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mrsjellymunson · 4 months

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Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Eddie helps you generate a new D&D character, but that’s not the only thing that gets started that day

WC: ~2.5k

C/W: 18+, MDNI! NSFW? Physical flirting and teasing, heavy petting, sort of in public (nobody notices). Smut-adjacent? Thigh riding. Swearing. Nothing overly explicit, but it does get heated. Eddie and reader are both over 18. Trope: oh no, there aren’t enough seats, where will you sit? No y/n, one pet name. No physical descriptions of reader other than she wears a skirt (of unspecified appearance).

A/N: Should I be working on parts for my outstanding series? Yes. Would this not leave me alone until I wrote it down? Also yes. I had fun creating a new character in a different RPG and I have no idea whether this is how D&D works, so if it’s not, let’s just pretend, okay? 😆 Text dividers by @strangergraphics Dice dividers by me 🫣☺️

I have a general taglist now, let me know if you’d like to be on it 🖤

My masterlist

Eddie can’t believe his luck. You’re pretty (gorgeous, actually), insanely intelligent and have, for some as yet indecipherable reason, decided that you want to play D&D. With a load of nerdy teens. And him.

You’ve joined in with a couple of short campaigns at school, seeming to enjoy them immensely and fitting in well with the group, bantering with the boys and bonding with Erica over your shared ‘take no shit’ attitudes. At first Eddie wasn't sure how that dynamic would work, but you slipped easily into letting the younger girl show you the ropes, and Erica is clearly enjoying having more female energy around.

Eddie knows that creating a new character is one of your favourite things to do. He’d never admit it, but it’s one of his favourite things to watch, too. He adores the sparkle in your eyes, your creative brain and how excited and animated you get when you come up with new ideas. Sometimes they’re sketchy, or even impossible, which he finds hugely endearing. He also loves how you’ll always check in with him, asking his advice and respecting his opinion.

This weekend he’s running a oneshot at his trailer for the younger members and you. New characters, novel plot, the works. The plan is to create new characters in the morning, and play the game in the afternoon.

This’ll be the first time you’ve been to his home, or seen him anywhere outside of school, and Eddie’s nervous as all fuck.

He couched it as ‘a good opportunity to develop a greater understanding of the game’, but he definitely has an ulterior motive for inviting you here.

So far, he’s taken every opportunity he can to make you laugh, sit near you, even touch you. Creating scenarios where a subtle hug, or even a playful tickle is somehow appropriate. He covers it quickly by immediately doing it to someone else, hoping you won’t spot the bulge in his pants and the fact that he can’t stop looking at you.

He’s not sure for how long he can keep it up. He wants so much more, and it won’t be long before he either loses it, takes it too far, or, worst case scenario, you notice he’s being a total creep and ditch the group because of it.

He’s been trying to muster the balls to ask you out for weeks, practicing lines and imagining scenarios, but he’s found it more difficult to plan than even the most complex of his campaigns.

And although it’s unlikely given the crowd of nerds that’ll be around, he couldn’t miss an opportunity to be in your company. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d manage to get you somewhat alone and do it today.

He’s tidied up the trailer as subtly as he can, doing all the dishes and straightening Wayne’s caps, hoping the others won’t notice and ask him awkward questions. But he’s jittery and anxious, terrified that you’ll take one look at where and how he lives and decide you want nothing more to do with him…

Eddie has no idea that you’re just as nervous as he is.

You’ve enjoyed the Hellfire campaigns so far, but haven’t really managed to get all that close to the Dungeon Master, much to your chagrin. Sure, the game is enormous fun and you love all the members and how welcoming they’ve been. But the DM? Holy hell, he’s hot as sin, and being able to spend time around the larger-than-life metal-lover only adds to your enjoyment of the sessions. But you can’t imagine it’ll ever go any further than that. You doubt that a geeky D&D novice who he’s hardly spoken to is his idea of the perfect girlfriend…

But god, the physical touches? Christ. It’s as much as you can do to hold it together. You’ve shared a few celebratory hugs, and he’s even tickled you a couple of times, all of which you’ve enjoyed far more than you’d let on, and filed away in your memory for retrieval when you’re alone at night in your bed. But you know that he’s like this with everyone, and are under no illusions that you’re special. So you relish each and every contact, wishing there could be more.

What if he looks at you for too long with those gorgeous, huge, chocolate-brown eyes? And what if you forget how to speak? It’s already happened an embarrassing amount of times, but you’ve managed to pass it off as being stumped because you’re a beginner. You don’t know for how much longer that excuse is gonna fly.

And, if all that wasn’t already enough to send your anxiety levels skyrocketing, you’re also acutely aware that you haven't spent time with any of the group outside of school as yet. You’re worried that you’re going to ruin their social dynamic, or mess up the game. Or embarrass yourself with no easy way to exit, having to wallow in your shame until the mums come back later to pick you all up. Your spiralling makes you realise that although it was really kind of Mrs Wheeler to offer you a lift, you’re now really wishing you’d brought your own car…

All kinds of anxious thoughts are running through your mind, from what if your ideas are stupid, to what if everyone (okay, specifically Eddie) dislikes the cookies you’ve baked??

Neither of you should’ve worried.

As you enter his trailer, Eddie seems a little flustered, running a ringed hand through his gorgeous chestnut waves and unnecessarily straightening a pile of magazines on the coffee table. He smooths down his (new) black tee (that he totally didn’t buy especially for this occasion), and you pay it no mind, assuming he’s just always like this with visitors, and is excited for the campaign.

You barely glance around Eddie’s home, smiling softly at the trinkets you spot, and offering to help plate up the snacks in the kitchen area. You don’t look uncomfortable, and you certainly don’t pass judgment. Eddie eyes you as indirectly as he can, noticing the unusual skirt you’ve got on (that you totally totally didn’t choose specifically for today). He likes it.

Just like at school, you slot easily into the melee of pencils, paper, dice and snacks. Everyone loves your home baked cookies, including Eddie, and Erica even badgers you for the recipe.

Eddie thinks you couldn’t be any more perfect.

You think this isn’t so bad after all, and relax a little.

The morning’s character building is going well, the fact that it’s a oneshot not diminishing anyone’s efforts or attention to detail.

You still haven’t quite got the hang of the dice and numbers parts, always asking for Eddie’s help with that. His help, not any of the others, he muses with a certain amount of pride and delight. (Selfishly, part of him secretly hopes you never get the hang of it, and will always need to seek his input.)

With you now added to the group, there aren’t enough seats at Eddie’s modest dining table. Nobody notices. Initially Dustin and Will are deep in a discussion on Eddie’s battered sofa, and Mike and Lucas are rifling through the fridge, both at that ‘hollow legs’ stage of teen development and constantly ravenous.

Your character’s almost done, and you just want to clarify a few things, so you ask across the table,

“Eddie? Can I bring this over for you to check please?”

He waves you over, putting on a fake English accent and saying,

“Of course you may, my dear. You know I’m always happy to assist my flock.”

You chuckle lightly at his endearing foolishness as you get up from your place next to Erica, taking your character sheet over to Eddie for his perusal. Behind you, the younger players all convene at the table to share their progress, and all the seats become filled.

With no free spots near him, and assuming you won’t be here for long, Eddie pats his leg absentmindedly and says, “Sit here, lemme see.”

You end up on his lap, facing sideways at ninety degrees.

You initially turn towards him and bring your sheet between you, but there’s not enough room for him to properly examine it, so you turn the other way and lay it on the table in front of him, turning so your back is to him, your legs straddling one of his knees. He leans forward and begins to check it over, confirming some details and asking for more particulars on others.

Eddie’s been admiring your enthusiasm and level of engagement all morning, and he’s impressed by the depth of information you’ve already managed to accumulate.

You’re absorbed with your new character, getting excited and gesticulating wildly. Ideas bounce easily between you and Eddie, his face smiling softly and his dimples popping as he gets to see you like this.

It doesn’t escape him, however, that you’re also bouncing on… him. He flushes a little, and hopes you don’t perceive it.

As you gesture at a particularly thorny issue on your paper, it dawns on Eddie exactly what parts of you are in contact with him, albeit through multiple layers of fabric. The softness of your thighs and the heat from your core against his leg fully absorb him for a moment, and he has to ask you to repeat yourself. You don’t seem to mind, assuming it was the general clamour in the room that meant he couldn’t hear you. That same clamour covers the sound of him awkwardly clearing his throat and gulping loudly.

It occurs to him that he’s never experienced anything… like this. Occasional hookups in the woods or after gigs at The Hideout are great and everything, but he’s never before felt like he has a literal, real-life angel sitting on his lap.

And you? You are slowly realising how nice Eddie’s lap feels beneath you. It’s warm and solid, and the denim of his dark jeans feels pleasantly rough on the skin of your legs where your skirt’s ridden up. There’s a pressure against your most intimate areas that’s generating a warm feeling of pleasure in your core. You’re trying to concentrate, but it’s not easy.

It takes a few more moments for you to catch up to where Eddie is, and you register that you’re essentially riding Eddie’s thigh each time you move.

Your lips roll inwards and you swallow deeply, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to compose yourself. It doesn’t help, and only serves to focus your attention even more fully on the delicious sensations beneath your legs. This is the closest you’ve ever been to your Dungeon Master, and for the longest time. And you can’t help how flustered it’s making you.

Embarrassed, you cough and go to stand, but quickly see that there’s nowhere for you to go. Eddie scans the room and notices your predicament, and, in a broken voice that’s almost unbearably soft, tells you, “It’s okay, Princess. You can stay here.”

Fuck. A pet name? You enjoyed that, perhaps a little too much. If you were being rational you could put it down to Eddie referencing your new character, who happens to be an aristocratic mage. But right now? Right now, you’re not feeling particularly rational.

You slowly sit back down, but as you do so Eddie shifts his position, causing you to spread your knees a bit wider than they were and land further up his leg, giving you even more contact with his thigh. You hope he didn’t hear the broken little hum that escaped you.

Eddie leans forward and in a voice that’s far too quiet, and far too close to your ear, he asks, “Are you… okay?”

You can barely breathe, and all you can manage in response is a tiny, squeaked, “Mhm.”

Behind you, Eddie takes a stuttering breath in, letting it out slowly before he resumes discussions with everyone else at the table.

You each become more unfettered as the morning progresses. Further not-so-accidental encounters only serve to increase the tension between you both.

At one point, you lean forwards over the table to get one of the manuals, lifting your butt from his leg. For a moment you hope there won’t be a visible wet patch on your skirt, or on his jeans. But then you wonder whether it would actually be so terrible if there was, and whether it would actually be so terrible if Eddie saw…

Eddie saw. He hums slightly, but it sounds more like a whimper, and he attempts to cover it by clearing his throat for the umpteenth time today.

He wonders whether you’re doing this on purpose, whether you have any idea what you’re doing to him.

As you settle back onto his thigh, one of Eddie’s hands travels to your hip, holding it lightly, just resting it there. A fire travels up that entire side of your body.

You wonder whether he’s doing this on purpose, whether he has any idea what he’s doing to you.

He leans forward to reach for something on the table, and this time brushes his chest against your back for far longer than is necessary. You feel his breathing against your neck speeding up, hot gasps coming from between his lips instead of controlled outbreaths through his nose.

You reach for a die, and as you sit back you half-intentionally push your core down onto Eddie’s leg just a little bit harder. God, he feels so good. And so what if you’ve moved backwards slightly, so your thigh is even further between his legs, and your butt nudges his crotch?

You definitely feel something hard pressing against your ass. The grip on your hip tightens, and Eddie dips his head forward to hide his face and stifle a moan. Christ.

You think you hear him mumble a quiet and stilted, “Sh-it.”

Eddie can barely contain himself, this morning not going at all how he could’ve even dreamed. He had no idea whether you even liked him, and was planning to sound you out and maybe manage to ask if you wanted to do something cheesy like grab milkshakes sometime.

Having you hot and wet on his lap wasn’t even on the edges of the outside of the periphery of his radar. He’s really trying to keep it together, but he’s barely maintaining a grip on his actions.

Attempting to focus, he leans forward again to explain a character point. You turn your head and look into his eyes attentively, whilst simultaneously rocking your hips ever so subtly and chewing on the inside of your bottom lip.

All at once, something shifts. Something big.

Eddie holds your gaze for way too long. Or maybe you hold his.

Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore, as you both silently acknowledge that there’s way more going on here than simple D&D advice.

Simultaneously, you both come to realise that your affections are most definitely reciprocated.

Shit, he likes me.

Fuck, she likes me back.

And then, as your eyes are locked and he sees your pupils blow wide, Eddie loses that tenuous grip.

Suddenly, both of his hands come to your hips, and he presses his forehead against one of your shoulder blades. He grips you tightly and moves you back and forth against him, squeezing, pulling, pushing, dragging. He’s keeping his movements as tiny as possible so as not to rouse the attention of the group, but what he lacks in expansiveness he more than makes up for with strength and intensity.

You think this might genuinely be the most erotic thing you’ve ever done with your clothes on. You’re hot and wet, and you barely care that you’re in a room full of people, supposedly playing a nerdy game.

Eddie keeps moving you. One exquisite movement spreads your sopping folds in your underwear, and your mouth drops open in a gasp, hand gripping the edge of the rickety table. You try to disguise your movements by shoving the end of a pencil into your mouth and hunching over your paperwork.

Eddie totally notices, and stills you. His warm palms continue to press against your hips, his strong fingertips digging into your flesh. Instead of continuing the back and forth movements, he pulls you down as hard as he can onto his lap whilst outwardly retaining his composure, turning the garbled sounds coming from his throat into encouraging noises for the group.

The two of you can barely focus anymore. Eddie hasn’t let his hands travel anywhere above the tabletop, lest his actions be seen by the others, but if your expression is even half as flustered as Eddie’s is red, somebody is going to notice something. And soon.

You take a couple of deep, steadying breaths.

You’ve already completed your character, so you decide to do a faux check in with Eddie, asking, not entirely innocently,

“Eddie? Is there anything else you’d want me to… take off?”

Turning, you add, even less subtly,

“What should I do now, Master?”

Eddie’s face screws up and his jaw clenches, and you feel the rock of his hips as he bucks his hips up underneath you, pressing his hardness into your flesh and muffling a grunt into your shoulder.

His head snaps back up suddenly and his voice becomes clear and piercing, as he inhales quickly and declares to the room, waving a hand,

“Okay, lunchtime! Everybody out!! You guys need some fresh air and I need a break. I don’t wanna see you for at least an hour, and you’d better come back with pizza! Goddit?”

The teens comply, bustling out the door, a few of them eye-rolling and grumbling something about how this is almost like being at home with their parents.

They’re still leaving as Eddie moves his face so close to you that you can feel his breath in your hairline, and his soft, pink lips tickle the edge of your ear.

In a low, velvety voice, he murmurs, in a tone that’s somehow both challenging and pleading,

“Please Princess, turn around and say that to my face...”

You smirk, and reach behind you to pick up a D12.

With all the sultriness you can muster, you raise your eyebrows and indicate for him to take it. He opens his hand, and you place it down, the tips of your fingers lightly skimming the hot, damp skin of his palm.

Looking into his eyes again, you’re relieved to discover that your power of speech remains entirely intact, as you murmur, with more confidence than you thought you possessed,

“Okay, Master. How about this? You roll, and the result is how many kisses you have to give me...”

Eddie swallows and almost chokes, sitting up straight and gently lobbing the die across the mess of paper and writing implements. His chocolate eyes don’t leave yours as it rolls and comes to a stop in the centre crease of one of his manuals. He struggles with the internal conflict of never wanting to break your gaze and a deep desire to check the number.

He has no idea where the rest of today, let alone this, is going, and he’s grateful he has at least the next hour in which to find out. But he does know one thing:

He’s never been so desperate to roll a 12 in his entire fucking life.

Thanks so much for reading!

(This might become part of an anthology of D&D-related adventures - let me know if you’d like to see more!)

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this, it’s honestly like throwing breadcrumbs and roses for your writers 😃🥰

My masterlist

I have a general taglist now, let me know if you’d like to be on it 😃

Tags: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @curlyjoequinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @wonderlanddreamer

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randomdragonfires · 19 days

Text

Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did | Part Two

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | The music blares and everyone’s out of it, but she turns and sees him. Detached from it all, Aemond stands on the balcony with a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips - watching the party unfold, watching her. The realization hits her as their eyes meet.

It’s him. It’s always been him.

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Non-Con and Violence Elements; Use of Substances and Alcohol; Complicated Relationship Dynamics.

PAIRINGS | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader [MAIN]; Modern!Daeron Targaryen x Reader

WORD COUNT | 13.2k

Check out the art created for this fic by the lovely, talented and so very kind @azperja here!

A/N | Not beta read. ;)

She sits at Aemond’s kitchen counter, her eyes wandering over the photographs sprawled out in front of her. Each image captures the haunting beauty of the ruins of Valyria, a place Aemond has been passionate about for ages due to his heritage. The smell of French toast wafts through the air, mixing with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. He pours her a mug and slides it over to her.

Just for a second, the domesticity of it all makes her want to blush.

She has been seeing men, yes. Ever since she got to college, there have been no shortage of men who want to date her; but she has been hesitant about letting any of them close. Perhaps it is the idea of being touched once more, or the comfort she has grown for herself that she refuses to let anyone in - she does not know.

But not Aemond, seems like. He’s been her bedrock ever since she moved to Oldtown, and sometimes, he does little things that make her feel warm.

She has a hard time figuring out what it is, but it’s certainly not feelings. She’s had them before, for Daeron - it’s a lot more intense, usually.

This is easy. Too easy. It is easy to be attracted to Aemond, he’s got that about him. But he’s also Aemond - Daeron’s brother. It is quite messed up. It is easy to be infatuated, she feels. But she’s not quite ready to do anything about something so miniscule - especially given what he means to her.

It’s all a bit of fun, really. A mindless little crush. All of it goes away in time.

And there’s also the fact that he seems to like someone else, and not her.

Aemond moves gracefully around the kitchen, flipping slices of bread in a sizzling pan. His expression is animated as he recounts the details of his recent trip. "Valyria is everything I imagined and more," he said, his voice filled with awe. "The architecture, even in ruins… phenomenal.”

She picks up a photo showing a grand, crumbling archway, its intricate carvings still visible despite centuries of decay. "This is incredible," she murmurs, tracing a finger over the image. "Like walking through time.”

He smiles, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Exactly. Every piece of rubble, every shattered column… and the dragons… you can feel their presence, even now."

She looks up at him, curiosity piqued. "Did you find anything related to your family?"

"I did. There were symbols and inscriptions that matched the Targaryen coat of arms. There was this…” He turns quickly to rustle his hands through the photos, trying to find one that he probably intends to show her. When he spots it, he slides it to her by the fingertips. “This old stone tablet with the Targaryen dragon carved into it, still intact despite the centuries.”

"That's incredible. It must have been surreal to see it in person."

"It was," Aemond agrees, his voice tinged with reverence as he went back to the stove. "There were also ancient manuscripts, or what was left of them. The text was almost completely eroded, but you could still make out references to my ancestors. And there was a mural, faded and cracked, but you could see the dragons soaring over Valyria in them, with what we believe were the early Targaryens among them."

He placed the plate of French toast in front of her and sat down, his eyes glowing with excitement. "I even found a piece of what might have been a dragon egg, petrified but still recognizable.”

Wylde takes a bite of the French toast, savoring the warm, cinnamon flavor, but her mind was captivated by Aemond's discoveries. “How’d you end up making the trip? Thought it was closed for like… government reasons or something?”

“Right, so… Aegon-”

“That never ends well.”

The edge of his lips twinges upward and she clocks his faint smile. “He's the creative director of The Kingslander now.” She has heard of it. Aegon Targaryen was quite the flighty boy growing up, with little to no focus on anything low-key. He would always have an eye for anything creative and aesthetic though, and had a unique style. Alicent spotted an early opportunity for her eldest son, and had him intern at The Kingslander, one of the many magazines that Targaryen Consolidated owned. Soon enough, he had something to channel himself into, and it showed. From fashion photography to various directed photoshoots, he was in his element.

