad? Wait what?” Ariadne was shaken and looked between Cobb, and I confused.

“A totem it’s a small, personal-“

“That’s some subconscious you’ve got on you, Cobb! She’s a real charmer.”

“Ah I see you met my mom.”

“She’s, his wife?” She asked breathlessly, looking up at me. I nodded sadly.

“So, a totem, you need a small object, potentially heavy, something you can have on you all the time.” Ariadne covered her eyes to mentally acknowledge what she had just been through. I knew none of Arthur’s words were registering. It was too soon. She needed to go away so she can see how addicting it feels. I remembered my first time. I was so scared, but it was a delicious fear. “Something that no one else knows.”

“Like a coin?”

“No, it needs to be more unique than that. Like this is a loaded die,” Arthur brought out his totem, similar to mine. “I can’t let you touch it, see that would defeat the purpose. Only I know the balance and the weight of this loaded die. That way when you look at your totem, you know that you’re not in someone else’s dream.” I stuck my hand in my pocket to feel my own. It was a picture of me, James, and Philippa but it has a small mistake on it. In the picture I have braces, when in reality I’ve never worn them.

I left Arthur and Ariadne to talk and went to check on my dad. He had the spinning top again. We both watched it spin out, helpless to do anything else. When it fell, he loudly exhaled. I knew he had to do it, I just didn’t know why.

We both re-joined Arthur to find that the girl had left. It was probably all too much for such little time. And any run in with Mal’s projection would make anyone uneasy.

“She’ll be back. I’ve never seen anyone pick it up that quickly before.”

“I’ll try not to be offended.” I said with a smirk. Dad kissed my forehead. “Of course, except you, sweetie.”

“Reality’s not gonna be enough for her now, I remember the feeling.”

“When she comes back, you’re gonna have her building mazes.”

“Where are you gonna be?”

“I gotta go visit Eames.” I quietly clapped and celebrated in the corner. Eames was my favourite person to work with and we’ve always had a great partnership since our first time when I was only 15. He was the one who taught me impersonation and forgery, much to my dad’s admiration. If Arthur was like my uncle, then Eames was my rebellious older brother, letting me get away with anything I wanted.

“Eames? No, he’s in Mombasa, it’s Cobol’s backyard.”

“It’s a necessary risk.”

“Well, there’s plenty of good thieves.”

“We don’t just need a thief. We need a forger.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Arthur had reluctantly gone home for the night. I promised him I would be fine sleeping in the warehouse since my dad was away. He didn’t trust me, but he knew he couldn’t argue with me. I mean I didn’t lie. I did want to sleep.

I got myself comfortable on the deck chair and let the sedative seep into my veins.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*your dream space*

I opened my eyes in the lobby of the hotel. Over the years I had fashioned my subconscious in this specifically navigable layout. I could bury things on different floors, and revisit things in different rooms.

It was empty. Just how I liked it. Projections of your mind are easier to get rid of than you think. I clipped my heels all the way down to the large metal elevator. I entered into the 1920s style tiled lift and looked at the numbers. -3, -2, -1, 0, 1, 2, 3.

My painted finger pressed harshly down into ‘1’.

The lift rung to life and pushed me up into the crevices of my mind. And as quickly as it started the doors were back open on to a brightly lit white corridor. The hall was as clean and perfect as I wanted to keep these memories. I opened up the door ‘101’.

Inside I saw James, Philippa and I dancing at the beach. As my projection pushes her feet through the sand, I curl my toes as I feel it soft beneath me. We are running about playing a game of tig as mom and dad look on from the picnic blanket laid out with food. The colours have faded like an old photograph, and I struggle to make out the different faces.

I decided to jump ahead a little and reach for room ‘111’.

I walk hand in hand down a beautifully decorated woodland path. Mom and dad flank me on either side. I stand tall, a child of 11, in the midst of my very own dream. That was the first time. Like the previous one it’s colours have all but gone.

I hurry back into the elevator and change the floor to number ‘2’.

This floor is harshly painted yellow, and its lights flicker incessantly. I trudge down the disgustingly patterned carpet to room ‘204’. My hand questions itself as it reaches for the handle. The door flies open into the living room of our house. I stand face to face with my mother in all her beauty. She is shouting.

“You are not my daughter; don’t you think I’d know if you were.”

My young voice shakes as it answers. “Mom, please, it’s me. You have to believe me.”

“You. Are. Not. Real.”

Her hand grasps the kitchen knife and raises it. I slam the door shut and hear the yelp of my self projection. I wait to calm my heavy breathing. I don’t want to remember her like this but it’s the only room she frequents now.

My limp body returns to the lift, and I finally reach for ‘3’. The box whirrs to life and almost gently raises me up into the final floor. This is my newest creation, where I store the unexplained and the prophetic.

I walk out onto the beautiful sage green corridor, adorned with expensive antique decorations. I make my way to room ‘301’. The door softly creaks open, and my eyes are blinded by a white light filtering in from an open window. The transparent net curtain hinders my eyeline. But in front of me I see the silhouette of a man. He is only wearing a pair of briefs and I am able to make out the lean but structured outline of his body. His hair is thick and luscious. A few chocolate strands have fallen to kiss his sharp cheekbones. I struggle to discern a face, yet I still feel stuck in this man’s gaze. Like his eyes have me in their grip. I push my way through the netting, but it works against me, rooting me to the spot. I struggle and I struggle. The constraint of the curtain becoming too much to bear. It’s difficult to breathe in my panic.

“Are you alright?” The strangers voice is the last thing I hear permeating the darkness before I’m woken up by the clock. The sedative wore off.

I sat there for a minute, gathering my breath. He was there. Again. He’s always there. No matter what I build, or where I hide, he finds a way through.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I wonder who that mysterious man could be ;)

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage

163 notes · View notes

atomic--peach · 10 months

Text

Her Grace's Handmaiden Pt. 19

(Sandor Clegane x Fem Reader x Cersei Lannister TW: Pregnancy, physical abuse, attempted SA)

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

The following months could only be described as a gradual descent into madness.

You were over the moon, but constantly terrified of any risks to your baby.

You followed Grandmaester Pycelle's instruction to the letter, often seeing him more than you saw your own husband.

Sandor's duties only increased when Joffrey went from Prince to King.

He was gone all day and most nights. The time he did have free was spent sleeping.

After learning of his wife's treasons, Sandor tried to convince you to distance yourself from the queen.

Any risk of the truth being known was too much.

You tried to blame your distance on the pregnancy. swollen ankles and aching hips that made too much movement uncomfortable.

But Cersei was having none of it.

"I thought you said he was fine with this."

You winced when Cersei snapped at you.

"He is my queen. That isn't why I'm leaving."

"What is it then?" The Queen opened her arms and motioned around. "Are you no longer happy here?"

"It's not that at all, please," you begged.

Cersei was at the end of her rope.

It had been months since Joffrey took the throne, and the Baratheon forces were nearly pounding on the city doors.

Both Stannis and Renly were rallying men to fight for their respective causes, while Cersei was forced to sit back and watch as Tyrion took over the duties of Hand of the King.

"Explain it to me then!"

"I am trying." You snapped.

The last two months had been hell.

Your whole body ached. Your mind was half clouded, and you struggled most days to remember small things and keep a straight train of thought.

Your middle had begun to expand outward to accommodate the child in your womb, who had begun to move and kick.

"After everything I have done for you." Cersei sounded close to tears with anger. "All the privilege and the help I have given, and you want to abandon me when I need you the most!"

"I never wanted to hurt you, that is the last thing I would ever want to do" you tried to soothe her. "But I have my family to think of."

"The family I gave you!" Cersei roared, "You were a low-born servant, little more than a slave when we met. Robert wanted you dead! He wanted you whipped through the streets naked and hanged for treason! But I saved you. I did that!"

"Your Grace, please." You tried to remain the voice of reason. "This is doing neither of us any good."

The slap nearly knocked your soul out of your body. It was as if you could watch yourself take the blow in slow motion.

Your face burned and your eyes watered from the pain as you began to taste the coppery tang of blood in your mouth.

"Don't you dare presume to speak to me that way, you hateful little slut!" The queen hissed.

You recovered from the blow quick enough to see Cersei's hand fly again, striking the other side of your face this time.

The Queen's royal rings caught your temple, making you cry out this time in pain.

"Out!" Cersei commanded, "I want you out! I don't want to see your ungrateful face. Go let your precious hound mount you like the bitch you are!"

You found your way back to your chambers with tears in your eyes but stumbled back with a gasp when you struck someone's chest.

"I'm sorry." you whispered and tried to move aside but a gentle grip caught you.

"Lady Clegane?"

You knew that voice.

"Lady Sansa." you breathed, keeping your back turned. "I am very sorry, my lady. I wasn't watching where I was going, please forgive me."

The hand pulled you back until you were forced to face the teen.

"Did he do this to you?" Sansa breathed, taking in the damage slashed across your face.

The gash on your temple was still bleeding and your left eye had begun to blacken.

"He?"

"The Hound."

"Oh!" you gasped, "No! Forgive me my lady but my husband would never raise a hand to me."

"Who did this?" Sansa inquired, who would be so presumptuous to put their hands on the Queen Regent's favorite?

You did not answer right away but figured if anyone would or could understand, it would be her.

"I'm sure you've discovered that Lannisters....can be hard people to serve," you explained blandly, but Sansa caught your meaning.

"The queen did this to you?"

"Don't worry about me, little bird." you forced a smile across your face, "I have a funny way of always landing on my feet. It will be okay."

"I-" Sansa thought for a moment, "Why don't you accompany me to the docks to see off Princess Marcella?"

"Oh, My Lady," you winced sympathetically, "That would not be wise. You have it hard enough here as it is, I cannot allow you to interfere in my troubles."

"I will be queen one day." Sansa cut in, "One day rather soon. And I think it would be a good idea to establish myself in court. To make friends."

You smiled genuinely this time; this little girl was much braver than she looked.

"You know, when we left Winterfell, I promised your mother I would look out for you and your sister." You glanced down sheepishly, "I fear so far I have been something of a failure. But if you will allow, I would like to give it a second go."

Sansa looked relieved and nodded, "I would like that very much, Lady Clegane. So, you will escort me to the docks?"

"It would be my honor, my lady." You nodded.

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

"I'll kill her."

"Sandor, no."

"You're leaving." Sandor paced their chambers with long strides, an angry haze radiating off him like heat off steel. "Today, I don't care what Pycelle says. Pack only what you need, I'll send the rest."

"Darling." You grabbed him, "Darling, stop. I am fine."

"You are not fine." He reeled on you so quickly you stumbled back, "Look at you, I'm tired of this. I am tired of worrying every time she calls for you. This is not the first time, and it will not be the last."

"She's been under a lot of pressure, that is all" you insisted, "With Ser Jaime, and the Baratheons, and the princess being sent away tomorrow."

"Why are you making excused for her?"

"Because-" You trembled with frustration, "Because-"

"Because why?"

"I don't know!" You finally replied in what you didn't realize was a yell.

Sandor stared at you, a mix of frustration, anger, and even fear playing across his face.

"You need to leave now. Not tomorrow, not next month, now."

"I can't" you confessed, "I'm sorry I can't."

"What the fuck not?"

"Because" you breathed, "I swore to Catelyn Stark I would watch out for her daughters while they were in King's Landing. So far I have been a miserable failure but tomorrow I am escorting Lady Sansa to the docks and back to see off Princess Marcella."

"The fuck you are!"

"I am!"

The silence between you became thicker and thicker until Sandor broke.

"Fine." He sighed, "Fine fine fine. But I will be watching you every step of the way. One thing goes wrong and you're both going back to the castle, I don't care if I need to carry you."

"Fine" you nodded.

"But" Sandor growled, flicking open the clasps of a large, leather-strapped chest and fumbling through the contents. "You are taking this with you. I will hear no arguments on that."

He handled you the leather-wrapped handle of a 6-inch dagger. The honed edge shone in the sunlight and you swallowed hard.

"It's been a while." you confessed, "I don't know if I remember-"

"If you've used one before, you'll remember." Sandor assured you, "The body remembers."

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

The walk back to the Keep was silent between the royal family.

No one had been happy to watch Princess Marcella leave.

She was always a sweet girl, you thought, far too young to be shipped off for marriage.

As the procession made its way through the city streets, the hair on your neck pricked up.

They were being watched.

Not in the usual way the royals were gawked at, this gaze had malice behind it.

You looked back to your husband who looked over King Joffrey like a shadow. Slipping your arm into Lady Sansa's, you nudged her.

"Something is wrong," you whispered. "Can you feel it?"

"They're all watching us." Sansa nodded.

No one would ever know where exactly the first clod came from, but its pitcher had an incredible aim. It struck the king right in the temple and set off a maelstrom of chaos.

You grabbed Sansa's arm and pulled her close to your body protectively, the other arm wrapped around the growing mound of your stomach.

Sandor secured the king while the King's Guard and City Watch tried to contain the crowd.

Wild hands grasped for them, trying with all their might to drag any noble they could into the chaos.

The High Septon was one of the first to fall.

You heard the manic cries of the small folk turn to cheers as they tore the man limb from him, brandishing arms and legs like trophies and breaking apart his sacred crystal crown between them.

Your heart sank when the watch's men began to falter, and you snatched Sansa's hand tightly.

"Run." you choked.

"What?"

"Do not ask questions just run, run to the keep, and do not stop." you looked for Sandor but could not find him.

It was up to your .

Breaking into a sprint, you dragged Sansa along as the two of you made for the Red Keep. The teen huffed and panted but kept pace, running like her life depended on it.

Your steps were dogged by smallfolk baying for noble blood. Desperate for the flesh of those who lived so well while their children starved.

"Here." you jerked Sansa into an alley, "We need to lose them, keep going."

The detour threw your pursuers off for a moment, but not long enough.

Sooner than you hoped, they were back on your heels, and you cried out when you felt a hand grab a fist full of your hair.

"No!" Sansa screamed, turning only to be caught by two men who dragged her to the ground.

You were stunned at first, but when you felt a weight on your body you kicked as hard as you could.

Throwing your attacker off, you scrambled to your feet, pressing yourself against the brick wall as the attacker rounded on you.

He was a thin man with stringy blonde hair and pale blue eyes. For half a second, you thought you knew him.

But that didn't matter now, as he ran and pinned you against the wall. His hands wrapped around your throat and pressed firmly cutting off the air and making your eyes go wide.

He never said a word, only throttling you with all his strength as you tried weakly to push him off, flailing your limbs and trying to thrash out of his grip.

Your vision became soft around the edges as you fumbled, you knew what you needed.

Did you bring it?

You must have.

Where was it?

The man's grip went slack and you filled your lungs with a gasp that burned like liquor.

The man hobbled back, clutching at his chest as blood blossomed through his shirt.

Another slice cut through his side, then another sent the tip of the dagger through his eye before You turned to the two men who were holding down a thrashing Sansa who screamed louder than one might think possible.

Sansa gasped as the man that was forcing her knees apart stiffened and then fell onto her. Spurred forward by her escort's aggression, she fought even harder to turn on the man that pinned her arms and bit him fiercely as you lunged at him, dagger coated in his comrades' blood.

When the men were dead, you leaned against the wall, panting hard.

Your eyes struggled to focus but when they did, they landed on the man who attacked you.

Leaning closer, you rolled him on his back with your foot.

You did know him.

You struggled to remember.

It must have been so long ago.

"My Lady" you breathed to Sansa, who was wiping her eyes and recovering herself. "Those men, let me see their faces."

"What?"

"Just do it."

Sansa propped up both men with a look of disgust and you looked them over, hobbling forward to get a better look.

Gods

"We need to go."

"Do you know these men?"

You didn't answer. You attempted to put weight on your right leg and cried out in pain.

"We need to leave."

Sandor hadn't even realized that You and Sansa had disappeared and he hated himself for it.

Before anyone could command him to stay, He pushed through the crowd, slashing at those bold enough to try him, and looked over their heads, trying to catch a glance of his wife and her young friend.

Bulldozing his way through peasants, Sandor's breath caught when he caught sight of pink silk drenched in gore.

Sansa had you supported on her shoulder, leaning half on her and half against the wall.

Sandor wasn't sure how many people were killed to get to you, but he was sure he didn't care.

"You were supposed to go back to the keep!"

"Fuck off" was all you had the strength to say.

Sandor picked you up, trying to be careful of your swollen stomach as he sheltered Sansa under his arm and escorted you both into the keep.

When he put you down Sansa was on you in a heartbeat.

"You saved me." she wept. "You killed those men."

"I was in just as much trouble as you were, My Lady." you tried to laugh, wrapping her arms around Sansa "Couldn't very well let the rapers have their fun without a fight."

"Your Leg" Sansa remembered with a gasp.

You looked down and cringed at the sight.

You were fairly certain your ankle was not supposed to bend that way and with the adrenaline wearing off the pain began to radiate through your foot and up your leg.

"Take the little bird back to her cage." Sandor snarled at Sansa's handmaidens as he picked his wife back up. "Where the fuck are the maesters?"

You were not free to even breathe until the maester had conducted a full examination.

No damage had been done beyond some bruising around your throat and a badly broken ankle.

You nearly bit through the leather strap between your teeth when Osney Kettleblack reset the bone under Pycelle's watchful eye.

Whatever curses you might have been laying on the Kettleblack name were muffled by pain and cowhide

"Milk of the poppy twice a day for 3 months, and don't put your weight on it."

"3 months?" you scoffed, "Great, now I get to go west with a baby and a broken ankle."

"My Lady I'm afraid that after this I cannot condone traveling west." Pycelle shook his head in disapproval. "I fear you will have to finish out your term here in the keep."

You growled, wanting to swear but not wanting to disturb the dotty old Maester.

"Come on" Sandor grumbled, equally displeased. "Don't get used to being carried like this."

When the pair returned to the tower, you both had fallen silent.

You were exhausted, but you could not take your mind off those men. Those faces.

You called for a bath to be drawn so you could scrub off the filth of the city.

Sandor was brooding. More than usual. He was reluctant to be more than a few feet from you and hovered as you bathed.

"Sandor? You're thinking very loudly."

"I-" he growled, "I should have been there. I told you I would keep you both safe and-"

"Your job is to keep the King alive." You cut in, "And you did that. "

The silence was overwhelming.

"I killed those men." you swallowed, sinking deeper into the water. "I didn't even think about it, I moved and next thing I knew they were dead and I had killed them."

Sandor nodded, "You did what you had to do. Don't linger on it."

"I-" you swallowed hard, mouth going dry, "I think I might have known them."

"What?"

"I knew them," you repeated, clearer this time. "From before."

"How?"

"I don't know." you sniffed, "But I did, I knew their faces. And now I can't stop thinking about them. And I shouldn't because they would have killed us both, I know that. But-"

Sandor's hand found your shoulder, gripping it tightly.

"Don't" he urged, "Don't do that to yourself. You saved yourself and you saved that girl. Now you're going to rest, you going to heal and have our baby, and then you're going west, and you will be safe. That is all you need to be thinking about."

You looked back at your husband, eyes searching his face before nodding.

"I'll try."

#cersei lannister x reader #sandor clegane x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #her grace's handmaiden

55 notes · View notes

go-to-the-mirror · 1 year

Text

FUCK YEAH PANOPTICON TIME!

Firstly, this is my favourite almost season finale, like, the whole thing has so much going on (good), we get a resolution to Daisy and Basira's stuff, an actual culmination of 3 or 4 seasons of wondering about the circumstances of Gertrude's death (i love the future gertrude stuff, i do, but i'd be fine if she didn't show up in tape again after this episode), the revelation of Elias being Jonah Magnus, Martin's stuff is delt with, that moment when Elias laughs.

It's phenomenal. I just had to get out that it's phenomenal.

Now, @a-mag-a-day, the antepenultimate episode of season 4. Panopticon.

Let's go.

I think you should also know that I have my cat lying next to me :3 He's really cute.

MARTIN That's a Leitner. PETER It is! MARTIN And the, um… the blood on it? PETER (Cheerfully) That's Leitner too!

I love this part, it's very funny. You know, I will never understand those who hate Peter Lukas with the same vitriol as I hate Elias with. Peter's voice is just really nice okay. I sort of find myself... liking him. He's fun, I don't know.

NOT-SASHA So you finally decided to let me out, Jon? (Calling) Jooooon? (Beat) Who's there? (Martin's terrified breathing can be heard) Who let me out? Don't be shy… I just want to say thank you.

Martin's terrified breathing was heard. Good lord, 10/10 great terrified breathing. I'm guessing that Martin and/or Peter used their spooky, lonely powers and hid from her.

PETER Make sure everyone is too busy to follow us. They'll be fine. Probably. You could still go help them. If you insist. (Beat) (Martin lets out a resigned breath) (Satisfied) Very good. Come on.

I mean, he's still a bastard, I just don't hate him.

PETER Why'd you think this was chosen as the Institute's location when the prison closed? It's a significant site of power for the Beholding. From the tower in the centre of this room, you can see everything.

So, quick little... fun facts, I suppose. Milbank Prison was first designed by Jeremy Bentham, and it was meant to be a panopticon prison, guarded by just one person who could see anything - but not everything. None of the inmates would know if they were being watched so, Bentham theorised, the inmates would act as if they were being watched all the time. The prison guard who watched the inmates would in turn not know when they were being watched by the general public and public officials. Bentham intended for this to be used as a solution for the question:"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?", who guards the guards, who watches the watchers?

There's a whole lot more about the panopticon as a thing, but I'm actually pretty interested in it and I know I'll get dragged into a little research spiral, so instead, more about the prison itself.

The site of Milbank Prison was bought in 1799 by Jeremy Bentham, and the panopticon plan was abandoned in 1812. There was a competition for who's prison design would be built on the site, and William Williams' won, and was adapted by Thomas Hardwick. After 18 months, Hardwick resigned and was replaced with John Harvey. In 1815, Harvey was dismissed and Robert Smirke took his place, completing it in 1821. The prison closed in 1890, and demolished on and off till it was finally gone in 1903.

This all to say, that I think Jonah Magnus attempted The Watcher's Crown around 1890, because he said he moved it to London after it failed.

I convinced Smirke to work on Millbank, leading him to design it as a temple to all the Fears in equilibrium, such that my own modifications to the design of the Panopticon went… unremarked. It. Took. Years, for the dread of the prisoners that passed through to fully suffuse the place, and I was an old man by the time I made my first attempt at the Watcher’s Crown, sat in the centre of that colossal eye, the great ring of cells encircling me like a coronet. It was… flawed, of course, as all Smirke’s rituals were, and none of the inmates survived as the power I attempted to harness shook the building almost to pieces, and the murky swamp upon which the prison was built consumed it. But it left me a gift: For sat in that watchtower, I could see everything I turned my mind to. It was a dizzying power, and one I discovered I maintained even as I found vessels to extend my life. Of course, I had to make sure the location was kept under my control while I worked on revising my plans, and so I moved the organization I had founded to assist in my research down to London, and the Institute as you know it, was born.

(MAG 160)

However, this does say "the dread of the prisoners that passed through" so it could have been in the 1840s and 50s, when Milbank was a holding prison for convicts going to be transported.

I just want a timeframe. But, I mean, if we did get one it would probably be contradicted to hell and back (/lh /nsrs).

PETER I don't mean the cells, Martin! I mean everything. Come on. Mind your step, this comes from an era before safety rails.

I think safety rails were first used in the 1930s, but don't quote me on that. Meaning, yes, this does probably come from an era before safety rails.

PETER Jonah Magnus! His body at least. Sitting here, watching. Binding it all together, growing ever older. If you want to take his place, well… MARTIN I'll need to kill him. PETER Yes. Don't worry, though, I brought a knife.

I feel like you're going to need to start carrying a knife if you work at the Magnus Institute. I mean, it's illegal to carry a knife of certain sizes of varieties (no switchblades!), it's also just illegal to carry any knife without good reason and "I have a high risk of death to supernatural creatures at my archiving job" probably doesn't cut it. Still, Jon bought a knife back in season 2. Jon bought an axe back in season 2, how the hell did he carry it around without raising quite a bit of suspicion?

MARTIN Where are his eyes? [A footstep] ELIAS Exactly where they've always been, Martin. (Martin gasps) Watching over my Institute.

That's such a cool line!! Also, uh:

But he remembers so clearly what he was thinking as he looked at what was left of Allan Schrieber: where are his eyes? What did they do with his eyes?

(MAG 193)

It just immediately got me thinking about that line.

BASIRA And you're sure? ARCHIVIST Yes, I'm sure it wasn't here before! BASIRA It's just that there's a lot of tapes around. ARCHIVIST And I don't keep any of them with the key to the tunnels. It's been left for me. DAISY And it says 'play me'. Kind of suspicious.

IM SORRY, THERE'S JSUT A LITTLE TAPE WITH A STICKY NOTE ON IT SAYING "PLAY ME" AND BASIRA THINKS IT COULD HAVE BEEN THERE BEFORE?? IM SORRY IM JUST DYING OVER HERE

GERTRUDE (Disparagingly) I'm not really in the mood for nostalgia, Elias. You might have noticed I'm rather busy so either shoot me or— [A gunshot rings out; Gertrude gasps and collapses] GERTRUDE Well… (gasp) there it is. (gasp) Thought it would hurt more. (Elias sighs) ELIAS Pity.

I really love that we get to hear what I thought - and to be honest, kind of hoped - was the last Gertrude tape in this context.

Like, everything's coming to a head, here and now in this episode. Peter's plan with The Extinction, whatever Elias' deal was (actually Jonah Magnus), Daisy's whole thing, and finally hearing Gertrude's death here was just amazing! Like, we take all the plot stuff, we throw it in one episode, this is our Unknowings, our Hide and Seek, our Infestation.

Then, there's The Last that's like, ok we get the emotional resolution between Jon and Martin and Martin's whole lonely thing, finally and then we're like yeah, the next one's always a bit more of a resolution, but Jonah Magnus is planning someone, ahaha Peter what did you MEAN "he got you"? WHAT???

But, focusing on Gertrude's death... I... ok, look, I'm going to grab messages I sent to my friends, because I can't explain how much I love Panopticon and Gertrude's death scene here.

Her [Gertrude's] ending in panopticon is PERFECT like, that's the End of gertrude robinson And i liked the bits we got of her in mag 161, 162, and 167 But i REALLY like just like that ending, the whole "who killed Gertrude Robinson", "what was Gertrude Robinson's whole deal", all the mysteries about Gertrude Robinson just wrapped up neatly in a noose around her neck If you're listening to tma for gertrude, PANOPTICON IS LAST Like oohhhh words cannot describe how much I LOVE the placement of the tape with gertrude's murder Panopticon is SUCH a good episode Like, The Last was our emotional resolution, The Eye Opens was our Jonny comes into our houses and fucking MURDERS us episode, but Panopticon was our original recording episode and <33 It's like!!! - Martin MAKING HIS CHOICE - THE GERTRUDE TAPE - Jon FINALLY GETTING TO SAVE MARTIN LOVE THE GAYS - Daisy giving into the hunt - LITERALLY EVERYONE AT ONCE ATTACKING THEM

Do you understand me? I hope you understand me.

ELIAS (Faux-hurt) Peter. PETER (Cold) Elias.

*deadpan* The joys of marriage.

PETER We're the same, you and I. We don't need anyone else. Watching from a distance, that's always who you've been. Haven't you enjoyed it these last few months, drifting through the Archives unseen, unjudged? You'll like it in there. I promise. MARTIN Yeah. Yeah, I think I would.

When you're numb from the cold, it feels better to be in the cold then to be warm and defrost. And if you do get warmed up, but can't stay warm for long enough it does more damage. But you've got to get to the warmth eventually. It's going to kill you out there, in the cold because it's safer than getting hurt.

Would you prefer it there? Maybe. It's numb. It doesn't sting. "But as with all [...] that promises respite, it is a trap."

ARCHIVIST Do ah… do I get a gun? BASIRA You ever fired one? ARCHIVIST (Indignant) You never taught me!

I just like the way Jon says it. Gosh, they're all having the absolute worst days, aren't they.

NOT-SASHA Hello, Jon. DAISY Oh, shit. ARCHIVIST You gotta be fucking kidding—

If there was any place for swearing it is definitely in this situation where everything that (he knows) could have gone wrong HAS gone wrong. Like, just, absolute worst time over here.

I love it when Jon just gets fed up. Like, when in 107 where he was just like "so, kidnapped. again." and the whole "how embarrassing for you". Just like, fuck yea dude, be a bit of a bastard when there are many, many, MANY things trying to kill you.

BASIRA God dammit. Jon, go, we'll keep them busy. ARCHIVIST What? No! I— BASIRA Don't argue. Just go! NOT-SASHA (Distant) Joooon? ARCHIVIST Fine. Just don't die. DAISY Go.

I think it's really nice that... i dunno, they told him to run, they risked their lives for martin, someone who they thought was "working for the enemy" or whatever. especially for basira.

MARTIN It's not him! It's not anybody. It's just me. Always has been. I... When I first came to you, I thought I had lost everything. John was dead, my mother was dead, the job I had put everything into had trapped me into spreading evil and I… I really didn't care what happened to me. I told myself I was trying to protect the others, but honestly we didn't even like each other. Maybe I just thought joining up with you would be a good way to get killed.

I really didn't appreciate Martin enough on my first listen. I was just... so caught up in the whole... Jon thing. He was my favourite since about episode 30. I liked Martin fine, I really liked Helen, but most of the characters I liked was done through the context of... loving Jon. Just really couldn't see past him.

And then... so I was talking to my friend about how Jon has adhd because I'm projecting, and it brought up that Martin's got that social anxiety & depression combo. And as I read those quotes that she collected, I realised he was right, and I realised I knew him. And from that day forth, I began to love Martin K Blackwood.

Then I listened to recollection on the bus and started crying.

So, this is my first listen where I know Martin. I'm not entirely sure what to say about this, I just... poor guy. I get him :(

And then… Jon came back, and… and suddenly I had a reason.

A WHAT?

Funny. Looks like I was right the first time. It's probably still a good way to get killed.

I'm sad. I'm sad about him. God, I just wanna give him a hug or something

ELIAS Your choice. Just make sure to leave the door open.

the fucking. the fucking. door.

(Elias lets out a long, triumphant laugh, then sighs, contented)

I want to murder him with my bare hands. He's won. He's fucking won. I am SO glad he was stabbed. HHHHhhh murder.

ELIAS (Pleased) …My you have grown. Yes. A masterpiece, isn't it?

I'm gonna kill someone and his name is Jonah Magnus.

ARCHIVIST Yeah. It is. And that's you then? Your… body?

Look, I mean, yeah evil, but also like, kinda cool though-

Also, like, he's also kind of... evil. It's complicated. I mean, he did have the whole "it is the worst place that has ever been beautiful and it should not exist" thing like-

No one is even blaming him for this, it is PURELY the piece of my brain that exists only for playing devil's advocate, which, like, USEFUL, but also, shut up!

ELIAS From out here? Impossible. ARCHIVIST You want me to follow him? ELIAS No, Jon. You want you to follow him.

That's not even bloody subtle. "You want you to follow him" says guy who LITERALLY MANIPULATED THE SITUATION SO THAT HE'D HAVE TO GO INTO THE LONELY, christ i am so FUCKING GLAD HE GOT STABBED

I can't do this, I literally cannot. Considering murder. Ben Meradith does a great job at doing a voice so punchable, and then Jonny does a great job at writing lines so stabbable, and together it's the beginning of MAG 200 :3

ELIAS (CONT’D) Very good. Are you scared, Jon? ARCHIVIST (Quietly) Yes. [The Lonely static crescendos] ELIAS Perfect.

HISS HISS KILLING AND MAIMING, FUCK HE WON

he... won.

i haven't done a relisten to season 4 before, it's just as physically painful as season 1, 2, and 3, good lord.

LIKE, OH MY GODDD AARHRHGHRGHR RIPPING AND TEARING "ARE YOU SCARED, JON" "YES" "PERFECT" FUCK YOU FUCK YOUR RITUAL FUCK THIS IM GOING TO SCREAM

oooohohhhhhh well done, you bastard, all fourteen fucking marks got. you're gonna live forever, or as close to forever as is possible.

i am so glad that in that final moment he was alive, he told jon that he didn't think jon would go through with it and jon fucking stabbed him.

THIS IS MY THING FOR 158!

so, 160 is going to be... it's going to be quite... interesting.

#tma #the magnus archives #a mag a day #mag 158 #tma spoilers #landscaping your mind chapter one

31 notes · View notes

robbiefletcher · 1 year

Text

a steady stream of smoke. hands red from the cold. the tell-tale rattle of a chain-link fence. slipping between the cracks. vanishing into a crowd. being able to sleep anywhere. stealing every lighter you’ve ever been leant. a hooded jumper under a workman’s jacket. thinking on your feet. being smarter than anyone gives you credit for. breaking and entering. sneaking your hand into somebody’s pocket. having your own back. doing whatever it takes to ensure your survival.

statistics.

full name: robert fletcher nickname(s): robbie, rob, bobby name meaning: bright fame age: twenty-five date of birth: october 6th star sign: libra place of birth: tower hamlets, london current location: various boroughs, london gender: cis-male pronouns: he/him sexual orientation: figuring it out (but can and does sleep with people of all genders) religion: agnostic occupation: pickpocket family: alfie fletcher (father, estranged) deepti adama (mother, estranged) education level: a handful of gcses (left formal education at sixteen) living arrangements: homeless financial status: poor spoken languages: english

inspirations.

jess mariano (gilmore girls) james cook (skins) jim hawkins (treasure planet) patrick verona (10 things i hate about you) ronan lynch (the raven cycle) eggsy unwin (kingsman) the artful dodger (oliver twist)

biography. (tws for neglect, parental abandonment, poverty)

Born in Tower Hamlets (a very poor area of London) in 1997.

Robbie’s parents were both barely nineteen when he was born, and adults in name only.

After six months his father realised he wasn’t particularly suited to family life, and disappeared off into the great blue yonder, never to be seen again.

Robbie’s mother couldn’t cope alone. With no support system behind her, an infant son to raise and no money to speak of, the odds were stacked against her. She spent a lot of time away from Robbie, ostensibly trying to cobble together the rent for the derelict flat they shared, but typically going out in pursuit of her lost youth.

The police finally came when Robbie was five. A neighbour reported seeing him hanging around the tower block they lived in at all hours of the day and night, never at school and seemingly unsupervised.

He was taken into care that same day, and hasn’t had any contact with either of his parents since.

He was fostered a few times in his early days in the system, but never for longer than a few months, and he always ended up right back at the group home. He was troubled, and he made trouble wherever he went.

In spite of this, he was obviously a clever boy, but categorically refused to try at school. He learned to read far later than his peers, but when he did, he scoured every book in the care home twice over.

Robbie started stealing as early as ten. First little things, sweets and magazines from the corner shop, but bigger when he realised he could get away with it. Some of the stuff he stole he’d resell to his peers on the playground, and then on street corners and down alleys as he got older.

Once you reach a certain age, it’s practically a given that nobody’s going to adopt you. But that was fine with Robbie, he didn’t need or want new parents, he was fine by himself.

He finally left care at eighteen, with a job as a waiter and a room at a halfway house until something more permanent could be arranged.

To start with, he really did try going straight, becoming an upstanding member of society, but what was the point? You broke your back all day for nothing, while other people felt entitled to treat you like a dog.

He was back to his old tricks in less than a year. He left the halfway house and his terrible job and didn’t look back, calling the city of London in its entirety his home, and robbing strangers to get by. He’s always said that possession is a matter of perspective, and it seemed that way now more than ever.

He’s been on the Jolly Rogers’ books (such as they are) for about five years. He’s very good at what he does, but he tries to keep his head down as much as possible - after all, what kind of thief likes to draw attention to themselves?

other things.

Robbie is passionate about urban exploration, and knows the best ways into almost every abandoned building in London. It's come in handy more than once.

When it comes to his work, there's no better opportunity to pick an unsuspecting idiot's pockets than at a tube station during rush hour. With nearly three hundred of them across six zones, he's spoilt for choice, and rarely has to hit up the same place twice in quick succession.

He hasn't had a fixed address since he was eighteen, though he can usually find somewhere to get his head down for a night or two - whether it's a friend's floor, the back of a city bus, or the bed of a one night stand, Robbie has developed a knack for being able to fall asleep anywhere.