But at heart, Aegon was never meant for the desk lifestyle. So when Sara Snow - an archeology professor - tumbled into his life and told him she was to leave on an expedition for half a year, he took the opportunity to let loose and chase her across the globe. She had him enrolled into the documenting team so he wouldn’t be twiddling his thumbs, and he seems to have taken to it quite well.

‘So I’m like, into history now.’ She can clearly hear him say it. “I don’t know. He likes this girl, and he got access, so he invited me to go along because there may never be a chance again.”

“Sounds like such an Aegon thing to do,” she says wistfully as the last bits of her food disappear from the plate.

“What?”

“To put his heart on the line and take risks that involve going halfway across the globe to a restricted area for a girl.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“You wouldn’t do it?”

Aemond pauses, contemplating the question. "It's not that I wouldn't. It's just... different for me."

Wylde raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Different how?"

“He’s so… out of control. I’d not prefer that.”

“Hm. Or perhaps you haven’t had your crazy grand romantic moment yet.” Red blooms over his cheeks as he faces away, taking her plate to dump it into the sink. “Speaking of. You mentioned you met someone months ago! I’ve been here for three months already and you’re yet to tell me anything!”

“It’s very casual.”

“Liar. You’d not be hiding her like your life depended on it if it was.”

“Hm.”

She stands up, gathering her books and bag, ready to go home. She begins to assemble all the photos, carefully placing them back into the box. As she reaches for the last few, her fingers brush against a small, delicate emerald locket she hadn't noticed earlier. She holds it up, admiring its intricate design.

"Is this from the expedition too?" she asks, curiosity evident in her voice.

Aemond turns, scratching the back of his neck as he answers, "No, that's a friend's. She was looking at the photos earlier." A faint blush creeps up his cheeks, but Wylde notices it immediately.

"And is this the same… friend that you're trying to hide from me?" she teases, a knowing smile on her lips.

"Perhaps," Aemond admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

She chuckles, and stores at the back of her mind the observation that whoever he’s seeing comes and goes to the flat, just like her. "Good taste in jewelry, I'll tell you that much. I like her already."

She walks up to him, wrapping her arms around him in a warm hug and planting a friendly kiss on his cheek. The tingling feeling is back again, but she ignores it like the plague.

"Food was good. One of these days you'll give Criston a run for his money," she jokes - to lower his tension or hers, she does not know.

Aemond mutters his thanks, his blush deepening. "Don't get your hopes up too high."

She strolls through the lively streets of Oldtown, her phone pressed to her ear. The scent of fresh pastries from a nearby café mingles with the distant hum of conversation, and the old world charm brightens up her day.

“Hey… been a while!” she says, her voice bright with genuine enthusiasm. “How’s everything at KLU?”

There’s a brief pause before Daeron’s voice crackles through the receiver. “Hi, yourself! Things are going great here. Campus is even more lively than I expected, classes are alright. How’s Oldtown treating you?”

You could have found out for yourself if you’d followed through with me, she thinks. She’s quick to kick her bitter thoughts to the curb though.

She glances around at the charming storefronts and the lively crowds. “It’s been a whirlwind. The courses are intense, but I’m getting used to the pace. I’m really enjoying the city - it’s everything I hoped it would be. So different from home, but in a good way. Aemond and I spend a lot of time together, so that’s nice.”

“Yeah, Oldtown is amazing,” Daeron agrees, his enthusiasm unwavering. “I remember going there to visit grandpa often as a kid.””

“Oh yeah!” Her curiosity gets the better of her, and her question tumbles out before she can stop herself. “How’re things with you and Floris?”

There is a moment of silence on the other end of the line. She can almost hear Daeron shifting, his voice a bit more guarded when he replies. “Oh, Floris is… she’s doing well. She’s been really busy with her studies and all. It’s been a bit hectic for her, but she’s handling it. You know how she is - always on top of things.”

No, I don’t know how she is, actually.

Her brow furrows slightly as she walks past the café, where the smell of coffee and baked goods wafts out into the street. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something feels off to her. “That’s good to hear. But you sound a bit... dull. Everything okay?”

Daeron let out a nervous chuckle. “No, it’s nothing like that. We’ve just been caught up in our own worlds lately. It’s a lot to balance with everything going on. But she’s fine, really. We’re fine.”

He’s lying. She knows. She knows him like the back of her hand.

Arianne Martell approaches her in the distance, her bright smile unmistakable. She sighs into her phone, deciding to let the topic drop for now. “Hey, Daeron, I’ve got to go. Catch up later, yeah?”

“Okay, bye. And hey-”

“What?”

“I miss you.”

Much and more has happened between them, but she can’t help but smile all the same. “Me too. We’ll talk soon.”

Heart warmed by the fact that she can have a conversation with him again without wanting to pull his spun silver hair out, she picks up the pace to join Arianne.

They queue up at the cart, their conversation slipping into the familiar rhythm of college gossip. Arianne’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she leans closer. “You won’t believe what I heard about Margaery Tyrell. Apparently, she’s been sneaking off to meet with Lionel Hightower.”

Wylde raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Margaery? Really? I thought she was with-”

Arianne nods enthusiastically. “Renly Baratheon, yes. But my brother saw him and Loras Tyrell making out at one of his parties.”

“Well. Fair enough.”

Arianne grins, clearly enjoying the drama. “Oh, it gets better. Apparently, they’ve been trying to get Cregan Stark to join them but he’s much too prudish for a threesome.”

“Prudish or just uncomfortable with them?”

“Who knows?”

As they walk past the cart, Wylde’s gaze drifts toward the window of a nearby restaurant. For a moment, she spots a familiar silhouette through the glass. She wants to think it’s Aemond, but it would be a reach to assume every tall man in a black hoodie is him.

But she spots Vhagar parked out front, and now she knows for sure.

Aemond is seated with his back to her, and she can tell by his posture that it's him. He’s accompanied by an obscured woman who gestures animatedly as she talks. They seem engrossed in deep conversation, and Aemond’s face is animated, his focus entirely on the woman before him.

Her curiosity is piqued, but she quickly refocuses on Arianne, who is now recounting the latest gossip involving the drama club’s lead actor.

It feels wrong to be peeking into Aemond's life like this.

Arianne’s laughter draws her attention back. “Anyway, I have a date with Arys tonight!”

“STOP! Really?”

“He finally asked me out, thank the Gods. Thought he was going to drag it out forever!”

She laughs, the earlier sight of Aemond slipping from her mind.

“Yeah so, you’ll come in and help me get ready?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They are sprawled on his plush leather couch, the glow from the laptop illuminating their surroundings. The soft hum of a wildlife documentary is heard, the narrator's voice a soothing backdrop to the scenes of the Sarnor savannah playing out on the screen. Bowls of snacks—popcorn and chocolate-covered almonds—are scattered around them, within easy reach.

She is nestled comfortably against Aemond’s side, her head resting on his shoulder. His arm is draped casually around her, fingers idly tracing patterns on her arm. They are so close, their bodies glued together that it’d be so easy to assume that they were a couple, rather than friends who’ve known each other their entire lives. Every so often, Aemond’s hand dips into the bowl of popcorn, bringing a few kernels to his mouth, while she picks at the chocolate almonds. She feels the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the warmth of his body seeping into hers.

As his fingers trace gentle patterns on her arm, she feels a shiver run through her. It’s a simple touch, yet it sends her heart racing. She’s hyper-aware of every point of contact, every subtle shift in his posture. The way he holds her, casually yet protectively, makes her wonder if he feels the same way. Does he know how much these small gestures mean to her?

He’s just being friendly to a girl he’s known almost his entire life.

She steals a glance at him, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the laptop screen. His sharp features are softened in the dim light, and she notices the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrates on the documentary. She resists the strange urge to smoothen out the lines on his face and help him calm down.

She sighs contentedly, but soon a dull ache begins to build at her temples. She shifts slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the headache persists. She groans softly, bringing a hand to her forehead.

Aemond glances down at her, a look of concern crossing his features. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a headache,” she murmurs, closing her eyes and leaning further into him. “It’s been a long day.”

Without a word, Aemond begins to gently massage her scalp, his fingers working through her hair with practiced ease. His attention remains fixed on the laptop screen, but his touch is gentle and soothing, each movement easing the tension from her temples.

She feels a flutter in her chest, a familiar sensation she’s tried to ignore. The crush she has on Aemond, usually kept carefully in check, creeps up on her as he continues to massage her scalp. His touch is both comforting and intimate, sending shivers down her spine.

Hormones are a nasty little thing, she surmises as her mild feelings refuse to go away. How could they, when he’s holding her like this?

She feels the need to speak if only to calm herself down.

“Daeron and I spoke today.”

His hands stop immediately, and his face hardens as he looks down at her. She looks up to meet his gaze, and she refuses to think of how close she is to his lips. She won’t.

Perhaps she is a little attracted to him.

It’s natural, and honestly? An inevitability. He’s Aemond. Anyone with proper vision and a sound mind would be attracted to him. She’s just lucky that she knows him well enough to be part of his space.

It’s stupid and even a bit silly. She’ll be over it just fine.

She moves away from him, sitting facing him with crossed legs. “What did he say?” He asks, and she spots the defensiveness in his tone.

“Nothing to worry about, it was nice actually.” She smiles, still very fond of her long-time best friend. “We just caught up and he was telling me about KLU. He also said he had plans to visit here in the summer, so I’m quite excited!”

“And how can you be sure that he’s not going to let himself be pulled away again?”

“About that…” She sighs. Regardless of how messy their equation had been towards the end of school, she has grown back her affinity for the youngest Targaryen brother. She supposes all they needed was time. “I asked about him and Floris today, he seemed very hesitant with his answers.”

“Hm.” She hears the pop of each of his knuckles as he cracks them with a concentrated look on his face.

“I don’t know. I think he’s lying.”

“You’re sure?”

“I know him. I know him well, like the back of my hand. I know when he’s lying. He didn’t sound like himself. I worry for him.”

“It’s not your place to do anything until he asks for help.”

“But I didn’t even-”

“You know him and I know you. You’d trip over yourself trying to help him.”

Her shoulders slump as she realizes he’s right. It is in Daeron’s nature to come to her when he’s down, and it is in her nature to be there for him. She’s wired that way, truly. How can she not be, when she’s been that way for as long as she’s known him?

“I’d rather you not be hurt again. Daeron is… careless. He and Aegon never consider anything beyond the next ten minutes, and they leave a big mess in their wake.”

She smirks. “Are you using me as an excuse to take shots at your brothers?”

She sees the corner of his lips twitch, and she brings her hands together as she sighs once more. “I just… I’ve had time to get over the fact that we drifted apart. But it made me quite sad that he felt the need to lie to me and smooth things rather than actually tell me what’s going on, you know?”

“Happens.” His replies are curt and his disposition is rougher. She doesn’t know why, and she refuses to let it grow. “Nothing you can do about it,” he adds.

“Hm.”

The sounds of the documentary keep the room from being pin drop silent, and she gets off the sofa to go to the fridge. “We’ve run out of cheesecake.” She says, coming back to where she was sitting before.

“Yeah, I need to get more.”

“You could have gotten some when you went to Moonbloom a few days ago.”

Aemond’s nervousness was almost imperceptible to anyone who didn't know him well. But to her, the subtle shifts were as clear as daylight. She noticed how his jaw tightened just a fraction, the way his eyes seemed to flicker with an almost invisible tension. His usually steady hands would still, fingers curling ever so slightly into his palms. He’d draw in a slow, controlled breath, his chest rising just a bit higher than usual.

“When did you see me?”

The eyebrow of his functional eye lifts just a little, almost as if he’s asking her how she knew. "I saw Vhagar parked outside. Figured nobody else had a bike that looked similar. Thought you may be with someone, so I didn’t want to intrude."

"Professor Rivers," he replies, his tone dangerously neutral. "I was working on my papers about the expedition, using them for my semester submission, and we bumped into each other."

"Oh, okay. Weird, isn’t it? To bump into professors outside of campus. Like people let out of their natural habitat."

"Hm. Perhaps." His cheeks take on a faint pink hue, and she can’t help but smile.

"Why are you blushing?" she asks, laughing heartily, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "You don’t have a crush on her or something, do you?"

"Gods, no," he replies quickly, the words almost too quick. It’s a lighthearted quip to her, nothing more, but the slight tilt in his tone lingers in her mind, a small seed of curiosity planted.

“I mean, she is pretty. I wouldn’t blame you.” She laughs, trying to tease him further and he disappointedly nods side to side.

A few hours go by as they continue to pass the time, but Aemond seems a little tense from thereon out. He’s quieter - if that’s even possible - and his responses, more measured. She notices the way he occasionally bites the inside of his cheek, a habit he has when something's bothering him. His fingers tap lightly against his knee in an uneven rhythm, betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.

When she asks him a question, he pauses just a moment longer than usual before answering, as if carefully choosing his words. The slight furrow in his brow, the way his gaze occasionally drifts to the floor, and the almost imperceptible sighs he lets out - they all speak of an unease that she spots effortlessly.

These are the times when she hates knowing the Targaryen children as well as she does.

She watches him closely, feeling a pang of guilt. He’s not the kind to take these things to heart usually, but something about her teasing seems to have unsettled him this time. She no longer feels welcome, and she knows he’d rather be left alone now and to find her when he’s ready for her again. She doesn’t like that it has to be this way, but giving him his space is the most she can do.

She stands abruptly, murmuring something about an early class in the morning and how she has to go. He immediately softens then, and stands idly with his hands in his pockets as she packs her bag.

She doesn’t like leaving him like this, but just as she moves to the door, she turns at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand, holding onto her wrist. With his other hand at the back of his neck, his look is almost sheepish. “Listen, sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable-”

“I’m sorry too. It wasn’t funny to tease about your professors. Didn’t realize you were quite touchy about it.”

“I’m not, just… I don’t know what happened.”

Her gaze is fixed at his strong hand holding hers, and she looks at it for too long before he notices it and drops it like hot coal. She misses the warmth of him immediately with a strange overwhelming feeling she cannot put into words. It’s not her silly little crush on him, it’s just a natural physical reaction, she tells herself.

She softens and melts immediately at his peculiar attempt to smooth things over with her, and it is heartwarming to her that he tries. “Aemond, it’s okay. You’re fine. If anything, I should apologize and I am sorry.”

“Neither of us should be apologizing, this is a non-issue.” He says, and she recognises the finality of his tone. There is no space for debate; and in all honesty, she doesn’t know why a throwaway statement became a big deal anyway.

“Okay.” As is her habit, she leans up on her tiptoes and kisses him on his warm cheek before saying bye. Tonight however, neither of them seem to want to leave each other as they continue to be glued to where they stand. She notices the ring on his finger and remembers Daeron, her mind racing to the conversation they had once more. Her mind travels to every word he said on their phone call, and the words rush out of her before she can help herself.

“You wouldn’t ever lie to me, would you?”

He sighs, leaning on the doorway with his hands folded into his chest. She cannot deny how effortlessly good he looks right then.

“I’d never hurt you.”

“Okay.” She absentmindedly nods as she repeats the words to herself and she bites her lip. She clutches onto her sling bag as she finally moves away.

She doesn't quite dwell on the fact that he promised not to hurt her but didn't exactly promise never to lie.

The thrum of music pulses through the packed house, every beat vibrating through her bones. She scans the crowd, trying to spot Arianne, but her friend has disappeared into the sea of bodies. She shrugs, taking another sip of her beer. The alcohol has dulled her senses just enough to make everything feel a little softer around the edges.

As she leans against the wall, Willas Tyrell saunters over, a confident smile playing on his lips. They’ve been eyeing each other all night, and now, with eight rounds of beer warming her veins, she feels bolder than usual.

"Hey, lost your friend?" he asks, his voice smooth and warm.

"Yeah, Arianne's somewhere in this madness," she replies, laughing lightly. "But it's not so bad. I found you."

He chuckles, taking a step closer. "Lucky me. What are you drinking?"

"Beer. Not my first choice, but it does the job."

"Well, if you're up for something better, I’ve got some whiskey upstairs," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Interested?"

She arches an eyebrow, feeling a thrill of excitement. "Whiskey, huh? That does sound tempting. Is that all on offer though?"

"Why don’t you come and find out?" he teases, holding out his hand.

Without hesitation, she takes it, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrap around hers. They weave through the crowded living room, climbing the stairs to a quieter part of the house. The music grows fainter, the air cooler, as they reach an empty room at the end of the hall.

He closes the door behind them, and she turns to face him, her heart pounding with anticipation. They are inches apart, the charged energy between them palpable.

"You know," she says, her voice low. "I've always thought you were kind of cute."

"Kind of cute?" he repeats, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I was hoping for more than 'kind of.'"

"Well, you might have to work for it," she challenges, stepping closer until their bodies are almost touching.

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small flask, unscrewing the cap and offering it to her. "How about some of this?"

She takes a sip, the burn of the whiskey warming her insides and adding to the haze in her mind. She hands it back to him, their fingers brushing in the exchange, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Not bad," she says, licking her lips. "Maybe you do have good taste."

He laughs softly, his eyes darkening with desire. "Glad you think so. Now, where were we?"

"Right about here," she whispers, closing the distance between them.

He doesn't need any more encouragement. Willas cups her face with one hand, the other sliding around her waist as he pulls her in for a kiss. It is slow and deliberate at first, but quickly grows more intense, their mouths moving hungrily against each other. She can taste the faint hint of whiskey on his lips, mingling with the lingering taste of alcohol on her own.

Her hands roam over his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles through his shirt. He responds by sliding his fingers under the hem of her top, lifting it over her head and tossing it aside. His touch is electric, sending shivers down her spine as he deftly unhooks her bra and lets it fall to the floor.

"You’re full of surprises," she murmurs, her breath hitching as he kisses down her neck.

"You have no idea," he replies, his voice husky with need.

He pushes her onto the bed, the world around them narrowing to just the two of them. She lands on her back, looking up at him with a mixture of desire and haziness, the room spinning slightly around her. Willas hovers above her, his eyes dark with lust as he takes in the sight of her bare skin. He leans down, capturing her lips in another searing kiss, his hands exploring her body with a desperate urgency. She arches into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls him closer.

Their kisses grow more frantic, each movement a testament to their mutual need. He trails his lips down her collarbone, pausing to nip at the sensitive skin, eliciting a gasp from her. His hands slide lower, brushing against her waist, before moving to undo the button of her jeans.

She’s caged between his strong arms, with nowhere to move. For a fleeting moment, the sensation is thrilling. But then, as Willas's hands slide lower, the room spins faster, and the walls seem to close in. Her breath catches in her throat, and she’s suddenly transported back to that night in school with Jason Lannister, his oppressive presence, the helplessness, the terror.

A cold sweat breaks out on her skin. The memory floods her mind: Jason's hands on her, her desperate attempts to push him away, the fear that froze her limbs. The room spins more violently now, and the warmth of Willas's body becomes suffocating.

"Stop," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears.

Willas doesn't hear her, his kisses growing more insistent. The panic rises in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Stop," she says again, louder this time, but it still feels like she’s shouting underwater.

Her heart races, and her vision blurs. She tries to push him away, her hands trembling. "Willas, stop," she says more firmly, her voice cracking.

This time, he hears her. He immediately pulls back, his eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle but edged with worry.

She shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I can't... I can't do this. I'm sorry."

He moves away quickly, giving her space. "Hey, it’s okay. It's okay," he reassures her, his tone soft and understanding. He sits beside her, not touching, giving her the room she needs.

She sits up, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. The room still feels like it's spinning, and her thoughts are a jumbled mess. Willas watches her with genuine concern, not pushing, just waiting.

After a few moments, he reaches for her discarded top and hands it to her along with her bra. "Here, put this on. Take your time."

"I'm so sorry," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Don’t apologize," he says softly. “You’re good, just breathe. You’re fine.”

She nods, focusing on her breathing, trying to regain control. The panic begins to ebb, replaced by a shaky calm. Willas stays beside her, offering quiet support.