Robbie smokes like a chimney, and thinks vaping is genuinely one of the most embarrassing things a person can do.

All his worldly possessions fit into one duffel bag. Sentimentality is a luxury.

The cinema is his happy place, and he does his best to see as many new releases as possible, regardless of what the film is about or what the reviews are like. His favourite film of the last year was Everything, Everywhere, All At Once, which he actually paid to see a second time.

As of writing this, Robbie has never been in love. Any relationship he’s been in (though “relationship” is a strong word to describe Robbie’s fleeting entanglements) has been based on what the other person can do for him, rather than any reciprocated feelings on his part. Men like him aren’t made for soft things, and if the dynamic starts trending that way, he’s quick to nip it in the bud.

#robbie: about #poverty tw #neglect tw #parental abandonment tw #lf.intro

2 notes · View notes

nueral · 6 months

Text

Warner Brothers has excellent scans of Henry Cavill and the rest of the Snyderverse castings. Do you NEEEEED more live action DC heroes doing wrestling moves and trying to imitate Frank Miller comics? Probably not, but were you surprised by what INTO the Spider-Verse did with ANIMATION fo-fi years ago? PROBABLY so. You didn't expect to give a shit about a SPIDER-MAN Pixar/DreamWorks movie from Sony but you did.

Maybe that monster cartoon DC does surprises us, maybe it don't. The DC cartoons were trying, he liked them, and they keep playing out the best stories, they aren't really waiting for a new and engaging art style or story telling style. Grant Morrison did a BUNCH of Iconic story lines the Oughts. Tower of Babel, Rock of Ages, Armageddon, etc. Check THOSE collections out. I'd pick and choose elements and take what fits to salvage the story Already told in the movies we have, the Omac Wish Satellite from WW84(NOT A BAD FILD), etc.

But here's what's really cooking my beek,

There's an entire separate Non-Comic movie about how the audience doesn't or simply CAN'T comprehend Joaquin Phoenix's Joker's potential. Bo Is Afraid. I do not recommend it unless you Wonga know how fucked real life can get in real life.

The movie is ABOUT the audience, the story, and escaping stories, or more accurately Not Being Able To Escape from an Obvious Story, an Obviously fictional reality.

Both Joker and Bo Is Afraid confound the audience. Here, lemmy ax you something

Have you heard of the Unreliable Narrator trope? Prolly not. Closest you may have come to it was the shock when Joe Pesci gets whacked WHILE narrating Casino. Remember that? You're thinking, this guy is getting taken out to the cornfields to get whacked and Pesci's voice is narrating, like he's telling the story from an old folks home decades in the future, fine, and then WHACK!to the head.

Ok, that's not what Unreliable Narrator means.

Unreliable Narrator is something snobs love to peacock. The idea is that the entire movie is an unreliable and subjective account told from a person who's probably lying to themselves or the audience. Film Student types love it because it allows them to have an exclusive VIP area of interpretation. What really happened, out in the objectively real/static reality.

Here, I'll give you an example

Zeze Yayya Beets in Joker. E'rbody said she was supposed to be like that universes Harley Quinn, but by the end of the movie you're wondering if Arthur (Joker) even hung out with her at all. Or was it just in his head.

Arthur takes the audience into his experience and they went to the comedy show together, and they went to the hospital for his mom, together.

But at the end, she doesn't recognize him, is afraid of him.

We're those date scenes made up?

What if it's not the narrator who is unreliable. What if it's Joker's actual reality.

Unreliable Reality.

That's not easy. It's scary to think God has abandoned you in a dream world of feelings, factual memories that have no social authority, etc. What happened happened, right?

Unless you're a child. Then you can sing row row row your boat and lay my head down to sleep I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

I don't know anyone who WANTS to live in the Twilight Zone.*

But Bo Is Afraid is an unreliable reality movie, even more so than Joker.

When I watched Bo Is Afraid, I came out thinking "They think it don't be the way that it is but it do."

And nobody on YouTube, or any social media posts have connected Bo Is Afraid to Joker.

Which is crazy.

You Were Never Really Here

Joker

and Bo Is Afraid all share this same reality resetting itself on camera with no indication of hallucination or magic occuring.

Why do I bring this all up for a DC movies discussion?

Because with an unreadable reality, anything can happen, it's horrifying. Continuity, Multiverse, timelines.

Arthur Fleck and Lady Gaga Harley could dance at the end of the film and end up in the alley way behind Robert Pattinson's ZORRO theater, Ben Afleck's ZORRO Theater.

They could dance their way anywhere in the multiverse the scriptwriters want, and a Fifth Dimensional Imp could say it's magic and he don't have to explain shit.

But the audience has been shockingly robotic. We really don't know what's in the head of these bodies, I certainly don't have enough evidence from social media to consider it any more real than how to effects you and how you effect me.

Maybe you just want scene for scene moving images that match the comics.

Maybe you're eager to join the SuperHero Fatigue bandwagon no matter how much The Batman reassembled a David Fincher movie.

But look at the Muscle Daddies and Diva Queens of Zack Snyder's Justice League(United).

Do you really care if they wrestle some other muscle mountain and win? Who cares? It's not real, it's not MMA. It's a story. It needs a reason for you to PAY and PAY attention.

Look at who Snyder intended their main badguys to eventually be, Twinkydink skinny boys schizos like bingbingbing Jesse Eissenberg's Lex Luthor, and Jared Leto's Mister J-Joker.

Do you want to see either of these guys take a potion and get powers and buffy the vampire slayer fight against dudes 3 times their size like they have a chance to win? Do you want to see them in CGI armor? No, right? No. Do you want to see Big Muscle Daddies teach weakling uppity creeps a lesson? I don't think-so...I hope not. No.

But you know what might unsettle you?

A character who A. already doesn't have to play by the rules of reality (I already explained this, keep up Mr. Strongstrong) and who B. has the sympathy for the audience from a previous film, a character who's kind of the good guy of his own story, if his own story was stable enough for anybody to find a functional morality in it, something that might not have been there for the first Joker film, and probably won't be there for the second either.

I hope you aren't watching movies like it's morality homework. Every action film a who dunnit, gasping an AHA when the wizard uses the helmet to disappear the demon.

I hope you're real, capable of variance and variety of experience. Enjoying the changes internal and external that a character is or might be going through.

I hope your not building up gotcha torment, vengeance juice, enduring suffering in a contest of who can eat the most shit until you eventually explode in violence or despair.

I hope when you watch a movie you're escaping from life AND imprisoning yourself in personality, if only for the time BEING, and enjoying what it thinks like, what it feels like, and what it will/would be like to actually exist that way, his way, that other way, like them, like him, like her, like that thing, like a brave little toaster, or a little Engine that could, or as Michael Douglas's William Foster in FALLING DOWN.

I hope your flying. FLYING.

I hope you can handle it.

And I hope to see more Henry Cavil, as Superman😆

And yeah, I did just write this at 123ish am 11:5:23

Yup!

You can hear it echoing

0 notes

shemarmooresfedora · 3 years

Text

Home

Series Summary: After being arrested, Spencer Reid desperately tries to get back home to his daughter, Camellia, who was placed into foster care in your home.

Pairing: Single!Dad!Spencer x Foster!Mom!Reader

Content/Warnings: mentions of abandonment, unwanted sexual advances (outside character to spencer), swearing, mentions of cheating (doesn’t actually happen), happy ending

Word Count: 2.4k

Masterlist

Chapter 10

You woke up with Spencer’s arm lazily draped over your waist. Rain was pitter-pattering against the window.

You rolled over and cuddled yourself into Spencer’s chest.

“Good morning,” he hummed contently.

“G’morning,” you sleepily mumbled.

“Is my little angel tired from last night?” he asked.

“Very,” you nodded, “Do we have to pick Callie up from her sleepover?”

“She’s staying there until after her soccer practice. I have to go back to my house and get some more clothes to bring over here but other than that, my day is wide open,” he gently stroked your hair.

“I just have two appointments later in the day so I’ll have to go into the office this afternoon,” you yawned.

“I’ll make us breakfast,” Spencer tried to shift out from underneath the covers.

“Or…” you wrapped your arms around him once again, “We can get breakfast on the way to your house and then I get some extra cuddle time.”

“Sounds good to me,” Spencer pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Um hello?” Spencer asked as you both approached the woman standing at his front door.

She turned around and Spencer’s eyes practically bulged out of his head.

“Spencer!” she ran to hug him.

Spencer refused to unclasp his hand from yours, making it very clear he had no intention to return the hug.

“What are you doing here, Austin?”

Austin. This was Callie’s mother. The woman who abandoned them both.

“I’m in between jobs right now, figuring out my purpose in life, you know? I just took a bus and ended up back here again. Got me thinking I should stop by and check in,” she smiled like this was just a casual visit from a friend.

“You wanted to stop by after 11 years and no goodbye?” Spencer asked incredulously.

“I could also use a place to crash for a few days. How’s Camellia doing? Does she still do that thing where she twitches her little nose? I always loved that.”

“Don’t act like you know my daughter at all,” Spencer seethed.

“Spencer,” you got in between them, putting your hands on his chest to calm him down.

You turned to Austin, “One second.”

You led Spencer back down the steps, “Look, I know what she did was very wrong but she did give you the greatest gift of all, Callie, so maybe you could invite her over for dinner and she could just sleep on the couch for the night?”

“Just one night?” Spencer confirmed.

“If you don’t do this now, Callie will probably just track her birth mother down later in life without you there to supervise. Lots of my past foster kids have and it doesn’t always end well.”

“Fine,” Spencer relented, heading back up the front steps.

“You can stay with us for one night,” Spencer emphasized, “I will be watching you the whole time you’re with Callie.”

“Deal!” She clapped her hands excitedly.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself, opting to not give a label.

“Nice to meet you,” she replied with a sickeningly sweet smile.

She loaded her few bags of belongings into the back of the car as you and Spencer grabbed some more of his clothes from inside.

Spencer opted to drive so you headed to the passenger side. Austin grabbed the car door handle at the same time as you.

“Oh I’m sorry, were you going to sit here?” she feigned politeness.

“Yeah, I was,” you narrowed your eyes.

Spencer rolled the window down, “Austin, there’s plenty of room in the back.”

“Oh, of course!” she nodded enthusiastically.

You buckled as Spencer placed his hand on your thigh, in view of Austin. You settled in for the most awkward car ride of your life.

“Can’t you cancel? Please don’t leave me here with her,” Spencer begged as you got ready to go in for work.

“I would if they were just check-ups but Timmy has a rash I need to check out and I need to write a script so Jessica can get a refill on her medication. If you really don’t want to be alone with her, come with me,” you replied.

“I would but I also don’t trust her enough to leave her alone in your house,” Spencer sighed.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” you kissed him, “An hour and a half tops.”

“What do I even say to her?”

“You don’t have to say much. You’re already being generous enough to let her see Callie for the night. Just make dinner while I’m gone. You could offer her a bath or something if you want her to get out of your hair,” you suggested.

Spencer had offered Austin a bath so he didn’t have to deal with the awkward silence while you were gone.

He got to work cooking Rossi’s famous pasta for dinner, dicing onions and boiling the water. He would check the clock every minute and started a countdown in his head of when you would return home.

He heard the water drain from the tub upstairs.

Fuck, he thought, at least 10 more minutes until you’re home.

Austin sauntered down the stairs after her bath in just her bra and underwear, wearing one of Spencer’s unbuttoned dress shirts over top.

Spencer’s hands flew to cover his eyes, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Hopefully you,” she smirked.

“I have a girlfriend, well it’s not official yet but I am very much committed to her,” Spencer stated.

“If it’s not official,” she drew closer, “Then, this wouldn’t be cheating.”

“I don’t care if it’s technically not cheating. I only have interest in Y/N,” Spencer spoke firmly, his hands still over his eyes.

“Just once, Spence…for old time’s sake,” she whispered in his ear.

“No,” Spencer backed up further into the pot of sauce he was cooking for dinner, spilling a bit of the hot liquid on himself.

Spencer opened his eyes at the burning sensation, “Now look what you did,” he sighed frustratedly, starting to undo the buttons of his shirt, “I have to soak this before it stains. I can’t believe you. Why would you think this is okay?”

“Just go wash your shirt, Spencer,” Austin rolled her eyes.

Spencer, being so angry, didn’t hear the door open.

“I’m not finished with you, Austin,” he stared her down.

He heard a squeak from the other side of the room. You were standing there, fresh tears running down your face.

Spencer looked down at his unbuttoned shirt, Austin’s lack of clothes, and recalled the last thing he said.

“Y/N, it’s not what it looks like-” he tried to run after you but you were already out the door, slamming it behind you.

Spencer scrambled outside to where you were starting your car back up again.

“Y/N,” he frantically tapped against the car window, “Please let me explain.”

You didn’t even turn to face him, shifting the car into reverse and peeling out of the driveway.

Spencer stormed back inside, grabbing Austin’s bags, “Get the fuck out of Y/N’s house and get the fuck out of my family’s life.”

“But Callie isn’t even home yet,” she argued.

“Good,” Spencer yelled, “Because it took you less than 3 hours for your true colors to show again. You care about nothing! You didn’t want anything to do with us then so you don’t get to have anything to do with us now,” Spencer escorted her towards the door, “I will not hesitate to file for a restraining order if I see you near me, Y/N, or my daughter ever again.”

“Can I at least change?” she asked as Spencer threw her bags on the front step.

“You were plenty comfortable showing me who repeatedly told you no so might as well show the whole neighborhood,” he slammed the door in her face.

How dare he? In your house. Probably in your bed.

You went back to your office because Spencer couldn’t even leave you the dignity to retreat back to your own safe space that was now tainted with bad memories.

Luckily, you had a few pairs of spare clothes that you always kept in the office and a fully made cot in case a patient needed to rest. You settled yourself on the bed, letting the tears begin to fall again, drenching your pillow as you let sleep take over.

“Please pick up please please please,” Spencer begged.

“Hi, you’ve reached Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. I can’t come to the phone right now-”

Spencer hung up and hit his head against the steering wheel. He had already said what he needed to say in the previous 20 voicemails, followed by the additional 30 calls he made every 15 minutes, hoping you would pick up.

“At least you’re not blocked?” Callie tried her hardest to put a positive spin on it.

She didn’t know the full story, coming home after soccer practice to see her dad crying on the couch. Spencer told her that her mother had come back and hurt Y/N’s feelings badly because that was essentially what happened, right?

Spencer had been replaying the situation over and over in his head. Yes, it looked bad from the outside perspective but he didn’t think he actually did anything wrong. If only he could find Y/N, explain it to her and have her believe him.

“Have fun at school,” he hugged her goodbye before she hopped out of the car.

“Remember to tell Mrs. Roberts to drop you off at our place, not Y/N’s,” he reminded her.

“Our house is going to feel so dull though. It’s always cold, did you notice that? We don’t even have a cat,” she whined.

“The least we can do is give Y/N her space to process,” Spencer told her, “If she’s ready for us to come back into her life eventually, we’ll gladly take it.”

“If?” Callie grimaced, “How bad did my mother mess this up?”

“I’d rather not say,” Spencer simply stated.

“That sounds promising,” Callie sighed, “Bye, Dad. Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

“Could you give this note to Doctor Y/L/N?” Spencer asked the receptionist.

Y/N,

Your house is cleared out. Despite your previous statement, it is obvious we have overstayed our welcome at the moment. I hope if you give me a chance to explain, it will ease your pain and in turn, mine. I swear to you, angel, nothing happened. I can tell the full story whenever you are ready and I hope you can hear the truth in my voice.

Yours,

Spencer

“Jake Gomez?” he heard you call out.

He turned around to see a little kid hopping out of his seat in the waiting room and following you into the clinic area. You made brief eye contact with him and you looked so broken. It took everything in him not to run up and beg on his knees for your forgiveness.

Callie had a big soccer game coming up and you really wanted to go but you also really didn’t want to see Spencer.

Sure, you got his note but he could easily have lied. It was hard to argue with what you saw right in front of your eyes.

You pulled your hair back into a low bun and wore a hood pulled over a hat as well as sunglasses. You made sure to blend in with the crowd of moms.

You saw Spencer about 2 rows of bleachers down, leaning against the fence. God, why did he have to look so good in jeans?

Despite your sunglasses, one of the moms caught the subject of your stares.

“I’m pretty sure he’s single too,” she nudged you, “If I didn’t have a husband, I would be all over that fine piece of ass.”

You just nervously nodded in response.

The game had gone into overtime. The teams had to take turns shooting on the opposing goalie’s net. Each team must take 5 shots with 5 different players and whoever makes the most wins.

Callie was put in the stressful position of needing to make the shot to win the game for her team. She took her time, lining up the shot and stretching out her legs.

Callie ran in for the kick, faking left and when the goalie dived, she kicked right.

“Score!” the ref announced.

“Yes, Callie!” you stood and screamed in excitement, “That’s what I’m talking about!”

After the initial shock wore off, you realized Spencer was staring directly at you.

You grimaced, “Um excuse me, sorry, excuse me,” you repeated as you tried to quickly get out of the aisle.

“Y/N, please wait!” Spencer ran after you.

“I came for Callie, Spencer, not you,” you huffed, slowing to a walk because the parking lot was up a hill and you weren’t about to sprint the whole way.

“Please, Y/N, let me explain. I miss you so much, it hurts,” he pleaded.

“Oh you’re hurt?” you asked incredulously, “I’m sorry that me leaving after I found you cheating on me hurt you.”

“I didn’t cheat!” Spencer insisted, “She was coming on to me but I rejected her every single time. I was yelling at her for how inappropriate her behavior was, that's what you walked in on.”

“You were yelling at her with your shirt off?”

“I had my eyes covered at first so I wouldn’t see her indecent but I accidentally backed into the sauce and I didn’t want to stain my shirt.”

You sat there in silence, processing his story.

“Please say something. I’ll do anything to make it right, I need you back.”

A tear fell from Spencer’s eye which was followed by many more.

“I think your story is just crazy enough that I believe you,” you spoke.

“Really?” Spencer asked.

“Really,” you outreached your arms for a hug.

Spencer dove into your embrace like it was his air. He cried into your chest for 10 minutes until he finally met your eyes again.

“I’m sorry, I just thought I was never going to get to do this again,” he squeezed you tighter, “I love you, Y/N, and I want you to be my girlfriend. I actually want you to be more than my girlfriend someday but this is a good start for now.”

“I love you too,” you kissed him, “And just curious, what did you have in mind for the future?”

“I’m going to make you my wife someday,” he grinned.

A/N: one chapter left of this series! 🥺❤️

main taglist (just ask to be added/removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @ssacalumsg0lden @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly @spencerreid-187 @babymetaldoll @fics4arainyday @ssavanessa22 @all-tings-diego @idonotexiste @beepbooptoop @tvandfanfic @mggsprettygirl @big-galaxy-chaos @navs-bhat @spencerreidsmommy @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @mggs-sidehoe @rexit-mo @hufflepuffhaze @xoxospencerreid @wifeyprentiss @reidsbookclub @spencersrose @pinkdiamond1016 @muffin-cup

series taglist: @ilovespencerreidmarryme @nani-2305 @obsessivelysearching @fantasynerd09 @bvttercupbby @britishspidey @ladyravenclaw @belledawnidk @annesauriol @smokey102 @lady-himbo @kaitieskidmore1 @westanspencerreid @manuosorioh @haylaansmi @unhea1thy0bsessions @meganskane @lovergirl24 @queenariesofnarnia @asexual-booknerd (additional tags in reblog)

#spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #cm fanfic #cm fic

351 notes · View notes

dreadwulf · 3 years

Text

prompt #1: The Green Knight

(Warning: Major Character Death. Not the Major Character you think. Be warned.)

The Green Chapel stands still and silent when the Golden Knight arrives.

Once he had expected a fine cathedral to await him at the of his journey, but by now he is unsurprised to find a crumbled ruin overgrown with ivy. Only the stone walls remain of this “chapel”. The sunken paving stones admit dirt and weeds between them enough that it is barely distinguishable from the forest floor, and the roof is long since fallen in. Everywhere it is overgrown with thick green leaves and vines, and surrounded by a canopy of trees that opens only enough to admit a slice of night sky directly above.

Ser Jaime Lannister enters watchfully, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The Green Knight is nearly invisible to him at first: concealed in greenery, grown into the landscape as though part of it. The bark of his skin is encrusted with moss, leaving no visible gap between himself and the plants around him. Judging from the growth, the Knight has not moved in a long, long while.

Has he stood exactly here for the entire year, waiting for him? It looks more like a statue, or a tree carving. Something long abandoned. Much longer than a single year.

“Ser Knight,” he announces, “I have arrived per our agreement.”

Silence.

There is only him here, and a tree that looks only a little like a man.

He is early, Ser Jaime realizes. Will be it dawn of the day, or the very hour of their meeting? He may be here for some time. It will be hours to dawn, and it had been another sundown after that when the Green Knight had ridden into Robert’s court on his enormous steed.

One year hence, the Knight had said. Well, at least he is not late.

The pre-dawn hours are quiet here, and the grove is peaceful. The trees overhead open out onto a pretty sprinkling of stars, and all the noise of the forest and the brook which has lead him here has faded away. He can see why the locals call this the Green Chapel. It is the sort of place that encourages one to pray, and to contemplate, at least if one is given to introspection and piety.

Which he is usually not.

The Golden Knight quickly grows restless. Waiting is not a skill of his. He is impatient by nature, impetuous and impulsive. Faced with delay he will rush things ahead, or abandon his course. Unless, as in this case, he has no choice but to wait, and then he will be overcome with unease.

He paces. His fingers twitch. His gaze darts around, landing on this and that.

There is no sign of movement from the Green Knight.

If he had not seen him walking and talking, he might assume this to be only a sculpture, and not a living being. He might wonder if he had been tricked, and if some unseen enemy hovered nearby laughing at his predicament. But he has seen the Green Knight up close, and ran him through with his own blade, and watched as the great gnarled hands pulled the greatsword from his own breast as casually as a thorn from his finger, and tossed the weapon aside as though it were a child’s plaything.

His hands curl around the same greatsword at his belt. He has carried it for a year, this sword. It was his prize for accepting the Green Knight’s challenge, and ostensibly he is here to return it. When he does, the knight will return him the same blow, and stab him through the heart.

Was it worth it? What, after all, did he do with his fine sword?

Ser Jaime sighs and sits on the wet ground. He can grow no more muddy and disheveled than he is already. He left King’s Landing in his extravagant golden armor, wearing his lion’s helm, and riding the finest horse in his stable. But he arrives in the Green Chapel on foot, with no helm, dressed in shabby clothing and battered bits of armor. Even his golden hair is shorn, and only a thin growth of hair remains of his famous golden curls.

The only thing of value remaining to him is the sword. And to be quite honest, the Green Knight is welcome to it. If he could, he would exchange it for something much more valuable that he had found, and then lost, along the way.

It had taken many weeks to get him here. There were some diversions - misadventures, a strange episode in a Keep, and a good deal of wandering around lost - but he has come a very long way from Robert’s Court to find himself here. He had managed the journey only with the help of his squire.

The girl had joined him on the road on the very first day. She was part of the crowd that had followed him from the gates, those knight-hopefuls who so frequently followed his footsteps around the city. Most wanted some of his glory, hoped for it to spill onto them by mere proximity. Some wanted merely to see him meet his fate, others to be part of that tale if they could. But there was very little glory in this journey. They had been beset by bandits, wild animals, bad weather, and strange side-tracks from almost the very start

There had been six, even eight of them at a time, during the ride through the Westerlands, but as he traveled further and further from the capital and the weather worsened their number dwindled, and by the tenth night there was only her. Her name was Brienne. If she had another he has already forgotten it.

She was a strange girl, ungainly large, and dressed all in armor, in imitation of a knight. She had a face like rotten fruit, softly misshapen. Her straw-blonde hair, ruddy and pox-marked skin, and stubborn pout completed the picture. Her very presence proved subtly irritating. If a maid cannot be beautiful she might at least keep herself out of sight; or else be a servant, who are barely women to begin with.

His followers quickly decided to make a servant of her. This did not go well. Ser Jaime came upon her fighting three of the men on the third night. One of them had blood streaming from his nose already, another was sitting on the ground looking dazed from a blow to the head. The last was seemingly unfazed by the fate of the other two, and Ser Jaime observed him take a good punch to the chin that left him spitting out teeth. They were trying to steal her supper, she said. The girl should be cooking for us all, the men said.

“She is my squire”, Ser Jaime told them, deciding upon it at that very moment. “She will cook supper for only me.”

“Like hell I will,” the ungrateful wench spat at him.

Ser Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Do you wish to be a knight or not? First you must be a squire.”

She did at that. She did wish it, very much. He can see it in her eyes -- striking blue eyes, with a determined gaze.

Brienne did cook his supper, the next night, over the campfire. Not very well, and he did not insist again. But she also tended his armor and sword, and that she did very well indeed. She handled his greatsword with tremendous respect and care, such that it touched him to see. He had long since stopped being impressed by the blade, after carrying it for a year.

Brienne proved a loyal squire, if not the most typical one. When wolves attacked she proved herself courageous, stood herself well in front of older and more experienced men. When there was work to be done she would be first to do it, and without being asked: gathering firewood, tending the horses. Drudgery she avoided, but practical, necessary things she performed without complaint.

She had very blue eyes. Sky eyes, clear and bright. He would have liked to look at them, except that she would be looking back, and that seemed to frighten her. She did not like to look him in the face. A shy maid, for all her armor and prickly temperament. He liked to tease her, and tell bawdy jokes with the other men until her face turned a pleasant pink.

A skirmish with the Brave Companions lost three of his would-be-knights and all of their horses,and it lead to their capture for a brief time. When they managed to escape, they were left traveling afoot, and without their supplies. His other followers drifted off then, losing their taste for adventure. Only the girl remained, and walked beside him along the road North uncomplaining through the long days ahead.

She was good with a blade, better than most. Not so good as Ser Jaime, who had a prodigious talent. But on the occasions he challenged her to spar with him, she got his blood up and roaring in a way he had not felt since he was a young man himself, and all his adventures before him.

She was kind. Too reserved to be gregarious, but generous in spirit. She took pity on every foundling, every poor farmer and milkmaid they encountered along the way. She wanted to help them, rescue them all; if he had not restrained her they would have been fighting for the honor of each individual cow from the Westerlands to the Neck. She was much disappointed that they hadn’t. What is a knight for, if not that?

She would learn, as he once had. The Knights of Robert’s Kingdom were more tarnished than a starry-eyed squire suspected. Heroes and legends in tales were only men in the flesh, and men with a bit of money and renown all went the same way. Given the best of everything they would indulge themselves, would grow greedy, would came to expect what had once been freely given. They fought not for gods and country but for glory, and mainly fought each other. They plundered wealth and women, sat by roaring fires, went slow, went soft, forgot hunger and killing cold.

Honor was a facade, nothing more. To become a knight was to learn it. It made him glad she would never be knighted, and fail that lesson.

“Entertain me, squire,” he said to her as they rode side-by-side, needling her. “I have heard all of the songs and stories of this land, and they bore me. Tell me a tale of yourself, Squire Brienne. What adventures set you on this course to become a knight?”

She bowed her head. “I have no tales to tell, my lord. It is only a wish, and an aspiration. But I have no adventures but the one we are on now. But you, my lord, are a famous knight, and must have many stories to tell. I would be honored to hear them from your own lips.”

Ser Jaime had hundreds of tales. He has boasted of his adventures to innumerable audiences as they looked on him admiringly, the great Golden Knight. Wins at tourney, duels with other knights, riding to war for King Robert. But for some reason, as he turned them over in his mind, he discarded each of his favorite stories one by one. He did not want to tell them now; those stories are not for her.

“I also have no tales to tell,” he said.

“Are you not on a quest, my lord?” She looked over at him quizzically, her blue eyes innocent. “I hear tell you are riding to the Green Chapel in the north…”

“I am, and to meet the Green Knight. But even I am not so bold as to tell that tale when I do not yet know its ending. But it sounds like you could, Squire Brienne.”

Again she frowned at him for that title. But she did know the bare outlines of the story, how the strange Green Knight had rode into King Robert’s court and invited the bravest and boldest of his knights to face him in battle, to strike a single blow and receive a blow in return, and for it they would gain his greatsword as a prize. How the Golden Knight had taken up the challenge, and in a blow of great talent and precision stabbed the Golden Knight through the heart, finding the weakest point in his armor on a single try. But instead of falling down dead, the Green Knight had easily pulled the blade from his own chest and mounted his horse. He told the Golden Knight to meet him in one year at the Green Chapel, where he would return his blow.

“And I see you do not hesitate to keep your word,” Brienne concluded the tale. “You are as bold and brave as all the stories say. But what will you do when you get there?”

“Fight him, I suppose.” Ser Jaime’s hand tensed around the ruby-encrusted pommel of his borrowed sword.

“Ser?” She blinked back at him in confusion.

“What, you expected I would meekly bow my head and be murdered? Of course not.” Ser Jaime’s shoulders shook. “Twas not a fair bargain, when he has such dark magic that he can take a sword through the heart and survive. I have no such magic, and it isn’t a fair exchange.”

“But you did not have to strike a deathblow. By the bounds of the agreement you might have only scratched him, and taken only a scratch in return.”

Well, yes. In hindsight, that would have been wiser. If he had taken the time to think it over, he might have put that together. But by nature he rarely takes that time.

“He was a large and fearsome Knight, and I thought only to prevent the return blow. Of course if I had known he would survive it I would have acted differently. I know it now. And when I see the Knight this time I will fight him with everything I have, and he will fight me with everything He has, and we will see who is the victor.”

“But you made a promise…” She sounded faintly disappointed, and it irritated him greatly.

“It was a trick, girl. A trick to snare a knight by his honor. Would you have me die for a trick? What good will that serve? No, I will keep my appointment as promised, but he will have to work to land his blow against me. I’ll have my skill and my wit to defend me, as he had his magic.”

“Are you not afraid, Ser?”

“Afraid to fight? Never. It will be a fine duel, perhaps the finest of my life, and I am eager for it. It will be the battle that will make my legend, the kind that songs are sung of, and I look forward to that.”

Brienne said that she hoped to see it, and let the matter lie.

She did not see it, of course. They came to the Crossroads instead.

An inn stood at the crossroads, and cast-offs from the Riverlands sheltered there. Orphans and strays. Jaime and Brienne arrived only long enough to see a great many helpless faces before bandits came riding, meaning to plunder the kitchens, and carry off the women and children.

Jaime told the girls to run away as best they could, and aimed to do the same. If they were quick about it, the raiders couldn’t catch them all.

Brienne, on the other hand, meant to defend them. They would not survive alone in the forest, she said, and if the bandits took away the food, the little ones would starve.

“Better the bandits take them then, one or the other,” he said quickly, tugging at her. “But we had best retreat. We will not manage another fight in our condition, and not without more men.”

This was entirely reasonable, to him; better knights than he had often advised the same. There was no glory in failure, and certainly none in a pointless death in the middle of nowhere.

“No.” Brienne grew taller under his grasp, and would not be moved. “What good is a knight if he will not defend the innocent?”

“You stupid girl.” He holds her by the shoulders. “There is nothing you and I alone can do against so many men, no matter how skilled you are with a blade. They will surround us and cut us down -- it won’t even buy any time for your orphans. The best we can do is live to fight another day.”

“Someone must do something,” she says stubbornly. “I will not run.”

“Not to no avail! A battle is bravery, but this is suicide. It’s foolish, meaningless. It will make no difference whether you intervene or not - either way the women are taken and the children are killed. You will only add another body.”

“Someone must fight for them,” she insists. “Even if there is no hope. I am not enough, but if there is no one else, then it will be me.”

With that, she had shoved him in the larder, with a sudden and ferocious strength, and barred the door.

“Let me free, you stupid child!” He slammed his weight into the door sharply with his shoulder, enraged.

He could hear her through the door, her voice steady and clear.

“Someone must fight for them. If there is no one else, then it will be me.”

“Damn you,” he swore at her. “Open the door and I will fight with you. Two against a dozen is better odds than one. Open the door!”

“You have an appointment to keep,” she said, and then there was silence.

Jaime could not see what happened after that, but he could hear it. He could hear the disdainful laughter of the brighands, and the drawing of many blades. He could hear for a time the blades clashing, and much shouting, and one unfamiliar cry of pain, and for a brief moment he was hopeful that she might prevail. She was a talented swordfighter. If they fought her one at a time he had no doubt she could best them.

He could tell, even without seeing, that they did not. The fight turned, became a slaughter. He heard a single cry that he knew in his gut was Brienne, taking a blow she would not survive. There came more noise then, more steel and blows, and then the screams of the women and children being dragged from the Inn.

He screamed too. He wept, and clutched at his useless greatsword in a rage, wanting to throw himself through the door and impale himself on them like an arrow, these animals who would dare to touch a true knight. None of them seemed to hear him, or proved interested in the larder.

He didn’t know how long he had been left sitting there on the floor, with tears on his face and the earthy smell of raw meat weighting him down in the cool darkness. He waited for one of them, any of them, to remember him in the kitchens and come back, but no one did, and that was how he knew that no one remained. He wondered if he would be left there to rot. To moulder away with the bits of cheese and bread that remained there until he was nought but bones and a borrowed sword.

Eventually, quietly, a small boy with enormous eyes unbarred the door, having emerged from his hidey-hole only hours after the vicious intruders had left. Seeing Jaime huddled in the dark, he fled again and hid himself away in the Inn.

Jaime emerged into the twilight reluctantly. When he looked down the road, he imagined he could see them. The prisoners being taken away in the back of some wagon, women and children and women who were really children still, huddled together and weeping, down the long road and away. It was all for nothing, all of this. The brigands had taken them anyway.

There was no glory in this defeat. There was only a bloodstreaked trench in the mud where a terrible battle occurred, and in the middle of it a sad heap of metal. She was unrecognizable there, cut to pieces. Only a few strands of pale blonde hair remained to know her by.

The blacksmith’s armory had implements enough to break the cold ground. He dug a hole right beside the crossroads while the rain bucketed down on him. His chest hurt from the strangled sob caught in it. He put her in the hole and blanketed her again with the mud. If there had been flowers anywhere in that season in all the land he would have found them and laid them there above her grave. One day, he hoped, grass would grow.

It was a meaningless gesture, and made no difference to the blue-eyed girl. But it meant something to Jaime.

It was not meaningless to them, the shivering children and the sad-faced women riding away in the wagons. They had looked back, mournfully, at the place in the road where her body lay. Looked back down the long road, into the distance, through the rain and the trees and the tramping feet of the bandits’ horses and out of sight, and they kept looking. They would look back long after the rain and wind had wiped away any traces of what had happened there. They would not forget. When the enemy came for them, someone took up a blade in their cause. Someone thought they mattered. Someone thought they were worth dying for. They did not face their fate alone.

When evil comes, so long as at least one person stands against it, there is still some light left in the world.

He left the shovel there in the road and went back to the Inn. It took some time to locate the boy and persuade him to come out of the trunk where he had hidden himself. He carried the boy with him North to the next village, where he left him wordlessly at the Sept, and turned North again, alone.

The rain never stops now. The ground is crusted with snow and the air is wet and mossy and somehow the rains never wash anything away. It only soaks into the dirt and grime and ice and blood and weighs it down. Makes it heavier. Makes everything impossibly heavy.

There are more strange things that happen to him then: how the road curves and wanders beneath his feet and doubles him back to the start as though trying to throw him off his course. There were strange dreams, and visions, and he walks in a sort of fever. Nothing seems quite real after the Crossroads, nothing except the sword in his hand and his goal: the Green Chapel. He has an appointment to keep.

He grows only more determined to reach his destination.

The nights grow colder. He wakes up shivering, rolling over, trying to wake the embers of the fire, and every time his eyes open they are looking for the foolish girl in her armor. They find only blackness and he remembers then the crossroads and the hole he dug besides the road.

He missed her terribly.

He misses her still, sitting here before the Green Knight. It is a persistent ache, a weight that grows heavier by the day. It makes him feel ancient to contemplate. He sounds like one of the rusty old knights who cluster around Robert, lamenting the roads not taken, the women they might have settled down with. Lost loves. It has been only days and yet it seems like years ago, and a road already overgrown and impassable. He can see it already, the enormity of his mistake. His life might have become something entirely different, improbably better. The opportunity came to him, and he wasted it.