"Thank you," she finally manages to say, looking at him with gratitude and a lingering hint of embarrassment.

"Anytime," he replies with a gentle smile. "Do you want me to call someone?”

“No, I… I think I’m gonna just… go.”

“Let me help you.”

“It’s okay. Can you just… I need a moment, if that’s okay. I’m so sorry if I ruined tonight for you.”

“You’re alright. I don’t feel good letting you go off alone like this though.”

“It’s okay. Thank you.”

She steps out of the house, the cool night air hitting her like a splash of cold water. The noise of the party fades behind her, replaced by the quieter sounds of the street. Scattered red cups and empty beer bottles litter the front yard, remnants of a night that feels distant and surreal now. A figure lies passed out on the lawn, oblivious to the world as others continue to mill about inside.

She walks to the corner of the pavement, her steps slow and unsteady. The streetlight above her makes the world feel too bright and too stark. She sits down, her knees drawn up to her chest, and tries to steady her breathing. The cool concrete is a small comfort, grounding her as she struggles to calm her racing heart.

With trembling hands, she pulls out her phone and dials Aemond’s number. The ringing seems to echo in her ears, each tone stretching into what feels like an eternity. Finally, the call connects, and she hears the distant, muffled sound of conversation.

“Aemond,” she says, her voice cracking and barely more than a whisper. “I—I need you. I’m… I’m outside Margaery Tyrell’s party.”

There’s a brief pause on the line. She hears the faint hum of a cheerful woman’s voice, laughter floating in the background. A pang of guilt hits her hard. She feels like an intruder, her mind racing as she realizes she might be interrupting something important.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, her voice breaking. “I—I’m really sorry for disturbing you. I didn’t mean to interrupt… whoever you're with. I just— I’m so scared. Can you… can you come get me? Please?”

Her breathing comes in ragged bursts, her words tumbling out in a breathless, almost incoherent rush. The panic clawing at her chest makes it hard to focus, and the alcohol hasn’t worn off one bit.

“Wylde?” Aemond’s voice is suddenly urgent, cutting through her frantic apologies. There’s a concern in his tone that makes her stomach clench. Don’t move. I’ll be there soon. Just breathe, okay?”

She struggles to calm her racing heart, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats, her voice trembling with desperation. “I’m really sorry… I just… I can’t… One minute we were kissing and the next I’m crying, I can't breathe...I-”

“Wylde, listen to me,” Aemond says firmly, but gently. “It’s okay. I’m on my way. Just stay where you are. I need you to breathe and stay calm. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

The call ends abruptly, and she is left in the cold night air, clutching her phone with shaking hands. Her breaths come out in shaky, uneven puffs as she tries to focus on Aemond’s calming words. The street feels both stark and surreal, the shadows around her stretching long and foreboding. She pulls her jacket tighter around her, trying to find comfort in its warmth while waiting for him to arrive.

As they arrive at his apartment, the familiar rumble of the motorbike fades as he turns the keys. Aemond helps her off the bike with a gentle but firm hand, guiding her carefully up the stairs and into his apartment. The door swings open to reveal a cozy space, bathed in the dim, warm glow of a few scattered lamps.

He holds onto her with one hand, using his free hand for everything else. Her head rests under his chin, and she can’t help but nuzzle herself into his neck and make herself at home as his warmth pervades her dulled senses.

He leads her inside and guides her to the bathroom. With a tender touch, he helps her sit on the edge of the tub. The gentle hum of the apartment and the soft rustling of his movements are a soothing backdrop to her foggy consciousness. He rummages through a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of water and painkillers.

“Here,” he says softly, handing her the water and pills. “You should take these. They’ll help with the headache.”

She nods weakly, managing to swallow the medication with a few sips of water. Her head feels heavy, and her thoughts are a jumbled mess, but the care in his voice and his steady presence offer a small measure of relief.

Aemond helps her to her feet and guides her to the bedroom. The room is dim, the only light coming from a small bedside lamp. He pulls out a clean pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts from a drawer. Gently, he helps her out of her clothes, the fabric of her dress feeling foreign against her skin as it’s removed. He helps her into the comfortable shorts and oversized t-shirt, the soft material a welcome contrast to the night’s chaos.

As he tucks her into bed, pulling the sheets up around her, he is both careful and attentive. She shifts under the covers, trying to get comfortable, but her eyes are heavy and her body feels weighed down by the evening’s events. She feels his warm lips on her forehead once more, and she reaches out to hold onto his wrist before he goes away.

“Stay. Please.” she murmurs, her voice barely audible as she begs.

Aemond’s gaze softens. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures her, settling down on the edge of the bed. He sits there for a moment, his hand gently stroking her hair, the motion soothing and familiar.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice wavering slightly. “I’m sorry for all this.”

She hears the faint ticking of a clock as her heartbeat calms down. The rustling of sheets as Aemond adjusts himself to join her. The warm golden glow of the bedside lamp. The warmth of her hand in his under the sheets. The feel of his thumb gently moving over her knuckles. The softness of his hands as he brushes off stray hairs off her face. The strength of it as he cradles her head like it’d break if he pressed further.

Aemond wakes in the middle of the night, his hand instinctively reaching out to the empty space beside him. The cool, undisturbed sheets where her warmth should be jolt him fully awake, a sudden surge of concern piercing through the remnants of his sleep. He sits up quickly, the room around him still cloaked in the deep shadows of night, and listens intently. The faint glow emanating from the kitchen draws his attention, a small beacon in the darkness.

He slips out of bed, his bare feet silent against the floor as he pads softly toward the light. Each step feels measured and deliberate, his senses heightened in the quiet stillness of the early morning. The corridor seems longer than usual, the dim light at the end creating an almost surreal atmosphere, as if he’s moving through a dream.

As he approaches the kitchen, the scene gradually comes into focus. She’s sitting at the counter, bathed in the soft, warm glow of the single dim yellow light over the countertop. The rest of the kitchen is enveloped in darkness, the contrast making her appear almost ethereal. Her presence is both comforting and concerning.

She’s wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of his shorts, her bare feet resting on the lower rung of the counter-height stool. The loose fabric drapes over her frame in a way that makes her look even smaller and more vulnerable. Her posture is slightly hunched, and she’s absently stirring the contents of a mug, the soft clinking of the spoon against the ceramic creating a gentle, rhythmic sound that fills the otherwise silent space.

He takes a moment to observe her, his heart aching at the sight. Her hair falls messily around her face, and her nose looks flared. She seems lost in thought, her eyes focused on the swirling liquid in the mug, as if trying to find answers in its depths. The tension in her shoulders is palpable, and he can see the strain of the night’s events weighing heavily on her.

He doesn’t yet know what’s happened. All he knows is that she’d been in a bad time once more, and it’s one too many times for someone as sensitive as she is. Her eyes are downcast, lost in thought, and she seems miles away, even though she’s right there in front of him.

Aemond watches her for a moment, noticing the way she grips the mug tightly, as if drawing strength from its warmth. Stepping into the light, he moves towards her with a quiet grace, not wanting to startle her. She looks up as he approaches, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of surprise and relief. He pulls out a stool beside her and sits down, their knees almost touching, creating an intimate, comforting space amidst the darkness.

“You should be sleeping,” he says softly, concern evident in his voice.

She lets out a small, tired sigh, her fingers tightening around the mug. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “Everything just… it feels too much.”

They sit in silence for a while, the atmosphere thick with unspoken emotions. She slowly sips from the mug—warm milk, he notices. His eyes wander to the honey bottle at the far end of the counter, suggesting she had been stirring it in when he came in. The soft clinking of the spoon against the mug fades into the background, replaced by the quiet, steady rhythm of their breathing.

His hand rests gently on her thigh, his fingers making slow, soothing movements that help to calm her. She feels the warmth and comfort of his touch, and instinctively, she settles her hand over his, drawing strength from the simple contact. Time seems to slow down, and they remain like this for a while, enveloped in the stillness of the moment.

He looks at her, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes, and he remembers the first time he realized he had some sort of feelings for her - fleeting, if not definitive. Back in King's Landing, in her bedroom, he had been so close to her that he’d had half a mind to kiss her. But she had been so troubled, and he knew from seeing Aegon and Helaena, that no good comes from entering into anything when you're not quite yourself.

He thought he would ask her out when she came to Oldtown, imagining a fresh start in a new place. But by then, the distance had played its part.

His feelings, once intense in the way that only teenage introverts could experience, had started to dissolve, replaced by the new experiences and people that college inevitably brings into one's life. And then there was Alys. With Alys, there was no power play or domination that one would expect from a relationship with the age gap that they have - just two people who understood each other's interests and passions deeply, like no one else in their lives did. They were kindred spirits, and being with her felt easy and right. Alys was good to him, and their relationship felt solid and mature - regardless of how shaky the existence of it would seem to everyone around him.

Yet, as he sits here with her, he takes in her soft face, framed by her hair and lit up by the golden dim light. It is then that he realizes that his feelings - no matter how mild, how fleeting - never completely went away.

Finally, Aemond breaks the silence, his voice gentle and full of concern. “What happened?” he asks, his eyes searching hers for answers.

“I was at the party, and Will Tyrell and I were flirting.” His hand tightens over the smooth expanse of the skin of her thigh. “I’d had like… ten rounds of beer or something. One thing led to another and next thing I know, we’re making out in an empty room and…” She exhales with more effort than is required for her to live, and he encourages her to go on. “It just took me back to Jason Lannister for a moment and I started panicking. Couldn’t breathe for a moment there, really.”

“Hm.”

She leans her head down to be eye level with him, and she takes his hand in hers before she lets out a playful smile. “You’re like… my knight in a black motorcycle now, you know? Twice now I’ve had weird things happen to me at a party, and you've come to the rescue both times.”

“It’s not funny,” he says. He’d genuinely felt his heart stop when he heard her panicked voice over the phone at Alys’ house.

“It’s not. Sorry, I’m just grateful for you.”

Her hand leaves his to cradle his cheek. She’s the one who was found reeking of alcohol and vomit, and somehow he’s the one that needs comforting. “You’re always so serious, hm? So serious…” He grunts in response.

“Thank you. For being with me.”

He’s never been good with compliments, and this is a heavy one that he cannot wrap his mind around. He lets it wash over him like a calm evening breeze.

When her mug is empty and they come back to his bed, neither of them are in the right mindspace to wonder about how easily intimacy comes to them.

Instead, she chooses to watch him, his silhouette. She’s still tired and hazy from the alcohol, and given the moment they’ve just had and the complete darkness of his bedroom, she can’t help but say it.

“You’re pretty.”

He doesn’t react, so she feels emboldened enough to continue. “You have such pretty eyes too. I always thought about it, but you always hated talking about your eyes so I never quite bothered with telling you.”

“Hm.”

Her quiet knight on a black motorcycle.

How the fuck is she supposed to get over him now?

She wakes slowly, the world coming into focus as the soft light of morning filters through the blinds. She feels the warmth of Aemond’s chest against her back, his arm draped loosely around her waist. There’s a quiet comfort in the way they’re entangled, as if this is exactly where she’s meant to be. She’s still wearing his clothes - his t-shirt and shorts - and somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Her gaze drifts over to the bedside table, and she spots his reading glasses resting on top of a copy of Ten Thousand Ships. She thinks about how she never wants to see a table without his glasses again.

The thought lingers, surprising her with its intensity. She tries not to move, not wanting to break the spell of the moment, and instead lets her eyes take in the little details around the room.

The leather jacket hanging neatly on a hook behind the door catches her attention, standing out in what she could only describe as clinical cleanliness. The pale walls, the simplicity of the space - it’s all so Aemond. Everything is meticulously arranged, no clutter in sight, just like him. Every little thing in this room reflects who he is, and she finds herself memorizing it all, as if trying to hold onto this feeling for as long as she can.

Before her thoughts can go further, she hears him stir behind her, his voice low and groggy. “Morning,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the back of her neck.

She turns her head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of him. “Morning,” she replies softly, a small smile playing on her lips.

Aemond tightens his arm around her waist, pulling her just a little closer, and she feels her heart swell with a warmth that she isn’t ready to let go of. This, right here, feels like everything she didn’t know she needed.

She shifts slightly in his arms, just enough to face him. There’s a comfortable silence between them, one that feels both familiar and new. She traces lazy circles on the back of his hand with her finger, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“This is nice.” she says with a playful grin, trying to keep things light despite the weight in her chest. “Girlfriend behavior. Waking up in your bed, wearing your clothes… I’m basically halfway there.”

Aemond raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “Is that so? You’re already planning our future together, then?”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “We’d probably spend our weekends at bookstores and museums. You’d drag me to some obscure historical sites, and I’d make you try every new coffee shop in town while I move around taking photos.”

“Sounds terrible,” he deadpans, though the warmth in his eyes betrays him.

“Absolutely dreadful, the most boring couple ever.” She agrees, her tone just as teasing. “But, hey, I’d get to borrow your shirts all the time, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Aemond smirks, but his expression softens as he looks at her. “Are you alright?” His voice is gentle, laced with concern.

She nods, trying to brush it off with a smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He doesn’t let it go, though, his thumb brushing lightly against her side. “Really?”

Everywhere he touches, her heart seems to follow. It skips a beat at the sincerity in his eyes, and she feels the familiar tug of emotions she’s not quite ready to name. “I promise, Aemond. I’m fine.”

He studies her for a moment longer before finally nodding, though the worry doesn’t entirely leave his face. “Hm.”

She can’t help but laugh at his persistence, leaning in to kiss his cheek lightly. “I’m alright, I swear.”

She presses a hand to her forehead, feeling the dull ache settle behind her eyes. “I’ve got a slight headache,” she admits, her voice a little groggy. “And I could really use some food.”

Aemond nods, concern flickering across his face. “I’ll make us breakfast.”

They both slide out of bed, and she follows him to the bathroom where they keep spare toothbrushes for each other. It’s a simple, unspoken thing - having brushes at each other’s places because they often sleep over - but this is the first time she’s woken up with his arms around her. As she brushes her teeth beside him, the domesticity of it all makes her blush. It feels so natural, so easy, and yet there’s something about it that sends her heart racing.

After rinsing her mouth, she drinks a glass of water to ease the remnants of her headache before heading to the kitchen. She takes her usual place on one of the bar stools behind the counter, turning on the coffee machine. The sound of it humming to life is oddly soothing, and she watches as Aemond walks in, already rolling up the sleeves of his black sweatshirt to get started.

He pulls out the ingredients, his movements efficient and practiced. Wylde offers to help, and he nods her over without hesitation. As she steps closer, he lifts a small slice of cut avocado to her lips, eyes not moving away from the chopping board - habitual, it all seems habitual. She grunts, leaning in to eat it straight from his hand before taking over with slicing the bread.

They work together in comfortable silence, moving around each other with the ease of familiarity. Aemond cooks the eggs while she toasts the sourdough, and before long, they’re sitting at the counter with plates of food in front of them. The avocado is perfectly creamy, the eggs just the right amount of runny, the toast crisp and warm and her coffee is just right.

Then she remembers he found her a right mess last night, and he’s simply being nice to a friend who had a bad night.

She wonders if the girl he’s hiding from her is perfect for him. She wonders if she ever embarasses herself in front of him like she clearly did last night. She wonders if he’s made her toast. She wonders if she’s woken up to the warmth of his lean arms wrapped around her waist. She wonders-

“What’s on your mind?”

She nods from side to side, a reassuring smile that is convincing enough that he doesn’t push further.

They eat in peaceful silence, exchanging small smiles as they enjoy the meal. It’s a quiet moment, but there’s a warmth in it that neither of them can ignore. When they’re done, they clear the dishes together, and for a brief moment, she lets herself imagine that this is what it could be like - easy and comfortable.

She wanted to catch him by the shoulders. She wanted to hug him till it hurt and her feet left the ground. She wanted to tuck her head into his neck and breathe in the smell of him, bask in the warmth of him.

Choose me, choose me, choose me, choose-

She wants him.

Gods.

She says thank you and leaves instead.

The next few weeks pass in a series of moments - each one small and seemingly insignificant, yet all of them add up to something much larger in her heart. It’s as if the universe has conspired to put Aemond in her path at every turn, and with each encounter, she finds herself falling deeper into feelings she’s not quite ready to name.

In the university hallways, she always spots him first. He’s usually leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a book he seems completely absorbed in. The early morning light filters through the tall windows, casting a golden hue over him. She notices the way his hair catches the light, the soft strands glinting silver against the dark fabric of his jacket. He looks so focused, so utterly engrossed in whatever he’s reading, that she almost doesn’t want to interrupt. But then he glances up, meeting her eyes, and a small, rare smile pulls at his lips.

“Morning,” he says, his voice low and smooth.

“Morning,” she replies, feeling her own smile spreading as she walks over.

The rest of their walk is silent until their hands reach out to graze at each other for just a few moments before they go their separate ways.

A few days later, she finds herself in the library, hunting down a book for one of her Foundation of Art in Essos assignments. The place is quiet, the scent of old paper and ink filling the air, and she’s completely lost in the stacks when she hears a familiar voice.

“Looking for something?”

She turns to find Aemond standing just a few feet away, a small stack of books in his arms. His eyes flicker to the title in her hand, and she swears she sees a hint of amusement in them.

“Yeah, just…this one,” she says, holding up the book she’s just found.

He nods, stepping closer. “That’s a good one. You might also want to check out the one by Mallister - it gives a different perspective.”

She takes his word and joins him at his table. She lets herself blush and be bothered by their feet touching under the table occasionally.

In their one shared class, she finds herself sneaking glances at him more often than she’d like to admit. Aemond always sits a few rows ahead, his attention fixed on the professor. She watches the way he takes notes, his handwriting neat and precise, and the way he occasionally pushes his hair back when it falls into his eyes. It’s such a small thing, but it makes her smile every time.

One day, he catches her looking. Instead of brushing it off or ignoring her, he turns slightly in his seat and raises an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. She feels her cheeks heat up, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she raises her own eyebrow in response, a silent dare.

After class, they walk together, discussing the lecture and the points that stood out to them. Aemond’s insights are sharp and thoughtful, and she finds herself hanging on to every word he says. There’s something about the way he sees the world - so different from anyone else - that fascinates her.

Then again, he could tell her that the dragons have come back to life - and she’d find a way to believe that too.

Cafe Moonbloom - her favorite cafe at Oldtown - becomes another place where their paths cross. It’s a cozy spot, filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and soft, ambient music. She often comes here to study or relax, and more often than not, Aemond shows up too, as if drawn by the same comforting atmosphere.

One afternoon, she’s sitting at a corner table, sipping her usual lavender latte, when he walks in. He spots her immediately, and after ordering his drink, he joins her at the table without hesitation.

She smiles. Seems it’s all she’s capable of doing in his presence these days.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, each of them absorbed in their own work. But every now and then, she finds herself looking up, catching glimpses of him as he reads or types on his laptop.

At one point, he reaches across the table to take a sip of her drink, curiosity in his eyes. She lets him, laughing softly when he makes a face at the taste.

“Not a fan?” she teases.

“Too floral,” he replies, but there’s a warmth in his voice that makes her heart skip a beat.

“You say that each time.”

“That’s it,” she declares, looking over at Aemond, who’s deep into his notes. “We need a break. A real break.”

Aemond glances up, raising an eyebrow. They’re sitting in her flat, surrounded by textbooks and empty coffee cups. She closes her laptop with a decisive snap. “A break,” she repeats, leaning back against the couch and stretching her arms above her head. “We’ve been drowning in work for weeks. Let’s take a day off tomorrow and just… see the city. No papers, no studying. I can’t anymore.”

He considers her words for a moment, then slowly nods, a small smile forming on his lips. “Alright.”

When tomorrow comes, they’re on his motorbike - and she has no idea what he has planned.

The decision is made in a heartbeat. Aemond’s nod is all the confirmation she needs, and by morning, they’re zipping through the streets on his motorbike. The city blurs around them as the wind whips through her hair, the sound of the engine filling her ears. She clings to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, trusting him completely as they speed through the early morning light.

They weave through the streets, bypassing the usual morning traffic as the city slowly begins to wake up. The cool morning air carries the scent of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee, mingling with the salty tang of the nearby river. Her excitement only grows as they approach the Honeywine, the river shimmering under the pale sunlight.

Finally, Aemond guides the bike down a quiet lane and comes to a stop near the edge of the river. She can see the Quill and Tankard ahead—a tall, timbered building leaning slightly southward, the dark wood exterior glowing in the morning light. The pub is nestled on an island in the middle of the Honeywine, connected to the rest of the city by an old plank bridge.

Aemond parks Vhagar, and they both dismount. She removes her helmet, her hair tousled and windswept, and follows Aemond as he leads the way to the bridge. The wooden planks creak slightly underfoot, adding to the charm of the place. She glances over the side, watching the water ripple below, the sound of the river soothing after their wild ride.

“You brought me to the Quill and Tankard?” she asks, her voice filled with pleasant surprise as they reach the other side of the bridge, her fingers brushing against his arm.

Aemond glances at her with a small, knowing smile. “Good spot to start,” he replies.

As they step inside, the warmth of the pub wraps around them like a cozy embrace. The common room is inviting, with wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling and sunlight filtering through the tall, narrow windows. The smell of bacon, eggs, and freshly baked bread wafts through the air, making her stomach growl in anticipation.

They find a table near the window, the perfect spot to enjoy the view of the river and the old apple trees outside. Aemond shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over the back of his chair, his movements casual but undeniably graceful. She follows suit, but can’t help but notice how effortlessly he commands the space around him.

When their breakfast arrives - thick slices of sourdough toast topped with peanut butter, peaches, and pomegranate, alongside a pot of rich, dark coffee—she sighs in contentment, her eyes sparkling as she glances at Aemond. “This is perfect,” she says, her voice soft and sincere.

He nods, the corners of his lips lifting into a faint smile as he takes a sip of his coffee. “I’m glad,” he replies, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer than necessary. She thinks her heart actually skips a beat.

They eat slowly, savoring the food and the easy conversation that flows between them. Every now and then, their knees brush under the table, sending a little thrill through her that she tries to ignore, though the faint flush on her cheeks might give her away. Aemond seems to notice, a small, teasing smile playing at his lips whenever their eyes meet.

After they finish, they linger for a while longer, sipping the last of their coffee and enjoying the calm, the comfortable silence between them punctuated by the occasional shared glance and knowing smile. When it’s finally time to leave, she feels a reluctant tug in her chest. She doesn’t want the morning to end, but she knows they have the whole day ahead of them.

As they cross the old plank bridge again, she reaches out and takes Aemond’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. His skin is warm against hers, and she can’t help but notice how naturally their fingers intertwine. He glances at her, his expression softening as he squeezes back.

“Where to next?” she asks, her voice carrying a playful lilt as she tilts her head, her eyes searching for a clue.

Aemond smirks, his eye glinting with the hint of another surprise. “You’ll see,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

When they finally arrive at the Starry Sept, she hops off the bike, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes in the towering structure before them. The sept stands like a sentinel over the city, its seven-pointed star gleaming in the sunlight.

“This is incredible,” she breathes, her excitement palpable as she hurries ahead, eager to explore. She glances back at Aemond, who trails behind with a small smile on his lips, his phone in hand as he quietly captures the moment—the soaring architecture, the play of light and shadow, and her own vibrant enthusiasm as she moves from one point of interest to the next.

She leads the way, her steps light as she marvels at the intricately carved statues and the colorful stained-glass windows that adorn the sept. Every now and then, she turns to share her excitement with him, her voice animated as she points out something new—a particularly beautiful mosaic, a hidden alcove, the way the sunlight pours through the windows, casting rainbows on the stone floor.

Aemond, as usual, is quieter, but she can see the way his gaze softens whenever he looks at her, how he pauses to take photos not just of the sept but of her too, capturing the way her eyes light up with each discovery. There’s something in his expression, a quiet contentment that makes her heart flutter whenever their eyes meet.

They wander deeper into the sept, through narrow corridors that twist and turn like a labyrinth, the ancient stones cool under their fingertips. She is in awe of the place, her footsteps echoing in the silence as they venture further inside.

When they reach a section that is clearly marked as restricted, she hesitates, looking at him with a raised brow. “Are we allowed in there?” she asks, a mix of curiosity and caution in her voice.

Aemond’s response is a single word, spoken with quiet confidence. “Otto.”

She laughs softly, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor. “Of course. Should’ve guessed.”

With a smirk, he pushes open the heavy wooden door, leading them into a part of the sept that few ever see. The air here is different, almost sacred, and she feels a shiver of reverence as her fingers brush against the rough stone walls.

At one point, her foot catches on an uneven flagstone, and she stumbles, a startled gasp escaping her lips as she feels herself begin to fall. The world around her seems to tilt, the ancient stones rushing up to meet her, but before she can even process what’s happening, Aemond is there. He moves with a speed and grace that never ceases to amaze her, his strong arms enveloping her in a firm, protective embrace.

His hands settle on her waist, fingers splayed wide as if to shield her from the world itself. The sudden, intimate contact sends a jolt of electricity through her, making her pulse quicken and her breath hitch in her throat. For a moment, they are frozen like that, their bodies pressed close together, and all she can hear is the rapid pounding of her own heart.

Aemond’s chest is solid against her back, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, calming and steadying yet igniting something deep within her. His breath is warm and steady, ghosting across her ear in a way that sends shivers down her spine. She’s hyper-aware of every point of contact—the way his fingertips press gently but possessively into her sides, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the subtle scent of leather and pine that clings to him.

She turns in his arms and for a moment, she thinks he might kiss her. The thought is dizzying, and she’s caught between hope and fear, between wanting to close her eyes and lean in, and wanting to pull back before everything changes. But then, almost as quickly as it began, the moment shifts. He blinks, the intensity in his gaze softening just a fraction, and she sees the flicker of restraint, the conscious decision as he takes a step back, putting a small but significant distance between them.

The loss of his warmth is immediate, almost jarring, and she feels the absence of his touch keenly, like a missing piece she hadn’t realized she was holding on to. He’s still close, still within reach, but the spell between them has broken, the moment passed, leaving behind a lingering sense of what might have been.

She gives him a small, grateful smile, though it feels a bit shaky, her heart still pounding in her chest. “Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice quieter than she intends, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile understanding they’ve just shared.

He nods, his lips curving into a faint smile, though there’s something in his expression that she can’t quite read, something that leaves her wondering if he’s as affected by the moment as she is. His hand drops from her waist, but not before his fingers trail lightly down her arm, a touch so fleeting it’s almost like an afterthought, yet it leaves a trail of fire in its wake.

Eventually, they reach a small, secluded courtyard, open to the sky and bathed in golden light. She lets out a soft sigh as she looks around, her eyes wide with wonder.

Something has shifted. This much they both know.

The ride back to her flat is quiet.

They’ve spent the entire day together, yet there’s a weight in the air between them, something that hangs in the silence. The Starry Sept, the Quill and Tankard, the moments that lingered just a little too long - all of it circles in her mind, and she wonders if he’s thinking about it too.

She holds onto him just a little tighter.

As they near her apartment, she breaks the silence with a light-hearted comment. “You know, if someone told me a month ago that I’d be exploring the Starry Sept with you, sneaking into restricted areas like we’re in some spy movie, I’d have laughed them off.”

Aemond chuckles softly, the sound almost drowned out by the bike’s engine. “Guess you’re more adventurous than you thought.”

She grins, resting her chin on his shoulder as she speaks into his ear. “Or maybe you’re just a bad influence. You and your… Otto connections.”

He smirks, though she can’t see it through his helmet. “I prefer ‘resourceful.’”

She laughs, a light, musical sound that makes his chest tighten in a way he can’t quite explain. “Resourceful, huh? I’ll keep that in mind the next time I need to get into a restricted section of the library.”

He shakes his head, amused. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re too serious,” she teases, nudging him gently with her knee. “You need to loosen up, Aemond. Enjoy life a little.”

“I enjoy life just fine,” he counters, though there’s a trace of defensiveness in his tone.

“Oh, really? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you could use a bit more fun.” She tilts her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe that’s why we get along so well. I bring the fun, you bring the… brooding?”

“I do not brood,” he says, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

She raises an eyebrow. “You totally brood. It’s your thing. That, and being all mysterious and - ”

“And what?” he interrupts, genuinely curious now.

She pauses, the words hanging in the air between them as they finally pull up to her building. He turns off the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening. Slowly, she slips off her helmet, her hair tumbling down around her shoulders as she considers her next words carefully.

“And… thoughtful,” she finally says, her voice softer, more serious now. “You notice things about people. You’re observant, and you care. Even if you don’t always show it.”

Aemond is quiet for a moment, processing her words. He steps off the bike, standing close to her as she sits on the seat, their proximity making her heart race. His voice is low, almost vulnerable.

“More than you might think.”

There’s a moment of silence as they look at each other, the air between them thick. She bites her lip, her usual playfulness replaced by something deeper, more intense. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Aemond takes a step closer, his hands resting on either side of the bike, his body inches from hers. “You do?” he asks, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

She nods, her eyes searching his, looking for the truth in his words. “Yeah. I do.”

Aemond’s eyes hold hers for a long moment, the violet of his iris darkening as his gaze drops to her lips, then back to her eyes. She can see the conflict there, the way he’s holding himself back, the tension in the air between them charged with tension every passing second.

She inhales deeply, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the heat spreading through her body. Her fingers flex slightly, still gripping the edge of the seat, a lifeline to steady herself as she teeters on the edge of something she’s been avoiding for far too long.

He shifts closer, the space between them shrinking to almost nothing. His hands hover just above her thighs, the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric of her dress. She can feel the roughness of his breath against her skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he fights the same battle she is.

Pull him in, or let him pull away.

And then he’s moving, slow, deliberate, one hand lifting to trace the line of her jaw. His thumb brushes over her bottom lip, the contact so light it sends a shiver down her spine. She parts her lips slightly, instinctively, her breath catching in her throat.

Aemond watches her, his gaze intent, burning, like he’s committing every detail to memory. Her flushed cheeks, the way her lashes flutter as she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, the way her breath hitches as his thumb drags down, grazing her chin.

She’s the one who leans in first, just enough for their noses to brush, for his breath to mingle with hers. “Aemond…” she murmurs, barely a whisper, a plea and a question all at once.

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, his hand slides to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair as he closes the distance between them. His lips meet hers in a kiss that starts slow, tentative, like he’s testing the waters, unsure of how far she’ll let him go.

But she’s not holding back, not now. Her hands move to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as she pulls him closer, her lips parting to deepen the kiss. He responds in kind, a low sound escaping from the back of his throat as he presses against her, the kiss turning heated, urgent.

It’s not a gentle kiss, not after all the tension, the words, the stolen glances. It’s everything they’ve been holding back, all the frustration, the longing, the need crashing together in a tangle of lips and tongues and breathless gasps.

She shifts on the bike, her knees brushing against his thighs as she pulls him closer, needing more of him, needing to feel him everywhere. His hands slide to her waist, fingers digging in as he lifts her slightly, positioning her so she’s sitting on the very edge of the seat, her legs parting to make room for him.

Aemond steps between her thighs, his body pressing into hers, the kiss deepening as he takes control, his mouth claiming hers with a hunger that leaves her dizzy. Her hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping tight, as if she’s afraid he might pull away, that this might be a dream she’ll wake up from.

But he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he presses closer, his hands roaming over her back, her sides, mapping out every curve, every inch of her that he’s been dreaming of touching. His mouth moves against hers with a desperation that matches her own, a need to make up for all the lost time, all the moments they could have had but didn’t.

She tilts her head back slightly, giving him better access as his lips move to her jaw, then down to her neck. He kisses a line down to the hollow of her throat, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp, her nails digging into his clothed shoulders.

“Aemond,” she breathes out, her voice shaky, needy.

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark, intense, filled with something she’s never seen before. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice rough, barely controlled. “Tell me, and I will.”

“I thought you were seeing someone.”

“Tell me to stop.” The sentence holds no space for argument, almost as though he knows for certain that she wouldn’t stop him.

She couldn’t even if she wanted to.

Instead, she shakes her head, her fingers curling around the nape of his neck as she pulls him back to her, her lips finding his in a kiss that says everything she can’t put into words. She does not want to think, she simply wants to be.

The world falls away. There’s no more fear, no more doubt, no more holding back. It’s just them, tangled together in a mess of heated skin, breathless kisses, and a desperate need for more.

Time seems to slow down and speed up all at once, the kiss stretching on for what feels like an eternity and yet not nearly long enough. She feels like she’s drowning in him, in the way he tastes, the way he feels pressed against her, the way his hands hold her like she’s something precious, something he’s afraid to lose.

And when they finally pull apart, gasping for air, their foreheads resting together, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, she realizes that this - whatever this is - was inevitable. They were always going to end up here, at this moment, with everything they’ve been holding back finally spilling over.

The streetlamp glows, the light flickering over them. The air is cool and crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of rain, though the clouds have long since parted to reveal a sky dotted with stars. They hear the occasional whoosh of a car passing on a nearby street, tires hissing against the damp pavement, the sound growing louder before fading into the distance. Somewhere nearby, a dog barks once, twice, before falling silent, leaving the night to its quiet.

The scent of the city surrounds them - a mix of wet asphalt, a hint of exhaust, and the faint, lingering aroma of coffee from the cafe on the corner. But there’s something else too, something she only just notices now - the subtle, clean scent of Aemond’s cologne, mingling with the smell of leather and the faintest hint of smoke, clinging to his clothes and skin. It’s comforting, grounding her in this moment, making it feel all the more real.

The soft thud of her heart is almost louder than the ambient noises around them, each beat echoing in her ears as she takes in the scene - the way Aemond’s hair catches the light, the way his eyes seem to reflect the stars above them, the way his breath mingles with hers in the small space between them.

You’re seeing someone else, she had said. He hadn’t disagreed.

She wants to reach out, to shake his shoulders, to demand that he tell her what this all means. She wants him to choose her, to see her in the way she sees him - more than just a fleeting moment, more than just this night. The urge is so strong it almost frightens her, this need to make him say it, to make him admit what they both know is simmering between them. But she holds back. She swallows the words before they can form, feeling them burn in her throat, a quiet ache that spreads through her chest.

She could ask him, right now, what this means for them, whether this is something real or just another moment that will fade with the dawn. But the fear of his answer, or worse, his silence, keeps her rooted in place. The thought of hearing him say that this is nothing, that they are nothing, is more than she can bear. So she says nothing.

Instead, she stays silent, feeling the weight of a barrier that she both wants to break and keep intact. Because asking him, forcing him to confront whatever this is, might ruin it. Might turn this into something complicated, something messy.

She’s not sure she’s ready for that. Not yet.

She decides, in that moment, that she would rather have him like this - halfway, uncertain, but here - than risk losing him entirely. So she bites her tongue, swallows her fear, and chooses to stay in the safety of their unspoken connection. It’s easier this way, she tells herself. Easier to take what he’s willing to give and leave the rest unspoken, untouched.

“This is real.” He nods.

She leans into the warmth of him, feeling the press of his hand on her thigh, the steady beat of his heart against her own, and lets herself have this.

For now, it’s enough.

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ldysmfrst · 4 months

Text

American Mate (8) - Time to Tell the Family Pack (M)

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 8 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 11,456

Work count for Story: 42,893

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children, one of whom has special needs and the other loves everyone. I currently am not working because of a broken foot. I started a Patreon, and I would be grateful if you donated to help me make ends meet while I am out of work.

Warnings: (I am not good at this, but I will try. Let me know if I missed anything!!) NOT BETA READ!! This story will have a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, m/m, and m/f/m. This chapter does have pack dynamics, comfort, Alpha Space, feisty Omega vibes, close proximity, and multiple scenting. Jin, Yoongi and Jk are extra touchy and Y/n is just along for the ride.

SIDE NOTE: This is my first time writing text conversations into a story. 💜💜💜

This chapter has a slightly mature scene within the story. If you want to avoid mature scenes, at the start and end of the mature scene, the following banner will be displayed:

BTS HYBRID ANIMAL TYPES: Seokjin - Roan Ferret, Yoongi - Black Jaguar, Hoseok - Marten, Namjoon - Alaskan Timber Wolf, Jimin - Red Panda, Taehyung - White Southwest African Tiger, Jungkook - Flemish Giant Rabbit

AMERICAN MATE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

“Are you serious? You agreed to be our playmate?” Soekjin inquires, stepping up next to Yoongi.

Standing up, you look at the two hybrids with a smile. “Yes,” you say, glancing over at Namjoon and Jungkook. “I may not be a normal playmate, and this may not be a normal situation, but I am willing to try to make it work.”

At your words, the pack erupts into exclamations of joy, shock, and happiness. The room is flooded with happy scents and a warm abundance of vanilla.

Their reactions also make you smile, which only becomes wider when you become a Yoongi and Jungkook sandwich. Soon follows Seokjin, then Taehyung and Hoseok, and lastly comes Jimin and Namjoon. You have fully been engulfed in a pack pile.

While it is all good and dandy, they won’t let go. Logically, you understand that they are just finding a way to claim you as their playmate and temporary pack member. The attention is a little unnerving.

“Well, this is an endearing sight to see, Bangtan. I won’t disrupt too much. I just wanted to let you all know that I have sent over the signed contract. Miss Y/n only needs to attend a health screening appointment and clear her office desk by the end of the week. Everything should be good,” Manager Sejin says from the hallway.

“I will let myself out. Remember you have a schedule tomorrow which Yoongi is excused from to assist her, but the rest of you need sleep. It's getting late.”

With that, you find yourself still in the middle of a very warm cluster of hybrid men. As thrilled as most Army would be, it is too much too soon for you.

“Umm, guys. Can we maybe take a step back?” you ask the group, resulting in unpleasant grumbles all around.

“No, like, really. I need air, or space, or breathing room.” with still no response, you raise your voice, “I need out!”

You are now batting and pushing for freedom while raising your voice, breaking the boys out of whatever headspace they had gone into. The boys move to sit or stand around the living room, now feeling mildly awkward as you are feeling disgruntled and overwhelmed.

Once you can wiggle out of them, move to the farthest corner near the backyard doors, take a few breaths, and let the warm vanilla scent settle you.

Man, you need to find out what kind of cleaner or candle they use.

The boys look at each other and have silent conversations with their eyes and hands about what should happen next since they realize they have overstepped yet again.

At this most inopportune time, your stomach decides to roar like a ravenous dragon. Looking at your phone, you realize you ate last at the lunch meeting with Manager Sejin.

“It seems that my promise to keep you eating well and happy starts right away,” Seokjin says with a slight chuckle as he walks up next to you.

He hands you his phone with the Doordash app open. “Here you go, dear. Dinner is on me. Pick any place you like and order whatever you want. I think the rest of us should go unpack enough to sleep.”

The boys nod and murmur in agreement, moving to their rooms. Namjoon mentions something about no seafood, and Taehyung asks for nothing spicy.

“Oh… Thank you, Mr. Kim,” you smile while looking through the app, only to stop when a hand is placed on your arm.

“You are with us now. Please use our names or even nicknames. I hope you feel comfortable and allow us to use yours as well,” Seokjin mentions before heading upstairs.

“Names or nicknames. Got it – Jin.”

Before going down the hall, he smiles at you one last time, “When you are done ordering for everyone, just send it out.”

After giving him a thumbs up, you murmur to yourself, “Order for everyone… no, what was it again? Oy… I hardly know what I want most of the time, much less for seven Korean men.”

After choosing something you are pretty sure they would like, you change your choice because there is nothing you really want to have from there. After who knows how many changes, you finally pick a place that has family-sized shareable meals to split and triple-check that all foods are hybrid-safe.

You wander back into the room that has been designated as yours.

Wow.

For the next eight weeks, this is your life. It's like an extended vacation but with working (kind of), hot guys everywhere, and a broken wrist.

Oh, Derek! Pulling your phone out, you go to your group chat and send your friends a quick message, letting them know more or less what is going on but leaving out the playmate part of it all.