Brienne. The Maiden Knight. She could have been his lady love and his brother-at-arms all at once. Would anything have been so perfectly suited to him as that? He will never find her like again, and even if he did he would not want it; he will only want her, for the rest of his life.

Jaime muses over these memories through the hours. The journey, the past, the world around him. Time seems to settle into a hazy blur.

The sun rises slowly, impossibly slowly. He cannot see it past the trees, but the world gradually brightens, with gentle insistence. The greens grow ever more lush and verdant all around him. The wall where the Green Knight stands turns from grim grey to a lively grass color, the dark ivy wound around in loops that seem to form an altar of deep mossy overgrowth around the still and sleeping form of the Knight.

His hands worry at the hilt of the greatsword that he had come to return. He might leave the blade on the altar and go. Would that fulfill his word?

What did Jaime do with his famous sword, during the year he had it? Only held it aloft for others to see. Used it to threaten, and to cajole. Boasted of it to other lords. But the only time he had just cause to draw it he had chosen to retreat instead, and in doing lost the only thing of any value he had ever found.

If only he had gone with her. Agreed right at the first, without hesitation. If he had stood at her side it might have ended differently. One had no chance, but two, perhaps, might have survived. He might have taken her with him to the Green Chapel. He might have taken her home to the King. He might have seen her made a knight, and stood proudly beside her at the king’s table. The tales he might have made with her, he would be proud to tell.

The Knight’s form comes into clearer and clearer relief: looming over him, impossibly tall, improbably wide.

Jaime knows with cold certainty that the Knight is going to wake very soon. As the light grows stronger, the Green Chapel is waking around him with a thousand tiny movements. He can almost make out the subtle sound of leaves uncurling to the sun, and worms crawling in the earth.

The sword, Oathkeeper, quivers in his hands, as though outraged. How did he dare to carry that blade to this place intending to lie? To break his promise? More and more he thinks he did not. He came here for something else entirely.

Jaime finds, for the first time that he can remember, his hands are trembling. It is one thing to go to battle, but another entirely to go to an execution. His heart beats in his ears with a deep drumbeat of doom... doom... doom...

He’s not here to fight a duel, is he? What, then, is he here for?

Glory? Judgement? Mercy? Absolution?

Or only the cold, mechanical means of his inevitable end?

Was all this journey only for that? Is he truly here only to get a blade through his chest? And if so, might it be worth his while? After all, is there any better way for a knight to die? Will it not be a fitting end to his legend?

But he isn’t ready to die. Not willingly. Not without redeeming his honor, making something of himself. If he had another year… but would he do any more with that than he had the last? Than he has with all of the years thus far? Is there any amount of time that would make any more of himself than he has already?

The time he needed was these weeks on the road with Brienne. That showed him what kind of man he’d like to be. But he failed her when it mattered most. Perhaps he should be judged for that. Not a year from now, nor twenty. Today.

The sun rises higher in the sky, and paints the Green Chapel gold. The air warms, and birdsong calls to him on the breeze. The day is relentlessly pleasant, with a promise of endless more such days to follow. A bittersweet longing fills him. It has never seemed half so lovely to be alive as it does in this beautiful place. If only he could have brought her here.

I will be brave, he says to himself. Like Brienne.

All at once there is a great creaking sound of wood bending and tearing, and when Jaime looks up the green altar is moving. Green leaves tremble and wave purposefully, and twigs and small branches snap and fall away to rest in the dirt below. The trunk of the altar pulls itself free, excavates itself from the enclosure in the leaves and branches. Limbs pull free, and something nearly human rises out of the green, the bark of its skin glistening, newborn.

The Green Knight is standing.

Jaime looks up, and up, and up, from where he sits on the mossy floor of the green chapel, and his hand grips the hilt of his sword.

He is ready to fight, by instinct, and to flee, by sudden impulse. He is afraid, he realizes, afraid in a way he has never been before. There is more than a blow to the heart to fear here. There is the fate of his soul, which is suddenly entirely in question. Before his journey he had no doubt of his own worth as a knight, and now he is just as certain in the opposite direction. Is he worthy? He is not. He is not.

Slowly, he stands. The sun shines down on him through the same corridor in the trees where he had watched the stars the night previous, and its warmth is a rebuke; why should the sun shine upon one such as him? He is the golden knight no more. He is only a man, a man with a sword that does not belong to him.

His eyes raise last of all.

Jaime finds through the golden light the Green Knight’s face. The eyes first, through a thin bloom of leaves and moss, and then the nose, the jawline. He has never seen it so clearly before, not even when he had stabbed her through the heart. With slow realization his eyes travel down and up again, taking in the shape of his host, and her nature.

The Green Knight is a woman? Why didn’t he realize it before?

It seems only too clear now. The slight narrowing of the waist and wrists, and in the face… not a pretty face, but undeniably feminine. Full lips, round cheeks, and the eyes...

Blue eyes. Beautiful blue, sad blue, noble and sorry. The lost blue of long-forgotten clear skies.

When he sees them his hands stop shaking. All is well. His grand sword slips from his fingers and settles softly in the grass, sinks gently into the ground, is welcomed.

“It’s you,” he says. “I’m glad it’s you.”

The girl from the Crossroads is standing before him.

He doesn’t understand how it is possible. Was she always the Knight? Was all an illusion? Was the Knight in disguise when he met her, or was the Knight once that girl? But it doesn’t matter. Whoever she is, she is here now, and it is good and right that this happen to him.

Her voice is low and rusty, like a hinge that has not moved in many years, and slow in its opening.

“You... kept... our appointment,” the Knight creaks.

His mouth is gone dry. “One year hence. You gave me time enough. And so I am here.”

He thinks he sees her smile, faintly. With the crackling sound of breaking branches, the Knight gestures to his feet.

“You... dropped your sword... my Lord.” Ser Jaime glances down at Oathkeeper, already disappearing beneath the twining vines on the forest floor. “Is it not time... for our blades to cross? A duel to make your legend?”

“I made you a promise,” he says faintly, and puts a hand over his unguarded heart. “It seems my word is all I have, and if it means nothing to anyone else, it means something to me.”

She smiles. An oaken hand reaches out and touches him on the face, gently. “My brave knight.”

Her eyes are the bluest skies he has ever seen. He is not afraid. Not anymore.

“Are you ready?” she asks him, still stroking his cheek.

“Yes.” He is eager for it now. “Strike your blow.”

“Straight through the heart,” she agrees. Then she reaches out with her other hand to touch the other side of his face.

She kisses him.

#dreadwulf fic #jaime lannister #braime

57 notes · View notes

jedimaesteryoda · 3 years

Text

Brienne’s Off to See the Wizard

I’m feeling a little silly right now, and in that spirit I’ll say that Brienne's journey in A Feast for Crows draws a bit of The Wizard of Oz: a girl dressed in blue travels with three dudes and a dog along a road on a quest to return a girl home.

Brienne is Dorothy, the protagonist who dresses in blue (armor), and is given Oathkeeper which is sword studded with rubies in place of ruby slippers. At the start, she is accused of killing Renly when she was actually at the wrong place at the wrong time just like Dorothy with her house dropping on the Wicked Witch of the East. Dorothy ends up in Munchkinland of the diminutive Munchkins while Brienne travels through the riverlands which is predominantly made up of smallfolk. Dorothy was brought to Oz by a tornado while Brienne is from the stormlands. Brienne is sent on her mission to return a girl home by Catelyn, the Lady of the North in place of Glinda the Good Witch of the North.

Professor Marvel: I see a woman. She's wearing a polka-dot dress. Her face is careworn. Dorothy: That's Auntie Em. Professor Marvel: Her name is Emily. Dorothy: That's right. What's she doing? Professor Marvel: Well I, uh, I can't quite see. Why, she's crying. Someone has hurt her. Someone has just about broken her heart. Dorothy: Me? Professor Marvel: Well, it's uh, someone she loves very much. Someone she's been very kind to. Someone she's taken care of in sickness. Dorothy: I had the measles once and she stayed right by me every minute. What's she doing now? Professor Marvel: Well, she's, uh...What's this? Well, she's, she's putting her hand on her heart. Oh, she's, she's dropping down on the bed. Dorothy: Oh, no, no, no. Professor Marvel: Uh, that's it, the crystal's gone dark. Dorothy: You don't suppose she could really be sick, do you? Oh, I've got to go home right away.

Go home, child. You have a home, which is more than many can say in these dark days. You have a noble father who must surely love you. Consider his grief if you should never return. Perhaps they will bring your sword and shield to him, after you have fallen. Perhaps he will even hang them in his hall and look on them with pride . . . but if you were to ask him, I know he would tell you that he would sooner have a living daughter than a shattered shield."

"A daughter." Brienne's eyes filled with tears. "He deserves that. A daughter who could sing to him and grace his hall and bear him grandsons. He deserves a son too, a strong and gallant son to bring honor to his name. Galladon drowned when I was four and he was eight, though, and Alysanne and Arianne died still in the cradle. I am the only child the gods let him keep. The freakish one, not fit to be a son or daughter."

- A Feast for Crows, Brienne VI

Brienne meets people along the way. Elder Brother tells her to abandon her quest, and think of her father who likely misses her while she is away from home just as Professor Marvel told Dorothy to abandon running away and go back home. She also comes across three people and a dog along her quest who end up accompanying her.

Septon Meribald is the Scarecrow. Dorothy meets him in the country where he wants a brain, yet throughout the film demonstrated himself to be intelligent and good on his feet. Meribald is from the country, and at first appears country bumpkin-esque, but actually proves himself to be intelligent with his Broken Men speech. His knowledge of the riverlands also proves to be useful to them throughout the trip.

Hyle Hunt is undoubtedly the Tin Man. Hyle Hunt’s body is covered in the metal of his armor like the Tin Man, and not having a heart appears to describe him pretty well. He calls Brienne ugly to her face when we see him first talk to her. He wants to find Sansa so he can sell her to the Lannisters. When Brother Gillum shows that a horse bit off his ear, Hyle responds by joking about it. When Brienne expresses sympathy for the children at the inn having lost their parents, Hyle’s response is to roll his eyes and mock her for her sympathy. He comes off as an insensitive prick who doesn’t seem very caring towards anyone. However, we are first introduced to him when he defends a smallfolk couple and Brienne from Tarly’s guards, and actually defends Brienne against his boss and liege, Randyll Tarly, which cost him his job. So there might be a heart to him somewhere after all.

Podrick Payne is the Cowardly Lion. Pod served lions, the Lannisters, and with a name like Payne with his distant cousin being Ser Ilyn the King’s Justice one would expect him to be more aggressive and intimidating. Yet, he is described by every POV character that meets him as timid, with Sansa noticing he blushes and stares at her feet every time she talks with him. He is clearly shy, but he rams himself into Mandon Moore just as he is about to kill Tyrion, and then pulls Tyrion to safety from the raging inferno on the Blackwater, saving his life. He later helps Brienne against the undoubtedly dangerous Bloody Mummer deserters. The boy can be shy, but deep inside is brave.

She finally comes across one figure who has gained repute in the land for his ostensible magical ability.

“Oh, no, my dear, I... I'm a very good man - I'm just a very bad Wizard”

"The pink pretender, rather. I am Thoros, late of Myr, aye . . . a bad priest and a worse wizard."

- A Feast for Crows, Brienne VIII

Brienne eventually meets a man called the "red wizard," Thoros and just as the Wizard was just an ordinary man using smoke and mirrors, Thoros’s magic is usually just pyromancer tricks. Even he admits he isn’t really that much of a wizard or a red priest. But Thoros is a man who spent the entire war aiding the smallfolk of the riverlands, so while not much of a sorcerer, he still is at heart a good man.

Auntie Em: You just had a bad dream.

Dorothy: But it wasn't a dream. It was a place, and you and you and you ... and you were there . . . But you couldn't have been, could you?

Auntie Em: We dream lots of silly things when we...’

Dorothy: No, Aunt Em. This is a real, truly live place. And I remember that some of it wasn't very nice. But most of it was beautiful. But just the same, all I kept saying to everybody was, 'I want to go home.' And they sent me home.

“This is an evil dream, she thought. But if she were dreaming, why did it hurt so much?”

. . .

This time she dreamed that she was home again, at Evenfall. Through the tall arched windows of her lord father's hall she could see the sun just going down. I was safe here. I was safe.

. . .

"I saw him. In the woods."

"A fever dream, my lady."

"He said that he would hang me."

"Even dreams can lie. My lady, how long has it been since you have eaten? Surely you are famished?"

-A Feast for Crows, Brienne VIII

At the end, she wakes up from a dream, and while in the film, Dorothy is finally home, and her journey was revealed to be a dream, Brienne is far from home in the cave of the Brotherhood without Banners and she wakes up to a living nightmare. Brienne is reunited with the Lady of the North, though unlike in the film with Glinda, it is not a happy reunion, as she is accused of betrayal and her ruby studded sword given to her is used against her as opposed to helping her.

“Bring me the broom of the Wicked Witch of the West.”

"She wants her son alive, or the men who killed him dead," said the big man. "She wants to feed the crows, like they did at the Red Wedding. Freys and Boltons, aye. We'll give her those, as many as she likes. All she asks from you is Jaime Lannister."

-A Feast for Crows, Brienne VIII

After finding the titular wizard, Dorothy in the story has to go on a side quest to complete her goal of returning home. Brienne finds the red wizard and is now told to prove her loyalty by bringing to them in place of the broom of the Wicked Witch of the West, Jaime Lannister, the twin brother and Lord Commander of Cersei’s Kingsguard sent to pacify the riverlands.

“I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog, too!”

The queen regarded him coolly. "I had not thought you so niggardly. The king I'd thought to wed would have laid a wolfskin across my bed before the sun went down." Robert's face darkened with anger. "That would be a fine trick, without a wolf." "We have a wolf," Cersei Lannister said. Her voice was very quiet, but her green eyes shone with triumph.

-A Game of Thrones, Eddard II

As for Cersei, well, she is associated with the color green, is very vindictive and cruel, often associated with wildfire and comes from the westerlands. She also starts at the beginning of the story by having a girl's innocent dog, Lady, killed. Her subordinates are referred to as monkeys with Tyrion, her Hand, being called “a twisted little monkey demon,” Lancel, who served as her sword, is compared to “a mummer’s monkey” and she thinks of Falyse Stokeworth, whom she tried to have kill Bronn, as a “grasping monkey.” Cersei is also looking for the same young girl Brienne is, someone she blames for the death of a relative, and had imprisoned in her castle.

Just who could Cersei's parallel be?

#a feast for crows #brienne of tarth #jaime lannister #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #wicked witch of the west #dorothy #wizard of oz #the cowardly lion #tin man #oz #the riverlands #thoros of myr #lannister #cersei #cersei lannister

32 notes · View notes

jordanstrophe · 3 years

Text

A Cinnamon Bun too Pure for this World, part 5

CW: Conditioned whumpee, afraid of punishment, wounds mentioned, Whumpee attached to old whumper, panic attacks, fear of abandonment (It’s relatively short, but if I added the next part it would be too long)

Masterlist

Just before the sun rose, Richard was awake. He tossed his robe on and slid on his fluffy slippers. He hoped if he got up early enough and made breakfast before Cin was up, he wouldn’t try to help and get himself hurt again.

He felt so bad yesterday... He had tossed and turned all night from the image of Cin’s bruised and battered body burned into his mind. He really had a handful on his hands, didn’t he?

He shuffled into the kitchen, there was a low humming sound coming from the counter as he froze. Was he hearing things? It was dark as he braced himself for the pain the light would bring as he flicked it on.

There Cin stood, bags under his eyes as he blankly stared into the abyss holding a mixer in hand with ingredients and pans sprawled all over the kitchen. There was a flower covering half his face, as his expression looked half asleep.

“C-Cin? What are you doing?!” Richard gasped, catching himself at the end as he reminded himself to keep his tone calm and soothing. Cin snapped out of it as he perked up- or... More like he woke up as his eyes looked frightened and wide. He shut off the mixer as the humming slowly died.

Cin stared at him trying to read his emotions. Was he happy? Angry? Did he do good? Bad? Richard didn’t have to read into his very much, frustration was written all over his face.

“Cin, it’s too early, you need to be resting.” He soothed. Cin looked down at the bowl on the counter, then back up. “But I have to make breakfast.” He slurred, struggling to stay upright.

“No sweetie! Not now. Did you even sleep last night?” Richard asked.

“S-sleep? But you didn’t tell me how long I could.” He looked at him with a sad guilty expression like a puppy caught red-handed in a trashbin. “What are you talking about? You don’t need permission like that! Put the mixer down please.” Robert ordered, Cin looked devastated as he slowly set it down.

“B-b-b-but I thought I was doing good! Was I not early enough? I can wake up earlier I promise! I’m sorry... I didn’t know when you got up!” He stuttered, his began to tremble as his voice shook, his left hand violently jittered and twitched.

Guilt struck Richard’s heart... He had messed it up again. It was like everything his did only played with Cin’s emotions, toyed with him like a clueless doll. He glanced up to see Cin had a bowl in his hands while blankly stirring, still trying to finish what he started.

Richard sighed. He was dreading having to do this, but it was time he came clean that he was in over his head. Cin was such a sweet young man, he deserved the best care he could get.

It just wasn’t here.

“Cin, but the bowl down please.” Robert coaxed, placing a hand on the bowl guiding it down to the counter. Richard used his sleeve to clean his face off of the flower. He opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated.

“...I’m not the best qualification to give you what you need. You’re hurt, really hurt and I don’t know how to help you. You deserve professional care, so... I’m going to call the hospital and drop you off today.”

Cin immediately inhaled with horror, the wooden spoon in his hand dropping and clattering to the floor. He latched onto Richard’s robe as his lip quivered, desperately trying to say something, but Richard raised a hand to stop him.

“No no no! It’s okay. This isn’t a bad thing. You’re going to get the best care, who’s going to help you, I promise.” He gave him a reassuring smile as he gently cupped his hand over Cin’s that was turning white while clutching his robe.