Derek: So, have you made it home yet?

Evie: Why was I told so late? When can I help you too?

Evie: Are you home? I am coming over right now.

Evie: Did you eat? You probably didn’t eat knowing you. I will bring food!

Y/n: Yo! Pipsqueak, relax!

Y/n:1 )I am not home as I am going to sleep in the guest room at the pack house. 2 )You were told late because I just now got things settled.

Evie’s name has been changed to Pipsqueak.

Pipsqueak: DEREK!

Derek’s name has been changed to Fluff Boi.

Fluff Boi: You think I won’t like Fluff Boi? Lol, nice try, pippy.

Y/n: Aaaaaannnnny ways, you two. I just ordered food for the pack on Jin’s phone, so I will eat it soon.

Pipsqueak: OOOOOoooooOOOO Jin’s phone. Jin. Next thing you know, it will be Jinnie. Nicknames with him already there, Missy?

Y/n: Yes, he asked me to use their names or nicknames from now on and drop the formalities.

Fluff boi: Ah huh… sure… and did he say wwwwhhhhyyyy he wanted it dropped?

Pipsqueak: Wait… is there more that I don’t know about?!? Alright Fluff Boi spill since we all know Y/n won’t.

Y/n: Hey!

Y/n: It isn’t that I won’t. It's because they are technically clients of PMS, and I have to keep privacy. So, I will ask them if it is okay to tell my family pack for safety reasons.

Pipsqueak: Fine, but are you really going to be okay?

Y/n: Yeah. I think so. But I do need help tomorrow at my place. What time are you guys free to help me?

Fluff Boi: I just got an email about finalizing a new contract in the morning, but that will only take a few hours. So after 10? Pippy, what about you?

Pipsqueak: Is that gonna be a forever thing now? Pippy?

Pipsqueak: Y/n, I am free tomorrow as well. So, 10 am works.

Y/N: Great! I'll see you both tomorrow at 10 a.m. at my place, and I'll bring brunch stuff.

Y/N: Oh, I have to go. The food is almost here now. I should probably give Jin his phone back, too.

Pipsqueak: lol, you and your phone hoarding. Bye

Fluff boi: See you in the marrow!

Making your way upstairs, you head towards Jin and Yoongi’s den room. You notice that all the doors are closed but theirs. Not thinking much of it, you knock as you walk in and see Yoongi put his suitcases under the bed.

“Hi, Yoongi. The food I ordered should almost be here, and I need to give Seokjin his phone back,” you tell him, looking towards the other half of the room and not finding the phone's owner.

“Thanks, Y/n. Jin-hyung is over with Namjoon and Tae. He is quick with unpacking and knows that those two tend to take a while if we want things intact.”

“So the rumors of Namjoon being clumsy are true?”

“I'm Afraid so. I suggest you leave any valuables in your flat for now,” Yoongi says with a fond chuckle. “Let’s head down. We can knock on everyone’s door to let them know to hurry up.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Yoongi and you knock on doors and yell to hurry them up as you head back down. Various responses come back in agreements and exclamations. Apparently, some are better at unpacking than others.

You giggle because you know you are a horrible packer and don’t unpack when you go on trips.

“Did someone say something funny?” Yoongi inquires at the sound of your laughing.

“Oh no. It sounds like a couple of the pack members are not fast unpackers. So, I started thinking about the few trips that I have gone on.”

Ding Dong. Stompstompstompstomp.

“We got it!” Jungkook and Taehyung run down the stairs to the front door. Just barely miss running into you if you hadn’t stepped back into Yoongi.

“Yah! Watch out for Y/n! She already got hurt once!” Yoongi yells at the two, who are not paying him one mind because they are gathering the food that was delivered.

“It’s okay. They didn’t mean it. Sorry if I bumped into you,” you say, looking over your shoulder while you attempt to remain relaxed, his hands resting on your hips.

“Remember I promised to protect you, so bump into me, run towards me, or jump in my arms and I will be there for you, always.” Yoongi’s face slightly blushes at his own words.

Yoongi squeezes your hips like handles to guide you into the dining room. The two youngest have already started setting up the table with place settings and opened food containers.

Pulling out of Yoongi’s hold, you walk over to the far wall and watch the rest of the pack pile into the room.

“Thank you for ordering dinner, Y/n. It smells wonderful,” Yoongi comments as he takes a seat.

“Yeah! We love pasta!” Tae exclaims

“Joonie-hyung! She got your faaavorite! Shrimp Fettuccine Alfredo!” Jungkook excitedly yells down the hall.

“What?! No! That is mine!” You yell, hoping that the Prime Alpha can hear you.

Soon enough, you hear laughter as the remaining pack enters. “You know, Y/n. You could make him eat the shrimp to start the process of gaining your forgiveness,” says Hoseok.

Looking at Namjoon, you see him give the oddest look at that suggestion, then meet your eyes as if he is waiting for your decision.

“Nope, it’s mine,” you walk over, sit at the chair closest to the mentioned food, and start plating. “Shrimp is my protein of choice. I will bite anyone who tries to take it from me.”

At your threat, the whole room freezes and plunges into silence.

You notice the change in energy and look around with pure confusion.

Seokjin, his presence felt as he walked up behind you and leaned into your personal space. His chest presses against your upper back, and his voice, low and resonant, fills your ears with a quiet warning, “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.

Leaning to the side, you look at Jin, your nose brushing at his because of his closeness. With a hitch in your breath and wide, shocked eyes, you ask, “What do you mean, Jin?”

“While in human terms, biting is considered a bad thing and something that can be done in some kinky circles.” Seokjin leans to whisper in your ear.

“For hybrids,” Hoseok appears. Just as close as Jin, pulling your attention to him, whispers in your other ear, “Biting is a form of foreplay, marking, and mating.”

Your mind is fighting to respond to the information you just learned while your body is lighting on fire. You audibly swallow, which is surprising, given how dry your mouth has gone. Goosebumps litter your skin everywhere.

In the end, you just nod in understanding as the two stand up and take their seats on either side of you. Once you regain control of your body, you dare to look around. All eyes are on the three of you; their eyes have darkened.

“Miss Y/n?” you hear Jimin call.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for ordering dinner. Is this from a place you have had before?”

You let out a breath, thankful for Jimin’s redirection. “Yes, it’s called Buca di Beppo. They follow the Italian family-style serving portions. I thought it would be filling, and then we could all share. So, hopefully, I ordered well enough for the eight of us.”

“You did!” Jungkook pipes in as he starts to fill his plate, “Besides, we all have to go to bed soon since we have things to do tomorrow. I am sure our schedules will be shared with you soon.”

“Good, I am glad. Well… dig in, everyone.”

At your prompt, the pack does just that. It isn’t long before different conversations happen between the packmates, who are all respectful and trying to keep you involved.

After a bit, you realize that your plate hasn’t diminished even though you know you have had to have eaten the amount you started with. Testing your thoughts, you take another bite of shrimp with mushrooms and broccoli.

Turning your head like you are about to join another conversation, you keep your eyes on your plate. It doesn’t take long before you see Seokjin adding more veggies and Alfredo to your plate.

It makes you smile because he is doing just as he said. Catching his hand before it leaves your plate, you look at him and smile.

“Jin, Thank you for providing me with food but I am full now and I don’t want to waste any.”

A slight frown forms on his face as he looks back down at your plate. Gathering a fork with carrot, broccoli, and noodles, he brings the food to your mouth. With his eyes on your mouth, he asks, “Please, just one more bite?”

Dutifully, you take the last bite in your mouth, licking your lip of the white sauce. You note that he is still watching your mouth. His eyes are still darkened, and his mouth is slightly open as he licks his lip as you do yours.

Again, the table’s overall sound level drops, and as the tension rises.

Swallowing the bite, you smile, “Thank you again, Jin.”

“Welcome, Y/n.”

“Hey Jin-hyung! Why do you guys talk so informally now? Is it okay for everyone now that Miss y/n is a playmate?” Jungkook whines.

“I want her to use a nickname for me too,” his foot thumping on the ground.

Giggling, you smile at the youngest of the pack, “You want a nickname?”

“Yeah! Please? Can I call you by just your name or a nickname, too?”

Looking around, you see that everyone is also curious about this change. “Well, You can use my name without the miss part or a nickname if you would like. That goes for all of you.”

“As for you,” your eyes settle on the bunny hybrid, narrowing in thought as you hear his foot still bouncing on the floor.

“I know! Thumper!”

The whole pack starts to laugh at the nickname you gave him. “What? He is a bunny hybrid, he is full of energy, and he thumps his left foot – he is just like Thumper. I loved Thumper in Bambi!”

At your reasoning, Jungkook starts blushing and sinking in his seat. “You can call me Thumper if you want to.”

With dinner finished, you attempted to help clean up but were quickly shooed out of the dining room and kitchen. Jungkook, Yoongi, and Hoseok herding you into your room.

All of you end up piling on the huge bed. You are sandwiched between Yoongi and Jungkook, but surprisingly, it's not uncomfortable. Hoseok is at the end of the bed.

“Y/n, first off. Thank you for ordering dinner at Jin’s expense,” Hoseok starts. “Thank you for letting us use your name too.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I mean if we are going to be living together for the foreseeable future, we might as well be friendly about it right?”

A hand touching your arm pulls your attention to the bunny hybrid, “Y/n, are you really okay with the skinship? You seem to get overwhelmed by it, and I don’t… I don’t want to be too much for you.”

“Oh, Thumper.” Jungkook blushes at the new nickname, and you giggle, which brings smiles all around.

“Skinship is a strange topic for me. In America, it’s not seen as anything special, kinda. Well… agh.” Running your hand through your hair, you huff.

“I used to be very touchy feely when I was younger and in like high school because I thought that is what you were supposed to do.”

Fiddling with your… Yoongi’s sweater, you continue, “After some hateful comments and talking with my best friend, Evie. I figured out that I was doing pack-like stuff with the humans. And… well, I was branded a umm… A slut.”

“Fucking humans,” grumbles Yoongi.

“I stopped after that. No skinskip, no cuddling, and nothing pack-like outside of Evie’s family and then Derik. Umm…”

“Y/n, you don’t have to tell us anything,” Jungkook says.

“We will keep the skinship down to a minimum or let you lead us in that area,” Hoseok says. “It may be hard for our Yoon and Kook to keep to themselves now, but I will talk with the rest of the pack, and we will keep to ourselves.”

You felt the two hybrids beside you shuffle a little when he mentioned their names. Jungkook removed his hand, only for you to grab it with a reassuring smile.

“I don’t mind it. Surprisingly, at least not from Yoongi and Jungkook.” looking at Hoseok, you see a slight frown. “Hoseok, I will try my best to be comfortable with all of you.”

“I think because of this,” you hold up your right hand, “and their care when I was freaking out sort of made it easy.”

“Ah, that makes sense. As hybrids, we have a thing called imprinting. Most of the time it is temporary, you can ask Namjoon but I think humans have a trauma response like that.”

“That would make sense. I was going to University for Psychology but they never liked my work. My roommate in the dorm thought I was a hybrid because of how I thought and acted.”

Chewing on my bottom lip, “Hmm… maybe I should have majored in Pack Psychology or Hybrid Psychology.”

“Y/n, how did you end up at Playmate Services?” Hoseok asks, scooting forward a little.

“Oh actually, it was supposed to be a part time job. I was a Doordash driver when I saw that they were remodeling the office. The sign on the door said they were looking for part or full time front desk assistants and remote operators.”

“I thought that I would do well as a remote operator because I am good over the phone but I guess the head of HR thought I was good enough for the front desk spot. After working with them over summer, I realized that I enjoyed working and asked to be full time.”

“You mean, if HR hadn’t put you at the front desk and Yoongi hadn't hurt you… we would have never met?” Jungkook asks, pulling your arm to his chest. Now, he is holding you tight with both hands, like you will disappear.

“I guess you’re right, Thumper.” You squeeze his hands back. “Now, you are stuck with me for the next two months.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” Yoongi says as he rests his head on your shoulder.

The warmth of the two and the comfort they bring makes you sleepy enough to let out a long yawn.

“Oh, it looks like it's time to take our leave and let our newest one rest. She has had a long and exhausting day,” Hoseok says with a smile. Patting your leg softly, he takes his leave.

“Yeah, I think I am crashing from all the emotions, and the pain meds I took with dinner are kicking in too.”

With a last squeeze of his hand, Jungkook gets up and walks to the door. “Oh, when I unpacked, I put a spare toothbrush and paste in your bathroom. Jimin also had me put in some of his spare face wash and face creams for you. Goodnight, Y/n.”

Scooting to the end of the bed, Yoongi looks around, “Do you have everything you need? Will you be comfortable sleeping in those clothes?”

“I should be fine, Yoongi. Unless you don’t want me to sleep in these?”

“I.. ah... It's… fine,” Yoongi stutters, his face gone pink. You knew he might react like this, and you smiled at how cute he looked. Your scent is blooming in the room. “I’d better go now. Sleep well, Y/n.”

With that, you are left alone in the room. Looking around, you feel awkward, finally alone after being with at least one person all day. After another yawn, you go about a nighttime routine using the products left by the two youngest in your bathroom.

Mind you, the products are in Korean, so you hope for the best. By looking at the pictures, you can tell which is which. Once you are done, you glance at the closed bedroom door and hope you have made a good decision. Staying with this pack.

“What… hmm,” Jungkook’s ears perk up, hearing a rustling sound. One of the horrible things about being a prey hybrid, Alpha or not, is that you're always on your guard. While for some, it makes them live in fear, for Jungkook, it pushes him to be the best at everything he takes on.

Waking up more, he listens again. After a moment, he can hear his pack sleeping. A few are snoring, and Jimin is talking in his sleep again. Wait… the rustling sound is back, but it's coming from below. Getting up quickly, he makes his way down to your room.

Knock, Knock.

“Y/n, are you okay? Is there something that you need?” He asks, pressing his ear to the door. Hearing you move about, he stands up straight.

Opening the door slowly, you look sleepy. Your eyes are slightly puffy, and your hair is tousled. You look beautiful in Jungkook’s eyes. “Thumper? Sorry, did I wake you?”

“It’s okay. I am a light sleeper, prey and all. Are you not comfortable? Are you in pain?” he asks, slightly pushing the door open.

“The bed is soft enough, but I normally sleep with lots of pillows or blankets. I get cold quickly, but I will be okay. I promise to stop moving around so much,” you say, pulling down the bottom hem of the hoodie.

Your motions catch Jungkook’s attention. His whole body flushes with heat once he notices you are not wearing pants. Taking a step back, he looks right into your eyes, trying his best not to ogle at your bare legs.

“Ah. Pillows. Blankets. Lots.” Glancing back down again, he swallows. “Yeah, on hold.” He says before jogging back upstairs, leaving you standing at your door wondering what has happened.

Like any young Alpha, Jungkook is giddy at seeing his mate in such a state of vulnerability and dress. To top it off, you needed something he could provide: blankets and pillows. They always had blankets and pillows.

Going into Yoongi and Jin’s den without knocking, he wakes Yoongi by stealing his pillow.

“Kook! What the hell was that for?” Yoongi grunts as he watches the youngest Alpha approach Jin’s side and take a blanket off him.

“Y/n. She wants blankets and pillows. My Alpha says it has to be the pack stuff,” the thought stopped him in his tracks. “Wait, why does it need to be the pack’s stuff?”

“What are you two talking about? You are supposed to be sleeping,” Jin huffs, pulling at the blanket in Jungkook’s hand.

“Kook, wait.”

“No, Yoongi. Y/n said she cannot sleep without lots of pillows and blankets. I am getting her pillows and blankets.” He says, holding up the named items.

The three of them glance at each other, now gathered in Jin’s half of the den. After taking a moment to process, Yoongi asks, “Y/n is asking for nesting materials?”

That question sets something off in their mind. All of them are scrambling to gather different items. Yoongi took back his pillow, covering it in his scent as his. While Seokjin did the same with his blanket, Junkook ran to his room to get his body pillow. The three met in the hall before heading downstairs, trying not to wake the rest of the house.

Coming to the door, Jungkook jumped in front of them. “Wait! She asked me. I want to be the first to give her something to nest with, please.”

“Awhhh… look at our little bun. He is trying to be a good Alpha and provide for her. Isn’t it cute?” Seokjin coos, and Yoongi chuckles.

“Hyuuunngg, don’t make fun of me.”

“He is just teasing you out of love, Kook. Of course, you can go first. We won’t take that from you,” Yoongi says. “Now go on. We are right behind you.”

Knock Knock

“The door is open, Thumper.” You call from inside.

He pushes it open and walks in with the others right behind him. You straighten up and smile at the addition of the others coming in, too. The first thing Jungkook looks at is– your legs, of course. Why would he not?

It isn’t until the others find you sitting on your bed that you notice they are all looking down, which causes you to look down. Then it clicks. You are not wearing sweatpants anymore. Quickly, you grab the coverlet at the end of the bed and hide your legs, breaking their gaze.

“Sorry, it’s a habit. I don’t like pants when I sleep. It feels like I am trapped again.”

“No, it's okay. We shouldn’t have focused on that. It just wasn’t expected. Umm..” Junkook blushes deeply, looking anywhere but you, and then he remembers why they are in your bedroom again.

“Oh, we brought you pillows and blankets,” he says, holding his body pillow. “This is one of my body pillows. I love to cuddle up with it when I am sleeping alone, and it’s super soft.”

You take the pillow gently, “What will you use now?”

“Oh, I will sleep with Jin tonight. It’s normal for me to sleep with someone else on the first night in a new pack house.” Jungkook fibs because the thought of you not using it because it was his only body pillow would not go over well with his Alpha.

You glance at Jin, who nods in agreement: “It is rare when he actually sleeps alone. It typically only happens when he has an individual schedule or he has to get up before anyone else. But here,” he goes to place a blanket on the bottom of your bed.

His eyes take in how you have bunched up the decorative throw pillows along the wall, the duvet in the middle of the bed like a wall, and it looks like another quilt from somewhere at the foot of the bed. Not knowing where to put the blanket down, he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, here.” You hop off the bed, putting the coverlet back in its place. You take Jin's soft and silky blanket, the scent of cherries puffing out. “Mmmm… smells good.” You comment while climbing back on the bed.

The hybrids watch your movements with interest, watching Yoongi's hoodie barely cover you. Their Alphas purr at your level of comfort while you enjoy the view. Not only are you showing off your plush, milky thighs as you crawl away from them, but you are giving the three Alphas your back, which means that you do not find them a threat.

To top it off, you are building a nest—a Nest of all things inside their pack house!

While clearly, it’s a small nest meant for personal use and not a pack nest, it doesn’t matter to the Alphas. They cannot wait to tell the others about your nest and maybe one day be invited to join you in the nest.

Pulling the blanket and placing it inside the bowl of bedding, you leave some hanging over the side. Grabbing the body pillow, you stuff it against the wall with a smile.

“There, much better.” You turn and sit cross-legged, pulling the hoodie down over your knees, but stop because you remember it is a Valentino and don’t want to stretch it.

Looking at Yoongi, you notice he is holding a pillow, “Is that for me, or are you planning to sleep over?”

“Sleep…sleep over?” Yoongi questions.

“Is sleeping over an option?” Jungkook asks, his ears standing straight up with interest.

“No, no… no sleeping over Kook. It’s her first night here, and she needs her space. We have to respect that.” Seokjin intervenes.

“Thank you, Jin. I do like sleepovers, and it is your pack house.” You offhandedly comment while making minor adjustments to the bedding.

“Umm... Yoongi, the pillow?”

“Oh, right. Pillow. I had an extra one you can have. If you want it, that is, but yeah, sleeping over isn’t something I do much of. I typically cat nap throughout the day. I'm not much of a cuddler, really.” Yoongi says while handing you the pillow.

“Oh. Based on what you said in the hall, I thought you would be more comfortable with all of that.” Turning around and sitting on your knees, you place his pillow on top of your pillow at the head of the bed. Looking over your shoulder, you ask, “Is that all you boys brought?”

The sheer thought that they had not brought you enough nesting materials to make you content shocks the boys with concern. Serious faces across them all as they start to think of other things they could bring down to you. Then, as if a switch was flipped, they all scampered out of the room and back upstairs.

“Huh? Where are they going?” you mutter as you go back to rearranging the bed again now that you have more things to snuggle with.

After about five minutes, some hollers and lots of yelled apologies, the boys come back to the room with even more blankets and pillows. Standing around the bed with hopeful but still concerned looks on their faces, you move to the edge, smiling brightly at all the soft bedding you could choose from.

“Oh wow, I didn’t know that you all had so much extra bedding.”

The boys share a look that you miss. The three of them know that they have four other confused and upset mates upstairs to whom they owe explanations for stealing the stuff they were using. But you don’t need to know that right now.

Once you have torn down and rebuilt the bed again, it now contains a body pillow from Jungkook and Jimin, pillows from Yoongi and Hoseok, and blankets from Jin, Taehyung, and Namjoon. Settling in the middle, you start to feel more at home. Your sweetpea scent is missing as the Alphas’ scents cascade in waves heavy with vanilla and, indicating to the whole house how happy they are providing for you.

“Thank you, all. I know I am strange, but it just makes me feel more comfortable to have it like this. The soft pillows, the walls of blankets. It's kinda like a blanket fort, or as my best friend Evie always tells people that I can make the best human nests.”

“Ah yeah nests, hybrids do that often but Omegas are the best at them. Jimin makes them for our pack since we do not have an omega but maybe one day you two can make a nest or fort in the living room or something on a day off for everyone?” Jin asks cautiously.

“Oh! That would be so much fun, but then again, I am not sure he would want to make one with me. I don’t think he likes me much.”

“Give him time, dear,” Jin says as he moves closer to the head of the bed where you are resting. “He took what happened with the last playmate harder than he let on.”

“Oh. That makes sense. Well, I won’t push him to get close to me. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

“You are sweet, Y/n. Jimin will like that. He won’t stay away for long,” Jungkook adds. “Umm it’s late. Can we scent you before we go? It will help us sleep.”

“Kookie! Don’t ask her that,” Jin scolded the youngest.

“Jin! It’s okay. You can scent me if you wish. It’s not like you haven’t done it before,” you playfully glare at Jin as you remember being told he did it in his Den.

“Well, I was just trying to keep you and me calm while we were talking,” Jin whines.

“It’s okay. The three of you have been so supportive, feeding me, keeping me calm, and protecting me. Now you are providing me with additional comforts to sleep. How could I be rude and not let you scent me?”

Smiling with his bunny teeth on full display, Jungkook hops onto the bed, careful not to knock anything over. He grabs your hand and pulls you closer to them all.

You giggle at the hybrid, holding your hands to Jungkook and Seokjin.

The eldest goes first, taking your left hand and gently kissing the back before turning it over and taking a deep breath. He glances at your face, still calm and slightly pink from the kiss. He locks eyes with you, and he kisses your wrist. Seeing your eyes widen slightly but not feeling you move away, he becomes bold and licks the skin once with a slight nip before releasing you from his grip.

“Good night, dearie. I shall see you tomorrow afternoon. Most of us will be gone before you wake up,” he says, leaving.

Looking over at Yoongi, Jungkook and he share some kind of wordless conversation, leaving Yoongi shaking his head and walking closer.

“It seems our bun wants to be the last to scent you, which is fine. After all, he is your Alpha right now.”

Completely ignoring your look of confusion at the note of possession in what was just said. Yoongi places one knee on the bed and leans over to you, touching your forehead with his. Breathing deeply, he rolls his forehead along yours and ends by rubbing your temples together.

A smile graces your face at the familiarity of it all since Evie and her family would do the same with you whenever you were to leave the house. The instinct to roll your head to the other side and rub your temple on the other side comes on its own but sends the jaguar hybrid for a loop, his heart fluttering at the action, which means so much to him. With a smile on his face and a warmth in his heart, Yoongi leaves the room.

You may not be a hybrid, but you sure do act like one, and it just makes Yoongi feel as light as a feather. Sleep will be easy for him… even without his favorite pillow.

“Umm.. Y/n, do you know much about bunny hybrids?” Jungkook asks nervously while he runs his fingers over the brace on your wrist.

“Nope,” you pop the p and smile at him expectantly.

“Do you know the common areas of scent glands? Human or not?”

“Oh, I know this! The glands are pretty much anywhere someone can sweat, but there is also the wrist. Simply running wrist to wrist with someone will transfer scent, but things like kissing, licking, or biting the area will cause more scent to leak out, much like oil being squeezed out of a sponge.”

“That is surprisingly accurate– for most hybrids,” Jungkook looks up from your wrist. “I am sure you know that Yoongi-hyung or cat hybrids also have scent glands on their temples down to their cheekbones, which is why most cat hybrids end up with plump cheeks no matter how thin they are.”

“Bunny hybrids don’t have glands on their faces like most people think; it’s on our chin,” he says, looking up at you to see your reaction, only for you to have a furrowed brow.

“Your chin? So when you rested your chin on my lap in Jin and Yoongi’s den, were you scenting me then? Or back in the breakroom, and you rested your head on my lap?” Your face unfurrows as you look at him with almost a surprised but happy look.

“If I said yes, would you be mad at me?”

Your face breaks out into a huge smile. “No, Jungkook. I am just happy that you feel so comfortable with me. I knew a bunny hybrid in high school, and he would always run away from me. It made me think that I was too much for a prey-type breed to be around.”

The mention of another bunny hybrid around you spikes a bit of distaste in Jungkook’s mouth. He was the bunny to be around you—not some weak bunny that ran for no good reason unless he was nervous about being around someone so unique as you. How dare he make you feel like you were too much; you are perfect.

“Umm, Thumper,” Yawn, “I like learning about you, but it’s late. Was the scenting you did upstairs enough for you to sleep, or did you need to do it again? I mean, you did ask.”

He looks over you, taking in your bare legs, Yoongi-hyung’s sweater bathing you in petrichor but mixing nicely with Seokjin-hyung’s cherries and a hint of the vanilla mate scent. A frown on his face because your sweet pea scent is still missing. It causes his heart to ache at how close you came to breaking the mate bond that has barely started.

Watching Jungkook’s face closely, you watch his eyes wander your form, his mind deep in thought. You can tell something isn’t settling well with the hybrid, and while the contract hasn’t been finalized yet, you still feel like you need to comfort him.

Scooting closer, your knees brushing against his leg, you tentatively reach out a hand and slide it across his collarbone and up his neck. While his body stiffens, his eyes remain on your hurt wrist, but you can feel his pulse race against your fingertips.

You duck your head down and lean into his space, cupping his face and bringing him to look at you. Your head is lower than his, and your hair has cascaded off your back to hang like a curtain, brushing his knee. All while your neck is bare and open to him.

“Alpha, scent me.”

His eyes flash silver at your simple act of submission to him, which causes your breath to hitch and Jungkook to act.

The next thing you know, Jungkook has you on his lap, with an arm under your shoulders and a hand on your waist. The hand cupping his face is now holding the back of his neck, and your braced hand is gripping his shirt. Looking up, you can watch as the smokey gray color blends through his natural chocolate brown.

"Alpha Kook,” you breathe out once you realize you are speaking to both—at their mercy, in their arms.

The Alpha bunny smiles at you, calling him by name and understanding who you are interacting with. Tightening his grip on your shoulder, he pulls you closer to his chest, curling you towards him as he leans down. The hand on your shoulder tugs the hoodie away from your neck and exposes you from your hairline to your shoulder cap.

Softly, like a feather, he runs his nose along your cheek, along the rim of your ear, down your neck, and across your shoulder as far as the stretched hoodie next would allow. While you fight to keep your pulse under control, you cannot keep your eyes from fluttering shut and goosebumps pebbling your skin.

“Hmm… something’s missing,” Jungkook growls out, his voice taking on an edge that is not helping you sit still on his lap.

“I… I am sorry, Alpha Kook. I never learned how to bring it back,” you manage to get out. Unfortunately, it’s breathy and slightly rushed.

“Fix it. My job,” the Alpha states before resuming his scenting of your neck and shoulder. Gliding his chin along your skin, stopping here and there to smell a particular spot.

He can feel your braced hand pulling at his shirt gently and your legs flexing against his thigh when his nose runs below your ear and right where your shoulder connects. Lucky for your pack of mates, you are so responsive to his ministrations. Jungkook can’t help it when he has to have a taste and runs his tongue along the same path.

You wanted to think you had it under control, but the moment the wet heat of the Alpha’s tongue hit your skin– it was over. The startled moan that escaped your lips was nothing compared to the explosion of sweet peas, vanilla, and jasmine that flooded the room.

“Sugar back now,” Jungkook groans after taking a deep breath of your intoxicating scent. Taking a few more laps at the scent gland on your neck, savoring the taste of your scent on his tongue, the young Alpha squeezes your waist.

“Might not want to squirm around too much, Sweets. Wouldn’t want you to fall, now would we?” He says as he looks into your eyes. His are turning back into their deep brown, the gray smokiness fading.

“Sorry, Jungkook, I have never been scented like this before. It’s – intense.”

Chuckling, he helps you to sit back on the bed. “Yeah, I have a tendency to go into scent highs with my mates. I guess I just got carried away. If you didn’t like it, I could try not to scent you often.”

“NO.” You sit back on your heels, both shocked by your strong disagreement.

“I mean, no, the scenting was and is fine. I just… I just need to learn how to respond properly to scentings.”

“Sugar, you responded wonderfully. I wouldn’t change anything. If you think my scentings are something to get used to,” giggles, “I can’t wait til Alpha Chim decides to scent you properly.”

“Alpha Chim? Is that Yoongi’s Alpha?”

“No, Yoongi’s Alpha is Alpha Yoon. Jimin’s Alpha is Alpha Chim. Then there is Alpha Eli, Alpha Hope, Alpha Tae, Alpha Joon and you got mine right. Alpha Kook.”

“Interesting, but I think my contract will be over before Alpha Chim decides to scent me properly.”

“You won’t have to wait long if you keep smelling like his Y/n. You underestimate how delicious you smell. However, I can tell you are fighting sleep. I guess I should go now.”

“Oh yeah. Well, Thank you, Alpha Kook, for gathering things for me to cuddle in. I can tell the bed is so much more snuggly than it was before,” you say.

You quickly crawl into the center of your human-made nest. Making yourself comfortable as you rest one leg over Jungook’s body pillow, lay your head on Yoongi’s, and cover yourself with Jin's blanket.

“Good night, Thumper.”

“Good night, my Sweets.”

The next morning is a blur. You wake up, borrow another pair of sweatpants from Yoongi, and borrow a hoodie from Jungkook. This time, the hoodie is from Calvin Klein. Yay, more brand-name clothes that you have never even thought of wearing.

Jin also left you a travel bag to put your clothes in and a suitcase to bring clothes back in.

After a quick breakfast, you return to your flat with Yoongi in tow. You didn’t see the rest of the pack before they left because you woke up later than expected.

Standing outside the large but slightly run-down building, you are nervous about him being with you. You can already tell that he isn’t comfortable. Shifting from foot to foot, looking up and down the street, and sticking super close, fur leash attached.

“Yoongi, if you are afraid of being seen or are uncomfortable with this part of town, it's okay. I have lived here for almost 2 years. You can go somewhere else, and I can call you when I am done?”

“Are you sure?” Pulling his bucket hat down again, he said, “I don't want to leave, but I also want to give you time with your friends.”

He steps into your space quickly as a messenger bike rides by. His arms encircle you, and a low growl is heard.

“Thank you, Alpha, but I think you are right. I need to tell my pack a lot of things.” You run your hands along his shoulders, “but I think the ‘contract’ that Derek is working on this morning is ours, so he will probably break down my door to talk about it.”

“Remember, I am your protector now, Princess.” Yoongi leans in and scents your temple again.

“Walk me to my door, then you can wander around. There is a great coffee shop about a mile or two away called Grinders. They have the best espresso and really good crepes.”

“Sounds good.”

After sending Yoongi off, barely managing to keep him outside your flat, you start by trying to clean up one-handedly. With everything that happened, you had almost forgotten the tornado that blew through, trying to find a ‘run-away’ outfit for work yesterday morning.

Lucky for you, it’s a small flat. The whole space is open except for the bathroom and the coat closet. The front door opens directly into the kitchen on one side and the bathroom on the other. Then it opens to the bedroom and living room—well, living room if you owned a couch, which you don’t. The far wall holds a sliding glass door to a petite veranda, where you have a smaller-sized clothes washer and drying line.

Since you've been home, you have managed to hang up most of the clothes still on their hangers before you hear the door open shortly after ten. In walk your two best friends in the universe, Evie and Derek.

Evie lives up to her hybrid half. Standing only five feet tall, she has white and grayish ears and a large fluffy tail. She is the sun to your moon, as her many clothes are bright and pastel. She would totally be a Sweet Lolita if America did that kind of fashion.

Once she sets her bag down, she greets you with bounding, pouncing like glee, wrapping you in a firm hug with a purr before it abruptly stops, and she leans away from you.

“Who or what the heck do you smell like?” She asks with her nose scrunching. “I know you mentioned a temp move-in with a pack, but damn, how many alphas are there, and why in the heck did they scent you so much?”

“Ah well… so…”

“Y/N!” Derek yells, storming right up to you with a look of shock, anger, and irritation. “How dare you!”

At his exclamation, Evie turns to stand between the two of you. Omega or not, she has always been your Polly Pocket-sized bodyguard. “What’s got you in a twist?”

“Go ahead, Missy. You are the only one who can tell her without us both losing our jobs.”

“Does anyone want some water?” you ask, making your way to the fridge. Your mind is trying to figure out how to tell them.

“No, we don’t,” Derek answers, pulling Evie to the foot of the bed. Now start talking, or we will leave.”

“We are leaving? We…” with a leveling glance from Derick, Evie sits up straight, “Yes, spill it, or we are leaving.”

“Okay, okay. No one is leaving or losing their job. They agreed that I needed to tell my family pack what was happening to ensure no pack issues and safety reasons.”

Taking a deep breath, you stand and face them head-on.

“Evie, I know you are into anime, but you also know about things like K-pop and playmates and how we work with all that. I already told you that I got hurt at work and broke my wrist. You also know that I am staying with the pack involved in the accident until I am healed,” you pause, ensuring she is on track.

“Yeah, Y/n. We know this already, but what are you not saying?” Evie asks, flicking her tail back and forth.

“So... umm… The pack has seven members. Well, seven Alpha… male… idols, known as BTS.”

“Like the Korean Pop band?”

You nod.

“The band that Lily made me learn the fan chant for?”

You nod again.

“Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jeon Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook, BTS!” Evie says, getting louder with each name as she stands up, her eyes unblinking.

“Ah, yep. Those are the guys, and Yoongi accidentally ran into me but wasn’t able to stop me from getting hurt when he stopped me from landing on the floor.”

Running up to you, she smells you, “Okay…” sniff, “Okay.. so which one is he? Cinnamon cookies or rain?”

“Huh?”

With a slight pull on her tail, Derek says, “Sit back down. She’s not done yet.”

“Oh, there is more?” she asks as she listens to the beta and sits back down.

“Go on, explain.”

“Fine. Derek had to work on a contract this morning that will be finalized in a few days because there needs to be a medical clearance and a meeting with Manager Sejin, BTS, and their new companion playmate… me.”

“BTS signed with PMS to have a playmate. You. Our packmate is gonna be a playmate for another pack,” she says, almost in a haze.

“Yep, that’s the deal.”

“For eight weeks with an open end for continuance, PLUS there is no exclusion of the rut clause, which was originally stressed as a requirement from BigHit because BTS is a mate-bonded pack,” Derek elaborates.

“Mate-bonded? Why wouldn’t they have the exclusion then?”

They both look at you for the answer to find you chewing on your lips with nerves, “Well, because of the injury, Yoongi’s Alpha is very protective of me because of the accident, and, just like you two, he is very touchy with the skinship. I mean, he uses his tail like a leash.”

That last bit causes them both to laugh, which lights the mood in the room.

“Wait, so if Yooooongi—I can’t believe you are using his first name—is protective of you, then why do you smell of two Alpha’s scents?” Evie asks.

“Oh, I think that is Thumper. I mean Jungkook.” You blush at letting the nickname slip.

“oooooOOOOooooo, Thumper. Nicknames with the youngest BTS Alpha, isn’t he a little young for you? And common Thumper from Disney?” Derek teases.

“Okay, you know age isn’t a thing with hybrids. You all are very accepting of ages and backgrounds for the most part. Jungkook got upset because I called Seokjin by Jin and wanted a nickname too. So I picked Thumper because he thumps his left leg like the bunny in Bambi.”

“Got it. Well, umm… still doesn’t explain why you are wearing two scents?”

“I want to know why she isn’t wearing all seven,” Derek butted in and shocked Evie a bit.

Shaking your head at Derek, you answer Evie’s question, “The hoodie is Jungkook’s, and the pants are Yoongi’s. The two of them have been the most touchy-feeling out of them all.”

Memories of last night flash through your mind, and your body reminds you of the scenting session. You can feel the heat crawling up your neck to your face.

“Oh what’s that for? Look Pippy, our human is blushing.”

“Well, okay. So, it’s interesting you only smell two scents. I figured out kind of early on that the rain or petrichor is Yoongi’s scent. But it was when Jungkook scented me before he went to sleep that I figured out he was like this snickerdoodle cookie-type scent.”

“Excuse me,” Evie says with enough sass that Rue Paul would be happy, “Jungkook from BTS scented you before bed when he has a packhouse full of mates?”

“Evie, it wasn’t just him. Well, he was the one who asked but Jin and Yoongi did it too.”

“So you're telling me that World Wide Handsome, Golden Maknae, and Suga all scented you before they went to bed?”

“If that means Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jungkook… then yes, but I am pretty sure it was more Alpha Kook that did the scenting than Jungkook.”

Evie and Derek share a look, both sporting shock. You look at them with a look of confusion, not understanding what their shock is since scenting is a hybrid thing. Derek and Evie scent each other, scent you and Evie’s husband even scents you and Derek sometimes. It’s like the hybrid thing to do.

“Guys, it’s just scenting. We do it all the time.”

That statement causes the two to start laughing so hard that Derek is on the floor holding his stomach, and Evie is crying. They both repeat your statement like it’s the most amusing thing in the world.

“What the hell, guys?” You cross your arms and are sure that your scent has soured to whatever it does with you getting angry.

“No, no, no, there is nothing as ‘just scenting.’” Derek says, using air quote fingers and everything.

“Huh?”

“Sweetie, come over here,” Evie says, pulling your attention. You sit on the bed next to her. We always scent each other because, as you have said, we are a family pack.”

Derek sits on your other side, “I was honored when you invited me into your pack.”

“I had no clue what I was doing. I just wanted you to be around a lot since we got along so well. Then it just felt right to cuddle and do sleep overs like I did with Evie. Heck, I was super happy when Evie moved here with her husband and accepted your presents.”

“I remember when she got upset you added to the pack without talking with her first. BUUTT, the first time you scented me, you did it out of instinct or habit, Y/n and that was when you brought me into the pack,” Derek looks at you with raised eyebrows.

“So scenting you was what, like making it official or something?”

“Pretty much. Do you remember when you moved in, no one would touch you from my parent's pack for like months, and then my dad was the first one to hug you, which then led to everyone hugging you?” Evie questions.

��Well, yeah, I was shocked. It was like poof; it was like there was no awkward barrier to you anymore.”

“Right, because the head of the family scented you when he hugged you and accepted you into the family pack. It was the same thing when you cuddled and scented Fluffy over there. The next time I saw him, I knew Derek was part of our little pack.”

“Oh, okay, but I wasn’t scented by the Prime Alpha, and I think the only Alpha who was actually present during the scenting was Jungkook’s. When Alpha Kook is at the foremind, Jungkook’s eyes look like this smokey silver color.”