His face was twisted with confusion and terror. He didn’t really understand what he was saying... He was being abandoned again, wasn’t he? Nathen left him and now Richard was too! Why?! Why was everyone leaving him? Nathen was...

Right.

He was right all along.

He was a fool to think otherwise.

“Cin, you’re going to be okay. Right?” Richard asked. The more he studied his face the more his concern grew. He looked like he had seen a ghost. Richard placed a hand on his cheek, as Cin surprisingly leaned his whole head into the touch, like it would be the last kindness he would ever receive. Cin’s head fell a little as his hand retracted.

Richard dug through a basket full of tiny papers for the hospital’s number as he took a phone. Cin just stood with his hands gribbing the counter behind him as his breathing quickly escalated.

“Hi, can I scedu-” Richard was cut off as a weight slammed into the back of his knees. He gasped as he looked down to see Cin collapsed on the ground, hugging his legs for dear life. He pressed his forehead into his knees while sobbing with a muffled voice into his soft robe.

“P-please d-don’t! Please don’t abandon me, I’ll be good! Give me another ch-chance, PLEASE!” Cin sobbed. Richard quickly excused himself on the phone and hung up.

“It’s not f-f-fair! Wh-why did he have to l-leave me!? I understand you don’t w-want me, I’m nothing b-but a burden to you... B-but why did he have to?! He s-said... He said he was the only one who could p-put up with me! Why did he leave!?” Cin belted. His voice was broken as he cracked the lid open and let out a sliver of his bottled emotions.

Richard was left stunned as he just listened, the more he grew to know Cin, the more horrified he was to know he had only scratched the surface of his torment and conditioning. He was gripping the counter for balance as Cin was desperately squeezing his knees together. Richard managed to sink down low enough he could twist his body around so Cin was clinging to his chest instead.

He sat crossed legged as he pulled Cin into his lap as he buried his face into his neck. Richard could feel how hard he was trembling against his chest and he let out a sigh, running his fingers through Cin’s soft hair.

“He didn’t abandon you, he simply got caught. And I’m glad he did... I know you’re not happy right now, but you’re safe. Happiness will come in time. I’m not abandoning you, I’m giving you to someone who can take better care of you then I can. This is the best choice for you! I know you don’t really see it, but you’re really hurt. It would be selfish of me to try and take care of you myself.” He explained.

“No!! No! Please! I can do better! Please!” Cin wailing harder with each word.

“It’s not about you doing better. You’re not doing anything wrong, please don’t think this has anything to do with something you’ve done.” He rasped, holding him tightly in his arms.

Cin cried as Richard held him, he eventually quieted down to occasional hiccups and whimpers. Richard felt like he was torn in two. Part of him knew if he took care of him any longer he would get more attached then he already was.

Every shift he made in his movement Cin clung to him tighter like he was preparing himself when they could get torn apart.

“please please please please please” Cin muttered under his breath.

Richard let out a long pained sigh. “Sweetie listen to me...” He whispered. His brain was screaming at him to shut his mouth and call the hospital, but his lips and heart ran off on their own. He could feel Cin holding his breath.

“You can stay, but-” “-THANK YOU! Thank you thank you thank you!” Cin crawled up into his lap further and latched onto his neck tightly, almost knocking him over.

“Easy there! There’s still a but. I’m going to do my best to bandage you up, so I need you to be good, listen to me and do what I say, okay?” He asked.

“B-but I’m fine! I’m used to it!” He argued.

“Being used to it doesn’t mean you're not hurt. Neglecting your wounds like this could make it worse in the long run. If we’re going to do this, I need you not to argue with me.” Richard said.

Cin quickly shut his mouth as he went pale.

“And I’m not going to punish you either.” Richard added, worried about his conditioning. He was always paranoid of saying things that might set him off, he learned when Cin’s left hand started twitching meant he was expecting pain. He would try to hide It, but Richard knew it was still violently jittering.

“Alright, I’ll grab a first aid and we’ll see what we can do.” He smiled.

@milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101 @sillypizzazineoperator @as-a-matter-of-whump @alien-octopus @unicornscotty @yesthisiswhump

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Thank you for reading!

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #caretaking #conditioned whumpee #whump writing #whump stories #cin

96 notes · View notes

cruciology · 4 years

Text

Familiar Need

Requested by anon: Could you do a Sandor x reader she's one of Baelish's girls and Sandy is a regular and he takes her with him after the Blackwater battle? Idk if that made sense?

You sunk the pitcher beneath the surface of the steaming water, filling it to the brim before pouring it over the Hound’s head. Setting the pitcher on the wooden table next to the tub, you grabbed the bar of soap. The Hound let you run your fingers through his hair as you straddled him, both of your naked bodies hidden under the water. His hands held your hips, absently feeling the curves of your body as you scrubbed dirt and sweat and, most likely, blood from his hair.

You had many odd requests from customers in your time; bathing together was a perfectly normal one compared to others. But you had heard many things about the Hound. You had been afraid when he paid for your services that he would be one of the more difficult clients, someone who took pleasure in hurting you, seeing you bruised or beaten. So you had been surprised when he had asked you to bathe with him. It seemed so innocent. What followed after was nothing but, but every time was the same. Every time, he wanted the same thing. Every time, he asked for you by name.

He took the soap from you, taking his turn to wash you with his large hands. His thumb traced your nipple, making you suck in a short breath. In your line of work, you didn’t meet a lot of people that could make you do that. That was something else that surprised you when the Hound had first come to you. You assumed he would be like any other client, tossing some coins at you and finishing as soon as they could get their cock into you. But the Hound liked to take his time. He liked to hear you moan his name, to feel you come undone around him.

You toyed with the thick, dark hair that covered his chest as he ran his hands across your back. You leaned in, placing a kiss on his scarred cheek first, then his lips.

“Almost didn’t think you were going to come see me tonight,” you said. You knew how you sounded. Needy. But you had come to look forward to the Hound’s visits. The first time he had chosen you, you had been frightened, but that was over a year ago. You knew him much better than that now. “You haven’t been here in days.”

“Been busy,” He said shortly. He tucked away a strand of your hair that had fallen loose from where you had tied it up. It was hard to believe that the hands that had taken the lives of so many men could be so gentle with you. The other women in the brothel were terrified of him. They didn’t understand how you could let him touch you, let alone how you could look forward to it. It wasn’t a secret that he was a killer and that he took pleasure in it, but that wasn’t the side he showed to you. You often found yourself aching for his touch. Like right then, when you sat on top of his thick cock, hard and waiting. You could easily adjust yourself and have him fill you, but you only had to wait a bit longer.

“Been busy a lot since dear King Joffrey took the throne,” you said with no attempt to hide your disdain.

“Keeping that little shit alive is a lot of work,” the Hound grumbled. He would never speak ill of his charge with anyone but you. He wasn’t stupid.

“Is it true what they’re saying?” You asked. “About King Robert’s brother coming with an army?”

“Do you really want to talk of battles and war?” The Hound asked, dropping the bar of soap into the empty pitcher on the table.

“I don’t care much for war, no, but I do like to be informed,” You said. “It’s not a secret that Lord Stannis has no love for women in my profession.”

“You do sound informed.”

“If we manage to survive the attacks, I fear I don’t know what he’ll do with us afterwards, the godless whores.” It was a bit of a hot topic in the last few days. You had to assure the other girls that you were positive things would be alright despite having little optimism yourself.

The Hound kissed your collar bone, then your throat, moving to your jaw, and finally kissing your lips. His hand caressed your cheek, his finger tips burying in your hair. He pulled your hair down, the ends of it grazing the water just slightly as it fell down around your shoulders. You traced your thumb along the burned side of his face as you kissed him back. He used to hate being touched there, thinking that it must disgust you like it did everyone else. Now, he enjoyed the feel of your soft hands against the ruined flesh.

“Nothing will happen to you,” The Hound promised, his lips still on yours.

“You can be so sure?” You asked.

He stood up, holding you tightly against him with just one arm. Sometimes you thought he just liked to show off how strong he really was, but you didn’t really mind. You liked how easy it was for him to hold you. He stepped out of the brass tub, still dripping water. Taking you to the other side of the large room, he pressed you onto the fur blanket on the bed. In one quick thrust, he was fully inside of you. You never could quite get used to his size, it always made you gasp. Normally, he liked to take his time, exploring all of your body before entering you, but he seemed to know how badly you needed to feel him, all of him.

“I’m sure,” He said, kissing you roughly. He took both your hands in his, drawing them up above your head and pinning them. His free hand slid down your body, following your curves to the point where your bodies met. He rubbed your clit with his thumb, making you arch into him, your eyes squeezing shut.

“Sandor,” You gasped out. His grip on your hands tightened and his speed quickened. Each thrust of his hips slammed into you, making you feel closer to the breaking point. He knew exactly how to make you come undone. The stars of light burst behind your eyelids, your chest heaving as you came. The Hound released his grip on your hands, holding himself up on his elbows as he pushed into you almost violently.

You pushed him back, rolling him over onto his back and catching him by surprise. He held your hips to guide your rhythm. It was his favorite way to fuck you. He was so much larger than you, he worried you’d be crushed under his weight. With you on top of him, he could focus on how good your pussy felt. You liked being able to watch his face as you fucked him. You liked seeing his eyes squeeze shut as he felt you slide up and down his hard cock. You liked the feel of him digging his fingers into your ass. You steadied yourself with your hands on his chest, rolling your hips against him.

“Fuck,” The Hound growled as you rode him. He squeezed tighter to you and you knew that meant he was close. He would pull out of you just in time to finish on your thigh with a grunt, but very suddenly, you didn’t want that. You moved your hands over his where they still held you.

“Finish in me,” You said. You heard him curse again before you felt him shudder, filling you with his hot seed.

His chest heaved as you got off of him. You rested your head on his shoulder, finally feeling the cool night air on your still slightly damp skin. You lay in silence for a long time, just listening to his breathing.

“You’re that afraid that you’re going to die?” He asked finally.

“I wanted to feel all of you,” You said. You could still feel him inside of you, not just the dull but pleasant ache he always left, but also the stickiness creeping down your thighs. “Don’t leave tonight.”

“I can’t-,”

“Sandor,” You said, lifting yourself onto your elbow. He studied your face as you looked down on him. “Please, stay.” He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you back on top of him. You laid your head on his chest, letting him pull the blanket over both of you.

Stupid. You were bloody stupid. You should be down in the basement with the rest of the girls, but instead, you were up in the brothel alone. Even Littlefinger was nowhere to be found. If he could be counted on for anything, it would be saving his own skin.

You were only out of hiding out of sickening curiosity. You heard rumors of wildfire. You figured you would be safe enough, with the battle being mostly on the shores. If you had just stayed inside, watching from the safety of your room, you would have been fine. It was when you decided to step outside of the brothel.

You weren’t even ten steps away from the door when you were pulled so hard you feared your arm would pop out of its socket. You immediately shoved back, but when the dagger pressed to your throat, all attempts to fight back were quieted.

You couldn’t tell where the man had come from, what side he was on. It didn’t really matter. Both had bad men and any man threatening you with a blade was bad in your book. You were sure you knew exactly what he wanted from you. A man coming to a whorehouse wanted one thing.

“Let’s step inside,” He said, smiling with a rotten mouth, reeking of ale. His weapon was still pressed to your skin. If you so much as breathed too heavily, you would bleed.

“Please,” You said. “Just lower your dagger.”

“How do I know you won’t run?” The man asked, keeping his dagger exactly where it was.

“Where is there to run in all of this?” You asked him. As if to make your point, a flash of green fire burst to the chorus of screams.

Looking satisfied with that answer, the man pulled his dagger away from you, his hand still tightly on your arm. But with a flash of silver, his grip went slack and he was suddenly relieved of his head. It was your turn to scream.

But your terror only lasted a moment when you realized who the sword belonged to.

“Sandor!” You cried in relief, throwing you arms around the Hound’s neck. He hugged you back, lifting you off the ground, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe. “Are you alright? Why are you here? You should be-,”

“I know where I should be,” The Hound said, setting you back on your feet. “And it’s not in that fucking castle.”

“Won’t you be in trouble for abandoning the king?”

“I’ll be in more trouble for telling him to go fuck himself,” The Hound said. You let out a surprised laugh. “I’m leaving. Tonight. Right now.”

“What?” You felt as if you had been slapped. “Where?”

“Don’t fucking know, but I’m going,” He said. He grabbed one of your hands with his, dwarfing it. You always felt so small next to him. Small, but safe. Always safe. “Come with me.”

You studied his face. He knew what he was asking. This wasn’t a fleeting feeling. You belonged to Littlefinger just as much as the Hound belonged to the King. You would be stealing yourself away, but it would be in good company.

You squeezed his hand and nodded.

#got #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane x you #smut #sandor clegane smut #the hound #the hound got #the hound x reader insert #the hound x you #the hound smut #fanfiction #fanfiction requests

340 notes · View notes

bansheeoftheforest · 3 years

Note

Do you perhaps have some Jekshire thoughts you could share? I cannot get enough of this unfortunately very niche ship.

Hehe hehehe heheheheehhehe hehehhe heh <3

I... Might have gone a bit off board with this but hehe... Somehow this ended up being mostly about how they got together and the beginning of their relationship but??? eh <3

While Henry hadn't really realized his bisexuality until he met Robert and immediately felt ashamed by it, Enoch had always had a hum about his bisexuality. Except, of course, he chalked it up to him and his pals just being bros. Just pals being dudes. Lads being guys. Nothing unusual with that. Although when he did realize that maybe he thought guys looked... Ahem, better than most other guys would think, he just shrugged it off and didn’t give a single shit about it, though <3

Enoch was one of the first persons that Henry saw when he entered London for the first time; Enoch was an officer-in-training patrolling the London borders with his higher-ups, and Henry was an eager student about to make his way straight to the University campus. They shared a short glance and Enoch couldn't help but feel like Henry was awfully cute, although he didn't even catch those thoughts himself.

It's no secret that Henry-- as a young, successful doctor, bachelor, and just generally a good and attractive person-- has a lot of people that has a crush on him, yet he doesn't notice that himself. He catches people's heart like they are flies flocking to his light, Enoch was no different, although it took a handful of more encounters with him in their latter years for him to realize that. Henry remained blissfully unaware.

Enoch has always been good at hiding his emotions and keeping them away from his workplace, but when he came back from a patrol after just having ran into Dr. Jekyll and shared a brief chat with him, it was not hard for the other officers to notice that something was... Hm, unusual with Brokenshire that day.

It took only a handful of more solo patrols and Enoch coming back like he had just gotten a red-faced spring allergy with soft grumbling for Jenkins and Wipple realize he kept meeting an object of his affections. Cue a lot of teasing. Cue a lot of protests from Brokenshire. Cue a lot of drunkenly getting his feelings out to his friends by simply making it seem like Henry is a married woman that Enoch accidentally had fallen for. Cue a lot of sympathy and even more teasing.

So if he suddenly had a lot of solo patrols by the Society, then he would just say it was his sheer luck.

He ends up accidentally running into Henry a lot. Henry always seems pleasantly delighted and surprised. Enoch can never really help but feel extremely giddy about it.

They never really formally became friends until they both attended an event held by the commissioner. Both being close friends to their mutual associate, the two of them ended up running into each other again quite quickly.

Or more like, Henry saw Brokenshire standing in a corner, dressed in his finest (and only) formal suit while sipping wine. It had taken exactly half a moment for Henry to completely abandon whatever friends he had been chatting up to make his way over to the lonely sergeant. A sergeant who very much tried to hide his blush and fluster while trying to not choke on his wine.

They ended up casually talking for the first time during that event, they both learned a lot about each other-- Henry often spoke of Glasgow with Brokenshire, who’s family had immigrated from Edinburgh to London before he was born.

While they started casually talking during the event, they soon began to spend more time together. Enoch quickly learned that Henry’s reputation of being someone who very much will talk someone’s ears off wasn’t an overstatement, yet he found it quite endearing. Soon Enoch would find himself accompanied by the doctor during his lonely patrols in Westminster, and soon Henry found himself getting escorted to his meetings by a particularly bored sergeant who always seemed to catch him at the right time.

It really did not take long for Enoch to realize why the commissioner was so fond of Henry, and it really did not take long for his sudden crush on the other man to get a bit overwhelming.

Henry, meanwhile, had been too caught up with the actual events of TGS to fully notice his own growing fondness for the sergeant. Or more like, he saw the signs but refused to confront them in fear of repeating what happened to him and Robert... And, well, falling for a police officer who wants another part of him dead.

That plan went straight to hell. Henry soon caught himself following the sergeant like an affectionate puppy, and his little love-sickness was quickly noticed by a handful of Lodgers who desperately wanted to know who had managed to get suck a reaction out of him. The fact that Henry was suddenly spending more and more time with Enoch seemed to go completely unnoticed by everyone.

Neither of them really realized their feelings for each other until Brokenshire found Henry stumbling down the street one night; his body was beaten and bruised, his clothes were torn, and he had just managed to escape a nasty bar-fight that Hyde had gotten him into. It was just his luck that he had managed to escape enough to get some HJ7 into him. Enoch had decided that the Society or the hospital were both too far away, so he took him into the station instead. Yet he merely told the other officers to find the offenders while he patched up Henry.

It was certainly unprofessional of him to place Henry down on his own chair in his office before gently placing the palm of his coarse hand on the other’s cheek as he began to clean the wounds and the dried blood from the nosebleed, and yet neither could say that they minded. Something about having Enoch’s large hand on his sensitive face made Henry melt into the touch, something about seeing Henry’s eyes flutter close at the careful touches got Enoch’s heart beating faster and faster.

Henry had been... Quite out of it, so to speak. Enoch had not known if it was because he was horribly drunk or had suffered a nasty hit to the head, but as he carefully began to question him about what had happened, the way Henry would almost grin and tilt his head upwards (almost as if he was proud of it) got a completely unnecessary blush to reach Enoch’s cheeks.

Enoch helped Henry back to the Society, and yet he could not keep himself from visiting the next morning. “Just to make sure he is fine”, he had told himself. Well, the Lodgers did not believe that, and poor hangover Henry woke up to the sound of a lot of yelling from the foyer. The Lodgers were too busy trying to shoo the sergeant (who was off-duty, mind you) to notice the doctor. Enoch noticed him immediately and yet he hated how his heartbeat began to pick up again.

It all ended up with Henry inviting Enoch into his office for a bit of tea... Which, in itself, ended up with the two of them sitting closer to each other than probably should have been socially acceptable. Neither could deny that it probably wasn’t the steaming tea that warmed them up, neither could deny that their companion was looking too good for their own good in that soft morning light.

Henry was too hungover to really think straight, soon they ended up gazing at each other and neither could look away. Suddenly Henry felt himself coming closer, he heard how Brokenshire’s breath hitched, yet neither pulled away. They noses brushed together, both knew that they should probably pull away, and neither did. In the end, it was Enoch who placed his hand on Henry’s cheek and closed the distance between them.

Enoch and Henry didn’t leave the office for hours. Both could consider themselves lucky that Enoch had a day off and Henry had nothing scheduled.

Ahaha anyways time for some actual hcs about this ship.

Enoch is very protective of Henry. Like, stupidly protective, and yet he always makes sure that he never overwhelm Henry with it. He just worries a lot for his lover and especially since he knows what a cruel world they live in and how terrible Henry is at taking care of and loving himself. Henry thinks it’s quite sweet, especially just because he thinks it’s nice to have a lover who actually cares about him.

Both Enoch and Henry love dogs. Enoch does not bat an eye at church grims. Rachel had to physically restrain both of them from adopting an entire graveyard filled with church grims after many of the smaller churches in London were destroyed to make way for new apartments.

Cuddles. SO much cuddles. Neither are big at PDA or physical affection otherwise but jesus christ so many cuddles. It goes to the point where neither can sleep without the other, so Henry has to constantly sneak out of the Society (or his own house) to get to Enoch’s apartment since he doesn’t want to risk his servants or the Lodgers getting suspicious. Enoch always waits for him with a cup of peppermint tea for him when he comes by during the night.

Henry has a thing for men in uniform. That’s it. That’s the post /hj.

Enoch is the only person that Henry feels comfortable actually slipping into his Scottish accent with. He doesn’t try to stop it when he is incredibly tired or incredibly drunk because in the end, it wasn’t like Enoch didn’t have a thick accent all the time.

Surprisingly, Enoch is the one that has to patch Henry up a lot. For being a doctor, he really has no idea how to take care of himself or how to deem a wound serious enough to treat, or potions dangerous enough to not test on himself. Enoch always patches him up and Henry always melts into his hands like an ice-cube by a candle. By the rare instances that Enoch does get hurt while on duty, he loves watching Henry fretting over him.

(Plus, he can freely demand as many kisses as he wants when he is bedridden because Henry can’t complain about it).

They are the same height-- or Enoch is slightly taller, but Henry wears heeled shoes so they don’t really notice until Henry takes the shoes off and suddenly he feels like Enoch became a goddamn tree. Enoch loves those moments more than he could possibly describe.

Enoch manhandles Henry a lot. He stays up late and refuses to go to bed? Enoch throws him over his shoulder and takes him to bed. Henry is teasing him or they are play fighting? Henry squeals as he suddenly get picked up bridal style. Enoch is incredibly strong and Henry weighs like... Nothing. Plus, his squeals are incredibly endearing.

Sometimes Enoch will wake up in the morning only to see Henry already awake playing with Ralphie and Zosi, and sometimes Enoch will swear that Henry only started dating him to steal his dog.

(Henry will only partially deny that).

Wipple and Jenkins once went on a surprise visit to Enoch’s apartment, having gotten a spare key each “for emergencies” (or more like for whenever they feel like annoying their friend). The first thing they saw was Henry and Enoch cuddled up on the couch. Enoch politely told them to get out of his apartment and not speak of this. For once, Wipple and Jenkins kept to that promise (although they did tease him a lot afterwards but hell, if their friend is just going to around dating a man like that it sure as hell should be someone they like as much as Dr. Jekyll).

Somehow, they managed to keep their relationships quite a well-kept secret for many, many years. People only started to get suspicious when both the doctor and the sergeant conveniently retired at the same time and moved out of London. They took their pick-pack and moved into a manor at the outskirts of Edinburgh, forgetting their past life in London. They still kept in touch with their old friends, however, who often came to their home on vacation during the summers.

Just let me have Enoch becoming a grumpy old gay and Henry the tired old gay and just let me have them be happy pls <3

Oohoohohh. Give me tired old Enoch and Henry-- both with grey hair and wrinkled faces-- finding a young orphan on the streets when they are buying the groceries. Give me 60/70+ year old Enoch and Henry becoming dads <3<3<3

#hehe i spent. My entire morning almost writing this. its 2pm #well to be fair i did have classes inbetween writing this but <3 #ask #aimless--photography #tgs #the glass scientists #tgs jekyll #tgs henry jekyll #tgs brokenshire #tgs sergeant brokenshire #the glass scientists jekyll #the glass scientists henry jekyll #the glass scientists brokenshire #the glass scientists sergeant brokenshire #tgs jekshire #the glass scientists jekshire

22 notes · View notes

i-watch-too-many-movies · 3 years

Text

5 Favorite First Viewings of July 2021

Quick note: Hi everyone, I'm back, things have honestly been getting better for me, and I'm glad to be on this site full of cinephiles, people that are too horny, and cinephiles that are too horny. I'll be more active on here. But anyway, let's talk about some movies.

Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970) (dir. Russ Meyer)

CW: Abortion mention

What a picture. What a gorgeous, sexy, horrifying slice of what Hollywood and star life can do to a bunch of bright-eyed young people looking for success. Also is a critique of how macho nature can ruin friendships and romantic relationships with total ease. I was obsessed with the scene transitions, like Pet pouring pancake mix onto a plate after the abortion scene, or Kelly singing after someone screams before their murder in the opening scene.

Great, campy flick with exceptional music too.

Deep Cover (1992) (dir. Bill Duke)

Laurence Fishburne plays Russell Stevens, a Cincinnati police officer who hopes to do well by the community, to make a difference. He’s traumatized by the death of his substance-abusing father, and wants to make sure that he can help the people of his own town. He goes undercover on assignment as a drug dealer, where his boss orders him to take down the kingpin. Stevens realizes the police’s own failings while on assignment. The racist abuse he takes from Agent Carver, and the realization that the police department is protecting drug kingpins like Gallegos and Barbossa. Giving drugs to Black kids and Latinx kids so there will be less of them. The cops are no different than the drug kingpins looking to make filthy amounts of money.

Fishburne’s performance is excellent, as Stevens feels he has to maintain a stone face so he doesn’t get caught by Jason or Barbossa or any of his cronies, but also he maintains a stone face to try and hide his emotion, his trauma. But when he gets pissed, Fishburne acts it beautifully, as is when he has to deliver a funny quip to counter Jason’s douchebaggery. And the production design, holy fuck, the sets and the lighting.

A perfect neo-noir for the HW Bush years, arguably one of the most timeless commentaries on the era, as well as the police as a whole.

Fast Five (2011) (dir. Justin Lin)

I was torn between including this or Furious 7, but I ultimately went with Fast Five because it felt like an important turning point in the series, it's a great heist film, and it reached the same chaotic highs and genuinely excellent filmmaking that I had been waiting for since 2 Fast and Tokyo Drift.

Fast Five opens where Fast & 4ious left off. Dom is hauled away to prison on a bus. Mia and Brian drive in their high-tech cars and knock the bus over, helping Dom escape. The title drops. Fast Five. It’s such an intense yet short action scene, and dropping the title immediately after it lets the viewer know that this movie is not fucking around. It’s arguably gonna be more intense and insane than the previous one.

And it is. The filmmakers made the decision to use a lot more practical stunt work for the film, and as a result, it leads to, so far, the best action in the entire series, since 2 Fast and Tokyo Drift. It’s not just how it’s shot or edited, it’s the geography of the locations, the rooftop chase echoes the rooftop chase of Jackie Chan’s masterwork Police Story, particularly the way each character bounces from top to top.

And of course, there’s the silliest moment in the movie, the one that matches the intensity and kineticism of a film like 2 Fast, which is driving the Reyes’ bank vault throughout the street, getting chased by corrupt cops.

I know we make fun of Vin Diesel for saying “family” all the time in these films, but there’s a reason we remember him saying all of these impassioned monologues. Because he’s unbelievably sincere, and has so much love in his heart for every single person in the room. Anytime he delivers a speech to any of them, it’s genuinely heartwarming.

This is the film that finally shows La Familia in their best environment, which is working together, in a movie genre that allows them to work together, which is a heist film. And a great one at that.

Last Days (2005) (dir. Gus Van Sant)

CW: Mention of suicide

Several films have been made about legendary rock artist Kurt Cobain, and for good reason. He is one of the most tragic figures in rock and roll. A tortured genius who has written and performed classic song after classic song with his band Nirvana. He was called the voice of a generation, and helped change the face of mainstream alternative rock music as we know it. But with that fame, and all of those expectations came a worsening depression and further drug abuse, and his eventual death. But most of the films about Kurt Cobain ask one question which gets under my skin way too much:

“Who REEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLY killed Kurt Cobain?”

It was him. He did. And it’s okay, I’m sad too. Thinking that Kurt Cobain was murdered is completely ignoring the depression that he faced. And despite Last Days being more inspired by the death of Cobain rather than actually about it, it feels much more honest than the conspiracy documentaries on his death, wanting to leech off of his dead body.

This is the last installment of Gus Van Sant’s “Death Trilogy”, the previous two installments being Gerry (2001), and Elephant (2003). While I have not seen Gerry, I have seen Elephant though, and love that film for its minimalist, raw nature, and its boldness for not romanticizing the school shooter or the lives they had taken. Last Days falls into that trap once, as I don’t agree with the shot of Blake’s soul climbing up a ladder, that always struck me as cheesy in a film that is anything but.

Last Days is similar to Elephant in terms of the way it is filmed. Its usage of long takes, and still shots of characters doing various things, such as Blake playing his guitar behind a drum set. The way these moments are shot is similar to a Chantal Akerman film, particularly Jeanne Dielman. Where the acts of the mundane are the stars of the film. Blake wanders around an empty house, and the viewer can feel the pain, not just through Michael Pitt’s acting, but from the house itself. Its decay, its paint peeling from the walls, from the soft glow of the lamp that lights his face.

I say this is the most honest film about Kurt Cobain, because, despite the characters technically being fictional (the main character who looks, walks, and acts like Cobain is named Blake), this film focuses on the mental state of a person before they eventually take their own life. They’re still working, still making music, still trying to talk to friends and bandmates, but the depression lingers on. Not once does this film try to make you believe that someone else killed him, because you can see the signs of his own suicide taking place just through the film’s excellent cinematography by Harris Savides, showing his mental state only growing worse through the production design.

And it’s empathetic with him. There’s no judgement for leaving rehab, there’s no finger-wagging at him or the people he was with, there’s just a silent prayer at the end of the film, hoping that he is in a better place than he was.

Sometimes you don’t need to show every event that led you to where you are, all you can show is the moment, which also makes this better than most biopics as well, as it never feels messy or muddled, just showing one moment of Blake/Kurt’s life.

I really loved this film, and I’ll be writing about it in full soon.

The Village (2004) (dir. M. Night Shyamalan)

The Cracked.com/Channel Awesome audience stuck in 2012 will tell you that this was the beginning of the end for Shyamalan. That this was when people stopped taking him seriously, that this was when he became more of a punchline because of his twist endings.

But why?

The Village was released in 2004, deep in the Bush administration, during the early stages of the Iraq War. The leaders of the time were talking about imaginary boogeymen, terrorists that would attack the civilians if they could. Because of 9/11, politicians could get away with these false ideas with the majority of Americans fully believing them. The boogeymen in The Village are “The People We Don’t Speak Of”, monsters attracted by the color red. Yet we find out that they are all costumes made by the Elders of the land, designed to prevent people from going outside the land. They rule by fear disguised as love. They’ve gone through their own traumas through the deaths of their family members, but they’ve decided to completely abandon the lives that they’ve had and have their children living lies.

9/11 impacted American life by teaching citizens to live primarily by fear, to not trust anyone but their own people. And yet, post-9/11, all that increased was not “coming together”, but hate crimes against South Asian people. The rage white Americans had felt led to conservative politicians pushing fear-mongering agendas, and said white Americans blindly accepted. The outside world was progressing, but too many people were fine with living with further conservative politics only regressing American life further and further back, all for the illusion of safety. Meanwhile, the only threats to them were not the brown citizens outside of America they were so afraid of, but the white elders, the white politicians.

The Village explores these fears so eloquently, all while having a terrifying atmosphere, an enchanting score, and brilliant sound design. I enjoyed this movie very much.

Other viewings I enjoyed:

Beavis and Butt-Head Do America (1996) (dir. Mike Judge) (re-watch)

Blow Out (1981) (dir. Brian de Palma) (re-watch)

Clueless (1995) (dir. Amy Heckerling) (re-watch)

Furious 7 (2015) (dir. James Wan)

The Long Goodbye (1973) (dir. Robert Altman)

Lupin III: The First (2019) (dir. Takashi Yamazaki)

Unbreakable (2000) (dir. M. Night Shyamalan) (re-watch)

Velvet Goldmine (1998) (dir. Todd Haynes)

The Visit (2015) (dir. M. Night Shyamalan)

#favorite first watches #these movies are (chef's kiss)#beyond the valley of the dolls #russ meyer #deep cover #bill duke #fast five #justin lin #last days #gus van sant #the village #m night shyamalan

21 notes · View notes

vanillasakura · 3 years

Text

RDRSW21 Day 5- Sharing

Title: One More Reason to Be Happy

Word Count: 2922

Pairing: Abigail/Sadie/Charlotte

Notes/Warnings: NSFW, mentions of Cal’s death

Title from Nightlights I by Nana Grizol

≿━━━━━━━━━━༺❀━━━━━━━━━━≾

This was never meant to be a bargain for your sympathy, it’s just that the world rests heavy on your shoulders

All things considered, Charlotte was taking Cal’s death pretty well.

Her heart still ached, some days it straight up burned with a pain so terrible she felt like her entire body was being torn apart from the wrath of a demon whose goal was to terrorize and break her completely. But she was getting better. Slowly but surely, Charlotte was able to find the humor in things again, able to enjoy herself and think about things other than her husband’s untimely demise. Arthur had introduced her to two wonderful women that he was acquainted with, a Mrs. Sadie Adler and a Ms. Abigail Roberts, and the two came over often, helping her around the house and acting as trusted companions to which Charlotte could tell anything.

And one day, when Charlotte had admitted that, no matter how much she tried, she hadn’t been able to have an orgasm since the last time she and Cal were together, both Sadie and Abigail agreed that something would have to be changed about that. The next time they got together, they told Charlotte about a plan that they had, and although it made her cheeks burn bright red with embarrassment, Charlotte did have to admit that she was keen to try it out, both as a way to fix her problem, and because she would be lying if she said the the idea didn’t turn her on so much that she had pleasured herself to the very thought of it as soon as her friends had gone home.

And now that it was actually happening, good god was Charlotte more worked up than she had ever thought possible.

“You doing okay so far, Charlotte?” Abigail asked, as she finished tying the rope around Charlotte’s arms. “I know this can be a lot, but remember, just say the word at any time and we’ll stop, okay?”

“Okay.” Charlotte smiled up at the other woman, nervous but overwhelmingly excited. The two had already let her have privacy to undress, only coming in once she was ready for them to start getting her ready. Knowing that Sadie and Abigail were both as kind as they were gorgeous did nothing but further reassure Charlotte that everything was going to be fine, and that she had nothing to worry about.

“Can you say the word again for us? Just so we know you didn’t forget.” Sadie kissed Charlotte’s cheek sweetly, and she sighed, feeling happy and excited and safe.

“Thimble. Don’t worry, I didn’t forget.” Charlotte smiled.

“That’s good.” Sadie dragged her thumb back and forth over the apple of Charlotte’s cheek, her touch soothing.

“Thank you for letting us tie you down like this.” Abigail joined in, finishing her work and running a hand through Charlotte’s dark hair, which she had already taken out of its usual updo earlier. “We’re gonna make you feel soooooo good, I promise you.”

“You’ll be good for us, won’t you?” Sadie asked, dragging her thumb down to Charlotte’s lips, tracing it around the edges. All Charlotte could do was nod.

“Good girl. Just relax, let us take care of you.” Abigail brushed some of Charlotte’s hair behind her ear, looking down at her with all the love in the world. “And remember, if anythin’s too much, let us know and we’ll stop right away, alright? This is all about you, and how we can make you feel good.”

“I got it.” Charlotte told the two women. “I’m ready whenever.”

“Alrighty.” Abigail leaned down and kissed her, chaste but full of meaning. As soon as she pulled away, she seemed to be almost a different woman, pushing her shoulders back and holding her head higher. “Hm, I don’t think her neck’s been kissed in a while, what about you, Sadie?”

Sadie positioned her hand so that it was around Charlotte’s neck, dragging her thumb slowly down the other woman’s jugular. Charlotte gasped, letting out a shaky breath as Sadie’s thumb continued it’s trek downwards, only stopping once she reached the bottom of the hollow on Charlotte’s neck. “Based on that reaction, I’d agree. You want me to fix that?”

“I think that would be a great idea, yes. I need to focus on something else, though, so you take care of that for now.” Abigail leaned down and kissed Charlotte’s nose, and it was so sweet that Charlotte couldn’t help but break into a smile. “Been a while since someone last kissed you like that meant it, hm?”

“Yeah, it has been a whiiile-” Charlotte was cut off by Sadie beginning to kiss at her neck, scraping her teeth lightly over the skin and using her free hands to stroke along her sides. “Oh, Sadie…”

“Feels good, right?” Abigail laughed. “She’s really somethin’, ain’t she? Always gets me gasping like that too.” Abigail nipped at Charlotte’s bottom lip, smirking as she let out a breathy moan. “I really want you to make all those noises into my mouth for now though. A woman as wonderful and as beautiful as you deserves to be kissed like there’s no tomorrow.”

Leaning in from the side, Abigail’s lips met Charlotte’s and if this was just the start of the night Charlotte knew she was in for a good time. She had thought Cal a good kisser, he had always been warm and caring and loving with her, but Abigail kissed her like she meant it, the perfect mix of tongue and lip and combined with the way that Sadie’s teeth were scraping at her neck Charlotte already felt rendered perfectly helpless, moaning into Abigail’s mouth as she began to thrust her hips upwards with reckless abandon, already desperate for more.