“Yoongi’s eyes turn this captivating golden-yellow cat’s eye.” You notice Evie's look of confusion: "Oh, Yoongi is a Black Jaguar hybrid, Jungkook is some kind of bunny, and Jin is a Roan Ferret. I haven’t met Jin’s Alpha yet.”

“It’s odd that you have met them in the first place, well, aside from Yoongi’s,” Evie comments.

“Oh no, our little missy here has also met the youngest Mr. Kim’s Alpha, too. He is the handsome white tiger one. Your tiger sure has the prettiest crystal blue eyes,” Derek dreamily comments.

“Taehyung. His name is Taehyung, and he has mates, Derek. Remember that.” You say sternly with an odd tension in your belly.

Snif snif

“Is that a burning smell from you, Y/n? Are you jealous of Derek finding your tiger handsome and pretty?”

“NOOOO! I mean... No, he is an idol, of course. He is handsome and pretty and any other synonyms that you wanna come up with.”

“This is true, and that is something you will have to get used to. Especially since you don’t deny that he is yours.” Derek says with a smirk.

Your mouth drops as you try to find a way to miss that little bit. The only problem is you can’t because your stomach fluttered when he said that Taehyung was your tiger. Instead of disputing it, you reach behind you, grab a random shirt, and throw it at him.

“Hush you! It's not that he is mine. It's more like I am his. You know… I am his playmate or whatnot. Anywho... I realize that scenting is mainly done within a pact to mark pack members. I also know that it is done by accepting individuals closer. I have seen Playmates get scented in the lobby, for heavensake.”

"That behavior is reserved for unmated hybrids. Y/N, it isn't something a mated Alpha would do unless he was staking his claim on you to join the pack, but that is also left for the head of the pack," Evie explains.

"Well, this isn't a normal Playmate contract. You of all should know this because you are the writing it. Maybe they treat their Playmates like a family pack or an extended pack member? I am not going to read into anything. It always gets me in over my head when I do that."

Standing up, you get the travel bag and the suitcase and bring it over to the bed.

“Now that you are all up to date, please help me with doing some laundry and packing in these. I was told to bring the essentials and things I cannot live without since,” you continue in a voice similar to Namjoon’s, “We will cover all your expenses; it’s not like we lack the funds to care for anyone.”

“Ah so not only did you get to play with Idols, but you get to be a sugar baby, got it. Let’s get going.” Derek teases you.

After that, the three of you just do your thing. Working around each other flawlessly, for the most part. The two besties would remind you to stop doing things between letting you know the latest about Evie’s current attempts at having a litter and the tea about what is happening at PMS from Derek.

Knock knock knock

“Are you expecting anyone?” Derek asks, looking at you as you look at the door with confusion.

“No, I am not,” you say, going to get up, only to have Derek move to answer the door first. For being a Beta, Derek has always been the protector of your mini pack.

Letting Derek deal with whoever knocked, you go back to attempting to pick out which of your favorite hoodies you want to take with you, if any at all. You can tell the difference between what you are currently wearing and what you are holding. Guess fancy stuff really can make the cotton feel different.

You hear Derek call you a thank you followed by the sound of… a paper bag? Looking at the Beta, you see a massive smile as he holds a paper bag from– Grinders of all places.

Derek clears his throat and reads something written on the paper bag, “Princess, I hope your pack members are taking the news well, and you are enjoying your time with them. I listened to your suggestion and am waiting here until you are done. I got hungry and got something to eat and thought you might be wanting something too.”

“Awh, he is providing for his Princess,” Evie says with hearts in her eyes.

“Shh, there is more,” Derek wiggles his eyebrows.

“When I saw they had shrimp, broccoli, and pesto crepes, it made me think of you. Apparently, you come here a lot because Sergio and Carlo told me to tell you hi. I hope you enjoy the meal. Yoongi. P.s. I got two hybrid-safe crepes for your friends. They come here often, too.”

You can’t stop smiling while Derek reads the note and starts pulling out the food. Yours has a smiley face on it. The conversation swayed back to you and the Bangtan pack all through lunch and up until you messaged Yoongi to come get you.

It takes less than 10 minutes for another knock on the door to come. You happily answer the door to let in Yoongi, but the Prime Alpha himself meets you.

“Prime Alpha, sir,” your smile drops in surprise at his sudden, unplanned arrival.

“Miss y/n, hello. Can we please come in?” he gestures behind him, which reveals that he did come with Yoongi.

“Oh, yes, please come in. Umm.. Welcome to my flat,” you greet him as he walks in, bowing respectfully at your two friends.

You recognize Yoongi as he comes in, but he isn’t the last one. Dressed in all black with a face mask and bucket hat, enters another packmate. Looking out in the hall, you ensure no other surprise visitors are lingering.

Closing the door, you see Evie and Derek. Both have come together, their tails and ears focused on the three Alphas now taking up most of the entryway. They are not exactly in flight or fight mode but ready to react if needed.

“Princess, did you like the food I sent to you?” Yoongi asks as he removes his mask and stuffs it in his pocket. All eyes turn to you.

“Yes, Alpha. Thank you for providing lunch for my family pack members and me. Honestly, I was so focused on packing that it didn’t cross my mind.” You smile as you approach the family pack members and stand a bit in front of them.

“I know Jin-hyung said it was his desire to keep you well-fed, but I had a feeling you would forget to eat with everything going on. I am glad it suited you well. The shop owner seems to think the world of you,” Yoongi says while internally growling at how infatuated the taller owner seemed to be with you.

“I am sure Jin would be happy to know that you helped keep his promise.”

Looking at the other two in the room, you ask, “Why did you two come?”

The hidden Alpha is looking down as he steps forward. Taking off his mask and bucket hat, he says, looking up, “I finished early. I was interested in seeing your flat and maybe learning more about you and your family.”

“Jimin,” your eyes darted to Yoongi and then back to Jimin, “Thank you for coming. Speaking of my family pack. Let me introduce you.”

Stepping to the side, Derek and Evie step forward, “Well, for proper introductions… This is Derek, a Beta Fennec Fox hybrid. You have seen each other before and maybe spoken. He works in the contracting department at PMS, and we have been friends since the interviews. He is also the newest family pack member.”

Derek respectfully bows to the Alphas, showing his neck slightly, which, oddly enough, fills your heart with pride. He then steps back and scoots Evie close to you.

“This is Genieve, Omega Munchkin Hybrid, my pack sister. She has been my best friend and sister since I moved to California. Her mate is Matt, Alpha Black Bear Hybrid, but he never identified as part of our mini pack.”

Geneive also respectfully bows, following Derek’s lead before turning to you: " The only reason Matt hasn’t joined the family pack is that he sees this pack as more like a sub-grouping of my parental pack, which mates don’t normally join.”

“That and he says that you are strong enough to protect his mate like an Alpha that our pack doesn’t need him,” Derek adds off-handedly. This comment pulls as a reaction from the three Alphas present, darkening their respective scents and causing the two non-Alpha hybrids to freeze.

“Your mate does know she is a human, right?” Yoongi steps up next to Jimin, both holding stern faces.

“Yes, Alpha,” Evie replies with narrowed eyes. “How could he not? Do you not understand how strong and independent Y/n is?”

“Geneive, Alphas, it’s okay,” you say, trying to calm everyone down.

“Jimin-ah, Yoongi-hyung.” The Prime Alpha calls his mates back. The tension in the room dropped slightly. “I apologize, but the last couple of days and the jet lag have put us on edge.”

“Sure, that’s why you are on edge,” Derek mutters, only loud enough for the hybrids to pick up.

“Let me properly introduce us,” Namjoon says. “This is Yoongi, Alpha Black Jaguar hybrid and second oldest Alpha of the Bangtan Pack.”

Yoongi bows but does not lower his eyes on the three of you or tilt his head. It was a very Alpha move. His eyes look to you before he stands up with a slight smile.

“This is Jimin, Alpha Red Panda Hybrid, and the third youngest of the pack.”

Jimin copies the motions of Yoongi, but this time, his eyes never fall from yours.

“My name is Namjoon, Alpha Alaskan Timber Wolf hybrid and Prime Alpha of Bangtan Pack,” he says as he bows a full 90 degrees. “We thank you for allowing us in your Packhouse. We will treat it with respect and honor.”

“It’s you!” Evie declares—shocking everyone in the room.

“Evie,” you call her and reach for her arm, only to have her shake you off as she steps forward.

“You are the one who got Y/n into the contract,” then snaps her attention to Yoongi, “You are the one that tried to stop her from falling and injuring her.”

Yoongi holds back from growling at this disrespect from the Omega because he knows it will only upset you. Jimin steps out of the line of fire from the feisty little Omega while Namjoon is frozen in place, and Evie has settled her sights on him again.

You step forward to put yourself between the Prime Alpha and your pack Omega, only to find yourself stopped by the damn black furry leash around your waist, which has been joined by a fluffy tail around your forearm.

Looking at Derek, he just shakes his head. Rolling your eyes at him, you glance at Yoongi and Jimin, only to find both of them looking amused.

“I hope you understand the damage your ‘proposition’ has caused. I know all about your great idea and its failed delivery. You not only offended the head of my pack, but you also offended the rest of her pack. She is not some accessory to be bought and paid for, nor is she just entertainment for your Baaaangtan Pack.”

“Y/n has a heart of gold. She is fiercely independent on the surface, but underneath it all, she really needs to be desired, pampered, and treated with respect. So far, from what I have heard, you are all starting out a mile behind the starting line,” Evie continues her rant at the Prime Alpha.

Looking at you, eyes flicking down to the tail wrapped about your waist, “She will tell you more when she is ready and only when she feels that you deserve to know what she can be like with the right people around.”

Looking at Yoongi, “She needs protection and she needs to learn to accept that protection without feeling like she is lacking. She told me of each of your promises to her, and I hope you can achieve them over these next eight weeks.”

Focusing on Jimin, “While not all of you seem to be on the same page as the rest, I hope you take the time to get to know each other and grow.”

“Miss Geneive,” Namjoon speaks up. We intend to be all those things for Y/n—all those things and more if she allows us.”

“Good. Because if she doesn’t get treated as the Queen she is, then you had better be happy you are in a mate-bonded pack of all MALE Alphas because pups will not be possible in your future,” hisses Evie, causing the whole room to gasp and go wide-eyed at the shortest person in the room.

“Now that that is all settled,” Evie stands up with a bright smile. Do you want to look around our pack house? I made cookies.”

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comicaurora · 1 year

Note

How did you capture the feeling of ominous silence so vividly on this page? I can't imagine it's easy to effectively communicate silence in a medium without sound.

This question is so interesting it might spark a Detail Diatribe way down the line, but the bottom line is I think comics as a medium have a fascinating relationship with sound and how it synergizes or clashes with comics' unique ability to shape their pacing and implied timescale through the use of panel layouts and the inclusion or exclusion of movement lines and sound effects.

Gonna go back to Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics for this first bit-

Time in comics is incredibly fluid and strange, and the pace of the story is laid out by the artist but controlled by the reader, who reads the comic at a pace they determine. The artist can only imply and guide for how long they think any one panel should feel like it lasts, but they can't control how long the reader looks at it.

But the inclusion of implied sound - dialogue, SFX - subtly changes that.

Narration is the only text you can include in a comic that feels timeless and disconnected from the pacing of a panel. Dialogue, sound effects - and speedlines, a kind of visual indicator of movement and sound, also contribute to the feeling of how much time a specific panel should take.

Panel size and layout do a lot of the heavy lifting - wider panels can feel like they should take longer, narrow panels might feel sharper and shorter.

But when a panel isn't silent, sound - and correspondingly time, which is deeply linked with sound - is communicated through dialogue and sound effects, assigning an implied speed of the events in the panel.

If you want to communicate movement - a process that IMPLIES sound - you might include speed and motion lines and sound effects, which create the impression that the panel they're included in last as long as that sound effect does. A sharp "WAK" is probably a fraction of a second, but the ball moving through the air might take several seconds - it's moving, but we don't automatically know for how long, and the narration over it contributes to that feeling of timelessness. Then in the third panel we get the impression that the dialogue is punctuated by the "SMASH!" as the ball finally hits home. We can imagine how this would play out if it were animated, but the picture it's painting is a highly complex composite of the presence and absence of sound effects across these panels.

A "silent" panel with no dialogue, no movement lines and no sound effects can feel like a single moment frozen in time, no matter how dynamic the actual illustration is.

And even if you don't think that you think about this, you notice when the implied time of the panel and the implied time of the panel's implied sound don't line up. A movement that feels like it should take a fraction of a second doesn't align with sound effects or dialogue that feels like it should take the better part of a minute.

The way I lay out my pages is sometimes intended to produce effects like speed-ramping - going from normal-speed to slow motion by chaining panels with movement and sound effects with panels that have neither.

The silent panel feels like a frozen or slow-motion moment intercut between fast, frantic action, and if that middle panel had sound effects or speed lines, that would compromise the effect.

Realistically, total silence is an extreme rarity, but the stylization of comics typically ignores this. Sound effects are relegated to important or key movements - we don't add rustling sound effects every time somebody's clothing moves, but we might add it to a cape flourish. Every sound effect in a panel comes with an implied runtime. Overlaying several sound effects can produce a frenetic, fast-paced effect that implies that the panels are happening very quickly and a lot is happening in that short span of time.

But, for instance, adding dialogue might disrupt that impression, because the dialogue carries its own implied timestamp that is usually longer than a single sound effect. If the characters are too chatty, that can make the moment feel like it's struggling with two very different paces - one determined by the talking, one by the action. Because of that, I try to keep them mostly separated - dialogue-panels will have minimal sound effects, and movement-heavy panels will be dialogue-free.

This isn't something I usually think too hard about - it's just a matter of feeling it out until the pacing flows right. None of this occurred to me until I went back with an analytical eye. It's a remarkably sneaky element of the medium that I'm really intrigued about exploring.

#asks #art stuff #writing stuff

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blkkizzat · 4 months

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one pet peeve i have about certain anime/manga is the lost potential of a manga-ka not properly developing/exploring the world and characters they created.

after gege finishes this bullshit i want someone to buy them out and remake the jjk anime. ideally (spoilers): season 1 & 2

make jjk 0 the start of the series and yuta the main character (as was originally planned).

flesh out the student relationships that year with yuta, maki, inumaki and panda more

inumaki backstory (apparently he is from a sorcerer family too)

fleshout inumaki feelings/struggles with not being able to speak actual words

laying foundation for future maki/mai resolution later in series and the treatment of non-cursed energy users by zenin family. brief mentions of toji and perhaps megumi.

more history of how jujutsu society works as there's a whole hierarchy alluded to we never find out about and also would help on how they are in or have ties to the government which is revealed later in shibuya arc.

more confrontation between gojo and geto. theres 10 whole entire years between geto's defection and jjk 0. these two were practically inseparable (whether you see them as soul-besties or lovers) and theres an active bounty on geto. there had to be more passing moments, tension and smaller battles/struggles there.

show adoptive family relationship between geto, nanako and mimiko.

in fact theres a whole unexplored dichotomy between geto's mentorship to his sorcerer family he made from his followers and the found family of jujutsu high under gojo.

yuta struggling more with the guilt/burden of rika and mastering his ct

okay then finally we can have 'night parade of a hundred demons' and that resolution.

season 3 - hidden inventory arc

honestly this arc was pretty solid and can stay mostly the same but could be expanded by 3-4 episodes

show more of the dynamic between geto, gojo and shoko give us some more history/backstory of shoko.

give us an episode with haribara. like yes its sad he died but we didnt no anything about him really for it to be as impactful as it should have been as its literally the reason nanami stayed on to be a jujutsu sorcerer and what finally made geto snap.

give more backstory on gojo's family and expectations of him and how him being "othered" as the most powerful makes him more disconnected from people

something a bit more substantial to show even through gojo and geto were super close gojo couldn't emotionally empathize enough to see how much geto actually was struggling and the fact he failed him there

also see yuki interact with the rest of them more as she literally popped up out of the blue

movie break before season 4 for toji backstory movie

season 4 - the actual first season of jjk

i know yuji isnt the brightest crayon in the box but you'd think he'd actually go to the high school library/raid gojo's family library for ancient text/info on the actual curse living inside him. we should learn more of sukuna in this way, hell you could even rope in his old occult club for this.

more of sukuna mocking yuji. we see sukuna show interest in megumi which is good foreshadowing but we have nothing to hint of their actual relationship connection. i don't think sukuna would just be silent i think he would be mocking yuji internally alot.

sukuna should take over yuji's body temporarily due to their vow and we should have an early intoduction to uraume.

can we develop junpei more? he can have the same fate eventually but i feel like he should have joined jjk high briefly (still being manipulated on the side by mahito) before turning on yuji and this also is a good parallel to yuta story of how not everyone can be saved/converted.

introduce ino and show his and nanami relationship. how nanami struggles with it after haibara death

an episode or two just seeing the kyoto students interact and develop more of the relationship between mechamaru and miwa.

more information on how/why megumi sister got cursed. i assume megumi looses his shit later bc his sister is the only family he had that he gave a damn about but we need to see some more flashback scenes with them. i gotta be honest idgaf about her at this point and we certainly didnt see enough for megumi to completely lose the will to live or be as suicidal summoning mahoraga at every inconvenience lol.

season 5 - shibuya arc

things here would have made a lot more sense/felt better if things earlier were developed more as i mentioned so i dont think there needs to be a ton of changes.

we DO need to see how inumaki lost his arm because its so confusing he all of a sudden doesn't have one.

in all honesty zombie!toji should have been able to sense jogo if we are running with the theory he is programmed in that state to fight the strongest. sure megumi may have more potential than jogo but same could be said for dagon then. there was really no need for jogo show up at that point just to leave two minutes later.

nanami not dying to jogo/mahito. i appreciate how they did it and isolated i dont hate it tbh. its fitting although sad af. however choso's death and the subsequent power up yuji gets invalidates nanami's death/power up. Power ups from deaths are fine but it happening twice in pivotal moments is lazy writing. Nanami's death subsequently isn't as meaningful and choso's death (as his bro it is going to hit harder regardless). plus killing sukuna is way more substantial than than mahito.

given what happens later it also would have probably been good for megumi to realize thats his daddy back from the dead. maybe he realizes as toji's offing himself due to tid bits/things gojo or others have revealed to him in the past. but theres no other good time to do this before he becomes sukuna's vessel.

season 6 - culling games & gojo's release

explain in a less convoluted way idk how they are going to do this for anime cause i read the manga and bitch im STILL confused??

honestly though id say keep nanami alive tho just so he can meet higaruma because we need nanami + higaruma scenes they would fr be gojo and geto level besties istg.

would like a bit more on noritoshi kamo backstory and he seems to have this twisted fondness for his "children" so to speak so a bit more on that creepy mofo.

season 7 - prep for sukuna fight & sukuna gojo's fight

we skipped MONTHS here. wtf!? we need to see:

choso and yuji relationship

choso mourning yuki and realizing he probably wont be able to keep her promise as he has to protect yuji

yuji's training

maybe see more of sukuna's past

gojo reflection thoughts on all tf that has happened and his mental state.

season 8 - post gojo, current fight with sukuna

if nanami has to die he can go out fighting sukuna.

thats really all i have so far. the previous changes would make choso's death make more sense and although i hate it, it would serve its purpose more than an earlier nanami death.

thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#okay so choso death got me thinking right #and had to make this #kizzatrambles #♋︎ kizzatcanons #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #geto suguru #choso kamo #toji fushiguro #nobara kugisaki #megumi fushiguro #nanami kento #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers

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coquelicoq · 11 months

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[Image description: 6 stills from the anime “Natsume’s Book of Friends” featuring the characters Natori Shuuichi and Matoba Seiji as teenagers with tumblr text posts edited in.

Image 1: Natori scowls as he watches Matoba walk away from him and Takuma at his first meeting of exorcists. The text post is by tumblr user LibraryTicketss and reads "I believe in annoyed at first sight"

Image 2: Natori and Matoba stand facing each other in front of a pond lined with trees. Natori, who is blond, is wearing a black jacket, while Matoba, who has black hair, has on a light gray hoodie. Text post by guccigarantine reads "is he… you know…. your narrative foil?"