She felt Abigail chuckle into her mouth, moving a hand down Charlotte’s frame and grabbing at her left breast. “You really are needy, aren’t you?” She laughed, a glimmer in her eye that made Charlotte’s breath catch in her throat. “Already trying to find anything you can to give you what you need… it’s adorable, really.” Abigail cast a glance down at Sadie, who was still kissing and licking at Charlotte’s neck. “What do you think, Sadie? Do you think we should give her something more?”

Sadie pulled away, still stroking the sensitive skin with her fingers, just barely ghosting over the marks that she left in a way that had more moans leaving Charlotte’s mouth. “Well, considering how she’s just reacting to my touch here, I think it would be horribly mean to leave her like this.”

“I think so too.” Abigail kissed Charlotte’s cheek, her hand slowly making its way down to her chest, circling around her left breast with the same feather-light touch that Sadie was using on her neck. “What do you say, Charlotte, do you want a little more?”

All Charlotte could do was groan, letting a soft “Yes please” slip out of her lips.

“Mmm, good girl.” Abigail praised, letting her finger trail over Charlotte’s nipple. Charlotte keened, arching forward into the touch as Sadie mirrored it on her other side. “I’m glad you want this, because I’ve been looking at you for what feels like forever, just wanting to be able to touch for myself… d’you know that, Charlotte? D’you know how beautiful you are?”

Charlotte was about to croak out a response when Sadie interrupted her, smiling with lust clouding her eyes as she started gently rolling Charlotte’s right nipple in between her thumb and her forefinger. “You have an amazing chest, Charlotte. It’s so gorgeous, just like the rest of you.” Charlotte squealed, her hands gripping at the rope that held her in place, desperately needing to grip onto something. “Been wantin’ tah do this for a long time. Thought about it a lot.” Sadie bent down, circling the hardened peak with her tongue and Charlotte felt a rush of heat to her core. “Have you thought about this, Charlotte? Have you wanted this? Both of us treating you like how you deserve to be treated, utterly ravishing you…”

By now, Abigail had also started using her mouth on Charlotte’s breast, gently scraping her teeth over it every now and again, and Charlotte was in such ecstasy she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to form words, especially not as the two began to run their hands up and down her sides again, getting so close to where she really wanted them, but backing away at the last second.

“She asked you a question, y’know.” Abigail reminded her. “Can you answer it, Charlotte? We’ll reward you if you do, promise.”

Charlotte gasped for breath, trying desperately to get her thoughts in order so she could respond. “I… I have. I did think of it… Sadie…”

“There we go.” Charlotte felt her smile against her skin. “D’you do anything while you thought about it? What did it do to you?”

Charlotte flexed at her restraints again, biting her lip. “As… as soon as you two left the last time you came over, I-I was so worked up from the idea that I went into my room and…”

“And?” Abigail encouraged, running her tongue over Charlotte’s nipple. “You can do it, Charlotte. Neither of us are gonna judge, promise.”

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her jaw. She had never put her fantasies into words like this before, and it was proving to be much more embarrassing than she could have possibly imagined. “I went into my room and I… I pleasured myself, imagining what you had in store. I didn’t do it again after that first time, because I wanted to stay… stay sensitive for you.”

Sadie pulled herself up, dragging her lips against Charlotte’s in a slow, sensual kiss. “Bet it was real hard to not fuck yourself while you waited, wasn’t it?”

All Charlotte could manage was a nod, face flushed red and far too embarrassed to voice her thoughts any further. Abigail must have sensed this, as she directed Sadie to go back to her chest, while Abigail took over kissing the restrained woman. “Good girl, you’re doing such a good job, you’re such a good girl, Charlotte.” Another kiss that left Charlotte breathless. “I hope we’re able to live up to your expectations.” Yet another kiss. “Is it okay if we give you more? You shouldn’t just be teased, I wanna make you feel good, and I know Sadie feels the same.”

Charlotte smiled lazily, soaking in all the love that came from Abigail’s gaze. Sadie had switched to just using her hands, kissing her way along Charlotte’s collarbone. “Yes please. I’d love that. I need that.”

“Good girl.” Abigail praised, looking Charlotte straight in the eye as she finally finally moved her hands between the restrained woman’s legs. Charlotte gasped, tilting her hips into the touch.

“Jesus, you’re soaking.” Abigail said, voice low and husky. “Wanna feel, Sadie? She’s utterly dripping for us.”

Charlotte groaned at the word dripping, a groan which turned into a high pitched moan as Sadie’s fingers joined Abigails’ in stroking along the length of Charlotte’s drenched sex. “She is.” Sadie agreed, beginning to circle Charlotte’s clit, which already poked out of its hood, begging for attention. “Guess you really do want this, huh, Charlotte?”

“I do.” Charlotte sighed, voice straining as Sadie began moving her finger faster, adding a bit of pressure.

“I’m glad.” Sadie said, leaning in and sucking at Charlotte’s neck again. “You’re being such a good girl for us, Charlotte.”

“Is it alright if I do some more?” Abigail, who had been twirling her finger around Charlotte’s dripping entrance, asked. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Yes, yes please Abigail.” Charlotte writhed against the ropes, adoring every second of pleasure she was getting.

“Say no more.” Abigail smiled, kissing Charlotte’s cheek as she slipped a finger inside. Charlotte gasped, rolling her hips against Abigail’s strokes, moaning as she somehow found the perfect spot almost immediately. “Oh princess, you make the most gorgeous sounds when you’re enjoying yourself. That feel good?”

Princess. Something about that word utterly broke Charlotte. She had never imagined enjoying being called something like that before, if anything it had seemed a bit patronizing, but something about the word falling out of Abigail’s gorgeous red lips, directed at Charlotte and Charlotte alone began to wind the coil deep inside of Charlotte’s stomach earlier than she had even known to be possible.

“Abigail, please, again-” Charlotte breathed, voice strained as all she could focus on was the pleasure being given to her from the hands of the two most beautiful women she had ever met.

“Do you like being called that?” Abigail asked, smirking. “D’you like it when I call you princess?”

Charlotte groaned, her breaths coming in faster. “Think that gives us our answer, hm?” Sadie asked, pressing a bit harder against Charlotte’s clit, eliciting a gasp. “That feel good, princess?”

Charlotte couldn’t even find words anymore, this was better than anything she had imagined. Abigail and Sadie were real and they were making her feel better than she had ever felt in her entire life and as soon as Abigail added another finger and began to move her fingers harder and faster and deeper Charlotte felt herself beginning to get close.

“What’s wrong, Charlotte? Ya’ getting close?” Sadie asked, nibbling at her earlobe. “Because that’s awfully fast for someone who couldn’t get herself to come not even a week ago, no matter how hard she tried.”

Charlotte shuddered at the dirty talk, soaking in every one of Sadie’s words. “I- Sadie- I..”

“I don’t even think she can answer, poor girl.” Abigail licked a line around the shell of Charlotte’s ear. “Our princess is far too worked up. She really needs to come. Not sure she’s ever needed it this badly… well, ever.” Abigail giggled.

“Hm, maybe we should do something about that…” Sadie sucked down on Charlotte’s neck, hard, and Charlotte felt her legs spasm and she was so close all she needed was a little more but she couldn’t even speak and tell them that…

“I agree.” Abigail said matter-of-factly, somehow moving her hand even faster. “Can you come for us, princess?”

“Please, we want to see you.” Sadie added, still kissing and sucking at Charlotte’s neck, now with more room than before as Charlotte threw her head back.

“Our gorgeous girl.” Abigail whispered, and that was all it took, suddenly Charlotte screamed out and she was coming hard and fast and her legs were spasming all over the place and she couldn’t do anything but ride out the wave as Abigail and Sadie helped her out, the former swallowing her noises by enveloping her in yet another soul-stealing kiss while Sadie ran her free hand up and over Charlotte’s sides again and again and again and good god Charlotte’s vision went white as somehow the pleasure heightened and nothing existed in this void but the pleasure that she was being given.

Abigail and Sadie were all over her the moment Charlotte’s orgasm had subsided, working at getting the ropes untied and kissing her all over her face.

“Are you okay? Abigail asked, stroking at the skin on Charlotte’s stomach while Sadie focused rubbed at her hands. “Was that too much? God, I should’ve come up with a nonverbal signal too, I forgot this is your first time bein’ tied down an’ all, are you alright, my Charlotte?”

“I… I’m better than okay. Abigail, Sadie, I…” Charlotte took a deep breath, trying her best to collect her thoughts. “That was more than I could’ve asked for.”

“Bet you feel better now that you’ve finally come, hm?” Sadie smirked, before her tone got serious. “I’ve been there. It’s hard to finish again after everythin’ you’ve been through.”

“Yeah.” Charlotte agreed, and Sadie opened her arms up to her. Charlotte accepted, lying her head down on the other woman’s chest. She felt Abigail come up behind her and wrap her hands around her, kissing the back of her neck. “It’s a huge weight off of my chest though, now that I’ve actually… you know.”

“What, you’re gettin’ shy now?” Abigail teased.

“It’s always been hard to talk about things in relation to… to sex.” Charlotte finished, hiding her face in Sadie’s shirt.

“Well, that’s somethin’ to work on. Afterall, there ain’t no reason to be embarrassed about what makes you feel good. An’ Sadie an’ I are more than happy to help you.” Abigail paused. “I mean, if you wanna, of course. I ain’t tryna assume anythin’.”

“Oh, I’d be more than happy to continue.” Charlotte laughed, pulling out of Sadie’s chest a bit. “This was great. I’d love to keep it up Assuming that I’m not intruding too much on your relationship, that is.”

“If you were intrudin’, we would never have brought this up in the first place.” Sadie reassured her. “It’s all harmless fun. Ain’t like we askin’ you to marry us.”

“That’s true.” Charlotte said, before yawning suddenly. “Listen, I hate to be rude, but quite frankly, I’m exchausted.”

“After that earth-shattering orgasm? I don’t blame you one bit.” Abigail said, rubbing her hands up and down Charlotte’s arms. “Wanna take a nap? We can leave if you’d prefer to be on your own.”

“Huh? No! Please,” Charlotte grabbed Abigail’s arm with one hand and laced the fingers on her other with Sadie’s. “Please stay.”

“That certainly ain’t a problem.” Sadie smiled down at Charlotte. “As long as you need, we’ll be here. Promise.”

Charlotte smiled in turn. “That’s all I could ever ask for.”

14 notes · View notes

fortune-fool02 · 3 years

Text

Painting in His Mind

Robert E.O Speedwagon x female reader

Requested by: anonymous

A creepy Lovecraftian story of a character of your choice featuring a slow transformation into a non human or half human being and the reader trying to help them cope.

Lovecraftian AU

I love this idea! Throwing out all cuteness and fluff, we are losing sanity like adults! This is a bit long. Please enjoy!

There was only so much that the human mind could comprehend. Only some beliefs that could allow them to live happy, simple lives; oblivious to truths beyond their capability of understanding. Things impossible outside of stories and myths. Things that melted reality and belief together into one absurd painting of mass dark greens.

The painting was something that was so strange and abstract that it captivated Speedwagon from the moment he laid eyes on it. He had found it during a robbery of some abandoned mansion that had been left to rot after the owners had died in an accident. Carriage rode right off the cliff and down into the rocks below from what he heard. No one survived and they barely found enough to bury. A collection of things had already been taken by anyone who could get their hands on it and yet the paintings were left untouched.

Speedwagon had gone in one night, searching for something to take when he stumbled upon the cloth covered canvases, tucked away in the studio that was once a supply room or storage room. Curious, he had removed a sheet and saw the painting.

Dark shadows merging with the blackness behind it, distorting and shifting into the light to be seen. Gaping maws inside gaping maws, lines of white stained red, both fresh and dried. Something stirring deep within him, a primal sense of fear that had never been felt before, not when he was held at gunpoint nor when he was in inches of his life. Hollow orbs blacker than the ocean’s darkness with twisting shapes and empty sockets staring out into his coffee brown eyes, piercing pass them and worming their way into his mind like a parasitic worm feasting of a fresh, ripe host. Something silently cried in his mind, as if the painting itself was speaking through a veil of water, muffled and distorted but there. Whispers, whining and whimpering, aching to be heard by ears not for them.

He did not know why but he had to take that painting back home with him. He wanted it. He had to have it. The need and hunger for money was all but forgotten to Speedwagon when he returned to his home and practically stripped down an entire wall in his room for that painting. It didn’t deserve a simple spot, no, it deserved the entire wall. Shelves ripped from their place and cast aside, forgotten, replaced. All in favour of that painting.

Every day, Speedwagon sat and admired the painting. Tracing his fingers over every brush streak, every melt of the colours, over the maw and teeth. Something deep within him was drawn to this painting, a tugging in his core like a string, no, not a string, stronger. A thread, a rope, a chain. A chain to a boulder dropped in the ocean, pulling him down with it. Sometimes, he could hear the whispering, soft singing below water; deep in his mind, faint but there, wanting to be heard, to be louder. He wanted to hear it.

His friends came by to check on him and he reassured them he was fine. His friends swallowed his answers after some convincing and left him be but [Name] was kinder than that, more concerned, and thus remained with him. Wanting to make sure he really was alright. She was always so kind in his eyes, always so sweet and generous, thinking of those before herself. That was why he showed her the painting. He had expected her to be awestruck by it but, instead, she was unsettled by it, she even took some steps away from it.

Then again, they did have different tastes in preferences and art so that could just be it. But her face, she looked so concerned for him. She even questioned him as to why he had such a thing. He told her how he felt about the painting, how he found it oddly captivating.

“Robert, you have never once been interested in something like this style before. It’s not right at all, it’s....unsettling.” the [Hair colour] woman told him, her eyes glowing with honesty and concern for him. Speedwagon sighed at those eyes, such beautiful eyes. Sighing, he told her everything. The odd dreams that plagued his nights since he got the painting, the images of something reaching out of the inky blackness to him, dragging him down deeper into the darkness. His lungs filled with water whenever he tried to scream or call out in these dreams. Her expression painted into many different layers of concern for him and tried to think of some way to help him.

No matter what advice he took, Speedwagon could not shake this painting. Couldn’t shake the pull he felt towards it. His dreams would spill past his eyes and into his vision, seeing the twisted things crawl towards him in his own home, no longer bound to his dreams alone anymore. His growing need to be with some kind of water. First starting off as drinking more, and more, until it was no longer enough and the blonde man would lay in the bath for hours. Even after the water had gone cold. [Name] recalled coming to see him one time and finding him trying to strangle himself while trying to call out for help then saying that something had wrapped around his throat, refusing to believe it was his own hand.

That was when [Name] decided enough was enough.

The sun had long set when she arrived at Speedwagon’s house unannounced. She knew that this would be foolish but she was doing this for Robert. Her pick-locks soon allowed her entrance to his house and was greeted by a breeze of coldness. It had been a few days since she last saw Speedwagon and, by the looks of his house, whatever has happened has only gotten worse with the thrown about furniture and broken objects. Especially with the lit candles all over the place and drawings.

Slowly making her way upstairs, [Name] peeked into Speedwagon’s room to see the bedroom in almost perfect condition. Clean, well-kept, well-lit, the only room in such way. In the centre of the room, Speedwagon laid, bowing to the painting and praising it as one would the Holy Spirit or Christ. Robert Speedwagon was not a religious man so this was something unsettling for her to witness. The door creaking caught his attention, making him smile.

“[Name]. My wonderful darling, please, come in, come in.” His tone sounded so...at peace. Like he was welcoming an old friend in who he hasn’t seen in many years. The second she got a better look at him, she knew something was off. His coffee brown eyes were hazy, glossed over with a bleakness to them, like his mind wasn’t there.

“Robert? What....What’s going on?” He only smiled more at her words.

“Nothin’. I’m just enjoyin’ the beauty of it. Can you see it, [Name]?” He asked, motioning to the painting again. Uncertainty flooded her, mixing with the concern for his odd behaviours. The man’s skin looked paler, drained of colour almost, like he was sick and only sparked more concern.

“Robert, are you feeling well? You look dreadful.” [Name] spoke, taking a step closer to him only to have him smile more.

“I’m fine. I have never been better.” Refusing to accept his answers anymore, [Name] shook her head,

“No, you’re not. You’re sick and I’m taking you to a hospital. Now.” She said, reaching to him to lift him up. As cruel as this seemed, she was doing this for his benefit. Robert refused to leave, squirming out of her hold and remaining in place.

“No! I’m stayin’ here! I need to watch this paintin’! Protect it!” He spat out at her, something he had never done since they knew one another. [Name], infuriated, grabbed a knife from her pocket and went over to the painting, ready to drive the blade through the canvas and destroy the damn thing. That did not sit well with Speedwagon as the man screamed in a rage, tackling her down and striking her across the face. His expression and eyes wild with rage.

“Don’t you dare touch it! You’re not worthy to touch it! How dare you try to destroy it!” He screamed at her, grabbing her [Hair colour] hair and smacking her head against the floor with force. Her cries of pain and pleas fell on deaf ears as he continued to do this before tightly yanking her head up again and glaring into her [Eye colour] eyes.

“Robert, please! Please, I-I’m sorry!” She cried out, trying to move her hands to protect her head and curl up more, though his iron grip prevented that.

“Not good enough! Not good enough....” He kept his grip, his hand reaching to the side for something and pulling it back into view. The candle-light glimmered against the blade in his hand. Cold panic flooded through her at the sight of it, squirming more under his grip,

“No! No, Robert! Please!” Again, her pleas were ignored as he straddled her, holding her in place as he brought the blade higher up.

“Lä. Lä. Cthulhu fhtagn...” he spoke softly, the words foreign and unknown to her as the blade remained still for a moment. Then brought down.

“Speedwagon pleas-!”

#speedwagon #robert e o speedwagon #jojo bizarre adventure #speedwagon x reader #robert e o speedwagon x reader #jojo bizzare adventure x reader #jojo #jojo x reader #jojo part 1 #jojo phantom blood #phantom blood x reader #phantom blood #robert edward o speedwagon #reo speedwagon #lovecrafian au

35 notes · View notes