Image 3: Natori stands outside glaring up at Matoba, who's sitting in an upper-story windowsill offscreen. Text post by clouiis reads "what is a rival if not a crush ur mad about having"

Image 4: Natori walks away as Matoba stands in the distant background staring out at the river with his back to Natori. Text post by yarrayora reads "characters dynamic that's like 'they weren't in a relationship but they're definitely exes now'"

Image 5: Matoba laughs and waves his hand as Natori glowers. An anonymous ask placed over Natori reads "request for you to not be a bitch" and the answer by tswift, placed over Matoba, reads "request denied"

Image 6: Matoba smiles blithely as Natori exclaims in offense over something he just said. Text post by forbiddnfruits reads "sorry i called you a fucking idiot i was trying to flirt"

/end ID]

teen natori shuuichi: *has lots of inconvenient emotions* i am going to create a me that is so good at hiding his emotions. better than everyone else even. i'm going to get so good at it that i become famous specifically for being good at it. and then we'll see who's laughing

natsuyuu characters as text posts 3/?

#meanwhile teen matoba seiji: i am getting a good grade in getting a reaction out of shuuichi-san #something that is normal to want and possible to achieve #maybe a little too possible. not much of a challenge really #natsuyuu characters as #text posts #my posts #horrible exorcists #natsume's book of friends #natsume yuujinchou #exorcist flashbacks #hexfest2k23 #i swear i will someday do some of these that are about other characters lol. just let me get this out of my system first

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undertheorangetree · 1 year

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Under the God's Eye

Chapter Two- The Drive

Summary- The holiday begins and the drive is less than pleasant.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Female Reader. Classism. Old married couple bickering. There’s only one bed.

Author’s Note- I have no idea how to stick to a post schedule so here’s the next part. Full chapter is on AO3 and feel free to tell me what you think :)

Series masterlist

divider created by firefly-graphics

She feels as though she should be embarrassed when Aemond pulls up outside her building in his Maserati. It's clearly out of place here and if the look on his face is anything to go by, so is he. It isn't that her apartment is bad, but it is only three blocks north of the poorest part of the city, unaffectionately known as Flea Bottom. But the rent had been cheap and it was far enough away that she didn't feel as though she was too close to any real danger. Regardless, it's clear he disapproves from the moment he pulls up to the curb but he keeps his mouth shut as he pops the trunk and helps her maneuver her bag in, even going so far as to open the door for her.

But to hope for peace is too much to ask for, as the moment he sits down back down in the driver's seat, he's talking. "You live here?"

"We can't all afford to live in the Red Keep district," she snaps, already feeling inferior just sitting in his car.

In truth, she doesn't know where he lives, but if the way his cheeks go pink is any indication, her guess isn't too far off.

This already feels like a mistake. It has since the night she agreed to it and he had started texting her. He had given her as much information as he felt that she needed, half heartedly explaining family dynamics and who was likely to be there. He had told her what to pack and, when she had explained that she didn't have any formal clothes, insisted on buying her two dresses that he deemed acceptable. She had declined immediately, adamantly, no less than six times but Aemond had refused to take her no as a final answer. There's going to be a gala with almost every high standing lawyer in Westeros at the end of the month, he had finally snapped. If you want to be taken seriously after you get your internship, you're going to have to look the part. It had almost sounded like a threat when he said it and finals had exhausted her so thoroughly that she had no fight left to give. She had simply given him her measurements and let him do what he will. She wasn't even sure what he bought and he had never bothered to show her. He had simply texted her a bought them and left it at that.

Curious now, she turns her head and looks in the back seat, half expecting there to be two dress bags laying across them. Instead she finds a pet carrier and is just able to make out the grizzled outline of a tortoiseshell cat fast asleep inside.

“Who’s this?” she asks as the car pulls away from the curb.

Aemond glances in the rearview mirror and something similar to a smile makes its way onto his face. “Vhagar. You’re not allergic to cats, are you? There’s going to be a few animals at the cottage.”

“No, but is the drive not a bit much for her? It’s nearly six hours.”

Though she can’t see Vhagar in her entirety, it is clear that she’s not young, with white freckled across her back and the telltale greasy fur of an older cat.

“She’s done it a dozen times before, you don’t need to worry about her.” He looks fondly at the carrier and for a second, the affection he has for his cat brings a smile to her face. The smile dies the moment he speaks again. “What you should worry about is remembering everything I’ve told you. You do remember, don’t you?”

Read the rest here

Taglist- @backyardfolklore @docmartinis @watercolorskyy @barbieaemond @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @aemondsbabygirl

#Aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #Aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fanfiction #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon

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aa-400 · 1 year

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malevolent and the queer-coded villain trope

*disclaimer please respect the #masked tag. while i'm putting these thoughts out into the ether they're not really meant for harlan to see as i don't want to be put on blast for criticising the show. this is not me attempting to malign this podcast or its creator or to go "it's bad and problematic actually so don't listen to it" because that's a frankly horrible and unhelpful way of engaging with media and the world at large. i'm certainly not going to stop enjoying malevolent wholeheartedly or supporting harlan in his creative endeavours. this is not an accusation, it's an observation.

i've been thinking about the queer-coded villain trope in a separate context recently, but something clicked for me with part 34. horror (and other genre fiction but let's focus on the relevant genre here) has a tradition of placing queer elements within the subtext. it's a means of Othering and used to separate the protagonist from whatever evil entity they're up against in the story, be it man or creature, and where the the tropes of the monstrous queer and the queer-coded villain are born from.

a brief second disclaimer. i'm a queer villain and queer horror enjoyer and here to reclaim every single queer-coded villain and monster ever created but acting like the trope doesn't have a problematic, negative history is a sucky way of engaging with and examining a piece of media so let's not do that.

aaanyway, to the actual meat of this post: i believe malevolent reiterates the monstrous queer / queer-coded villain tropes however unintentionally and they go unexamined in the text.

first, we have kayne. flamboyant, exaggerated kayne who calls arthur—and to an extent john—pet names. i don't really think i have to go into detail for people to know what i'm getting at.

then we have larson. yeah, larson. in particular, i'm referring to the scene where arthur wakes up in the larson estate and his clothes have been removed. larson approaches arthur while he's in bed, vulnerable, and while there's not anything untoward happening in the text, it's still very ... master of the house and the gothic heroine, for lack of a better comparison. actually, think of count dracula and jonathan harker in castle dracula — the dynamic is very reminiscent of that, and dracula is a famously queer coded monster in part for that whole thing.

and finally, there's the butcher. a predator—a serial killer—obsessed with chasing arthur down. and boy did part 34 lay it down thick. i mean, he hears peggy gordon in his head when he hunts arthur and sings it to him when he's come to get him. it's a song about a man's unrequited love and it's pretty obvious the butcher's meant to be the man while arthur is peggy, who slighted him when he escaped from the butcher back in the train. and then as if that wasn't obvious enough he has a line about falling in love with his victims. "it's dedication, devotion, a bond. (laugh) sounds a bit like falling in love, doesn't it? maybe i suppose you could say i've fallen in love with each and every one of them. with each and every animal." which is then followed by more arthur-specific obsessing.

harlan has explicitly stated that arthur isn't queer rep, so unintentionally what's happening in the text is that the heterosexual protagonist is pitted against these queer-coded malevolent entities in a way that's pretty text book.

none of these characters i used as examples are written to be explicitly queer, but the coding is certainly there. again, i'm not saying harlan is a secret queerphobe who is putting this subtext in malevolent intentionally—i can with confidence say that we can safely assume that isn't the case! but, like i said when i was prefacing this post, queer subtext in the monstrous and villainous have a recorded history within horror. it's really easy to reiterate tropes like that if you create within a genre without actively examining your work and its wider context, and i think that's what happening here.

so what was the point of this post? there isn't much of one, really, i just made an observation and wanted to share because i believe in and enjoy examining the things you love critically. and i do love malevolent, with its queer-coded villains and all. i'm not calling for anything to change in the story, or accusing harlan or anyone else of anything; i'm just having thoughts about the wider scope of horror media and where malevolent fits within it and i'm using a cda and queer theory oriented brain to do it.

#masked #malevolent #malevolent podcast #tl;dr mlvlnts villains have queer coded vibes this is a neutral statement #i havent read this post since i wrote it a couple of weeks ago idk how well though out it is #malevolent spoilers #ggjfigj oops sorry about that forgot to tag the spoilers

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shock · 8 months

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"Don't just play—do something!", Jack Abele, 01.21.24.

This is a companion piece to the collage I made about moving into the first place that felt like my home back in '21 (shown below). They have matching frames and are displayed together above our dining table! This second piece is a reflection on how my relationship to "home" has evolved since then, especially after proposing to my now fiancé last month. I'm really proud of it!

Text transcript:

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

In the cold, thin clouds of interstellar space, written in the precise message of starlight:

What made you so interested in fireflies?

Imagine that they propel the environment into play: they STAND OUT, add color, chaos, curves moving behind and below, inside, outward along feedback loops, perplexing positive panic persuaded to make another form of animal art.

Love is a Many-Splendored Thing, a beautiful structure, flamboyantly scuzzy, sassy, a full bouquet of many wild ideas — a dazzling interplay between lightness and unclarity, trying things out, fancy, whimsical records looped with webs, half-truth surface textures composed of swirls within swirls, a performance of information, scene-setting details with many impressive, more tongue-in-cheek, unforeseeable aspects relatively stable and evolving at the same time.

Distinctly transitional.

The trouble with love is it's hard to describe in simple and consistent words. Beyond the jolting familiarity of self-similar, self-referential tessellating hues, the little comedy-drama fictions... you see openness, possibilities toward change; our very existence together antidote to the dull grind of the paradox that we live every moment in an indifferent universe yet having so much fun with friends, local communities, places, faces, even muddy bog holes.

Music! A Tribe Called Quest, The Beastie Boys, The Breeders, Nick Cave, Nine Inch Nails, Soundgarden, Santana and Crosby, Stills, and Nash, mud-caked at Woodstock, picking up Space Age scrap, cutting collaged paper, playing with magical little lights, heretically evolving in this meaningless, magnificent place fine-tuned just right to allow for life, love, and grunge to exist nevertheless.

Maybe what keeps me here, making art, is how beautiful it is for optimism to become the first expression of hope despite danger amid the disparate depth of our universe created by chaos.

Movement characterizes my "youthful, dynamic" journey, escapes to infinite other places somewhere else, afraid of considering complicated survival long-term, wherein risk is worth the reward. But something about your windy city reminded me what strange, cascading effects the fingers of two hands form together, intersect one another, interfere with fate, interlace like light radiating rays woven, at certain points, into dynamic singularities.

Mutualism is a happy hybrid of symmetry and chaos — a relationship, it's like the entire forest is blinking in sync.

Just as the fun is to make up a great story, the writer in me calls this piece, "Don't just play— do something!"

This time around, living offers a profound pivot from playing a game. Today we confront as animals, we're not far from dogs, domesticated punks at heart, manifold.

I am humbled, exhilarated, afraid yet strangely calm and clear "On Bended Knee"

(The term ground seems inapt.)

...Nor is it possible to describe...

The closest feeling to being the world itself? It is to have loved someone so much that you wanted to spend the rest of your lifetime with them, with each other.

We're writing a book. Adding a stroke of paint and words to illustrate what we became, a bright third dimension that can be seen from space to meet the generations to come, to simulate the uncountable whimsies they could achieve.

The mind already knows before the key touches the lock.

To watch firefly swarms with a mangy mutt.

That must be quite a sight to see.

BECAUSE THEY EXIST

NOWHERE ELSE ON EARTH.

#collage art #my collages #my art #collage poetry

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compromised-emotionally · 13 days

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Racebending Interview with the Vampire: Power, Companionship and the Search for Freedom

I wrote a paper for a queer studies class that I'm kinda proud of. It's not particularly mindblowing as it was just a 200 level course, and it's kind of dry cause I was trying to stay formal. It's mostly just referencing other writings on race and queer studies and relating them to the show. It's about how the choice to racebend Louis deepens and transforms the thematic explorations of queerness in the original text. I wanted to share it below because I worked hard on it, even if no one reads this lol:

Racebending Interview with the Vampire: Power, Companionship and the Search for Freedom

Interview with the Vampire was originally a novel by Anne Rice, published in 1976. The novel told the story of a Louisiana plantation owner turned vampire named Louis de Pont du Lac, the French vampire named Lestat who was Louis’ maker, and the life they shared together. A film adaption was released in 1994 starring Brad Pitt as Louis and Tom Cruise as Lestat, that, like the book, displayed their relationship as deep but never explicitly sexual. It was not until the 2022 AMC television series that Louis and Lestat’s story was allowed to be explicitly romantic and sexual. The series was made further transformatively progressive with the casting of Black-British actor Jacob Anderson as Louis. In Disidentifications: Queers of Color and the Performance of Politics, Munoz stated “A soft multicultural inclusion of race and ethnicity does not, on its own, lead to a progressive identity discourse” (pg10). Rather than just using “color-blind” casting for empty representation, Louis’ character was changed from slave owner to a black Creole man in the early 20th century. The addition of racial elements deepened thematic explorations of the nonnormative. By racebending Louis, AMC’s Interview with a Vampire expands on the original works’ examination of the vampire as a societal “other” and metaphor for homosexuality as well as Louis’ struggle to assimilate to vampire life. It relates the power dynamics between Lestat and Louis as creator/created to racial dynamics and interlocking systems of oppression.

Episode 3 “Is My Very Nature That of the Devil” opens with Lestat and Louis sitting in a park, as Lestat pontificates about the history of that park and reads a column about its design in the newspaper. Louis replies asking if the story mentioned how they used to put the severed heads of runaway slaves on the gates, then ponders if there’s a “greater purpose” for vampires on Earth. Lestat does not take Louis seriously, telling Louis that only that he (Lestat) is his creator and he put him on this Earth for pleasure. This interaction is emblematic of their relationship throughout the show. Lestat repeatedly minimizes the importance and legitimacy of Louis’ struggles, both the external oppressions he faces and his internal struggle to adjust to vampiric life. Vampirism acts as a direct parallel to living a queer life in the original text, though that symmetry is more complicated in the series since there is also explicit queerness in the show. If humanity is the dominant, normative group in this universe, then Lestat’s approach to vampirism can be read as counteridentificatory. Lestat considers himself and Louis to be completely separate from human society, and has none of Louis’ impulses to assimilate with the human community or hold on to any ties to it. Louis, conversely, still values the things that were important to him before turning: his club, “appearances”, his relationship with his family. He decides in this episode that he no longer wants to kill people, that he will feed off of animals alone. Lestat interprets this as a Louis denying his “true” identity as both a vampire and a queer man, an attempt to assimilate and identify with humans while rejecting Lestat and their shared identity. In some ways this is understandable, as the drinking of blood within this text is explicitly linked to their sex drive. But Lestat is also continuously upset throughout this episode when Louis refers to the black community of New Orleans as “his people”. Despite the fact that Louis’ resilience and strength as a black man succeeding in a white world was one of the things that first attracted Lestat to Louis, he cannot comprehend why he still feels such kinship with the race he has always been a part of.

Lestat treated turning Louis into a vampire as if that would supersede or eliminate the other aspects of his identity. The only difference that mattered to Lestat was vampire vs human, paralleling Cohen’s critique of white queer activism that envisions the world in a hetero/queer divide (Cohen, pg 447). When Lestat turned Louis at the end of the first episode, part of his pitch and promise to him was that as a vampire, racial oppressions would no longer hold him back. Lestat’s proposal was that becoming a vampire would give him (Louis) the power to counteridentify from the racist system, as well as freedom from loneliness and companionship in the form of a life with Lestat. Throughout this episode, Louis is grappling with the lie of that promise. Though he has a physical strength and power of a vampire, he must still move through world as black man in the early 20th century and deal with all the indignities that come along with that. He is also lonelier than anticipated, with a partner who will not acknowledge their differences. Audra Lorde said this of difference “…community must not mean a shedding of our differences, nor the pathetic pretense that these differences do not exist” (pg 112). E. Patrick Johnson expounds further on this in his article on quare studies, explaining that such communities and theories are not progressive ones, and that LGBTQ of color cannot afford to adopt such theories for themselves.

Louis begins working to integrate the different aspects of himself and his new immortal life into a theory of self that feels true to his experience and acceptable, feeling “the tug and pull of having to choose between which parts […] to claim and wear and which parts have served to cloak us from the knowledge of ourselves” (Moraga and Anzaldua, pg 23). Louis reunites with an old lover, a black soldier passing through on his way to deployment. They have sex out in the Bayou and Louis feels some true companionship, but this is followed by a series of emotionally fraught failures that isolate and disempower him further. He is rejected by and frightens his family. He gets news that his nightclub/brothel is being shut down due to segregationist laws. Lestat throughout this is throwing a temper tantrum over Louis’ dalliance with the solder, despite being the one to open the relationship and begin an affair with the singer at Louis’ club (a white woman). Lestat’s reaction here, paired with the way he shows his disdain for Louis’ choices throughout this episode, display how unsettled Lestat is when he is not in control of Louis, when Louis acts as an independent equal rather than adoring student. Louis pushes aside Lestat’s attention grabbing antics in favor of meeting with a group of white businessmen and politicians in an attempt to save his club. He had interacted with this group before regularly, in a manner that could be viewed as dis-identificatory. He had regular poker games with them, laughing at their jokes, sometimes letting them win, while simultaneously influencing their opinions and nudging them towards social policies that would help him “working on, with, and against a cultural form” (Munoz, pg 12). Johnson’s piece on Quare theory points out that disidentification has always been “the process through which people of color could survive a white supremacist society” (pg12). He gave them a performance of “Mr. Du Lac”, a version of himself that made them comfortable enough to for him to influence their opinions and actions toward him and his businesses. But his previous tactics are no longer working; he can hear the thoughts of the white men insulting and demeaning him while they outwardly suggest that Lestat acts as “the face” of his business. It is also an interesting visual note that Lestat is framed throughout this scene alongside the other white men in the room, despite theoretically coming to support Louis. The degrading tone of their thoughts as they offer outward sympathies suggests that Louis’ tactics with them were always more assimilating and conforming than he wished them to be. If his persona and his performance with them never actually gained him any respect, than perhaps this was little more than a minstrel show.

The beginning of the Munoz essay states:

[…] disidentification is not always an adequate strategy of resistance or survival for all minority subjects. At times, resistance needs to be pronounced and direct; on other occasions queers of color and minority subjects need to follow a conformist path if they hope to survive a hostile public sphere. pg 5.

Louis’ initial response to this realization was a type of malicious compliance: hanging a “coloreds only” sign on his establishment, thereby technically following segregationist wishes. This of course only brings further retaliation from the establishment. Louis’ final response to this situation is his first and most direct counter action He declares himself a vampire for the first time aloud, scaring the alderman and letting him feel powerless for the first time. He kills the man, and hangs his body on a fence with a whites only sign (likely the same fence where the heads of runaway slaves were once posted). But Louis does not get to revel in this at all, as it brings immediate retaliation via the burning of the black neighborhood and businesses of New Orleans. Lestat instead is the ecstatic one; he believes this act of violence is a sign that Louis has finally embraced only vampirism, still misunderstanding the reasons and meaning behind Louis’ rage that drove him to murder the alderman. It pushes Louis away from Lestat again, roaming the burning streets of the place he once belonged, lost and unsure of what the correct approach is to finding community, home, and freedom. Louis wavers, unclear and undecided on how to find this meaning (the writing asks the same; his attempts to play friendly brought only mockery and his show of rebellion brought destruction). It is not until he suddenly hears the voice of Claudia, a 14-year-old Creole girl crying out in his mind for help, that he seems to find an answer. He finds her dying in a burning boarding house and brings her to Lestat to be turned into a vampire. The become a family – “Daddy Lou” “Uncle Les” and Claudia.

There’s so much to examine in this series even when just considering Louis’ relationship with Lestat and the world around him. But it would be an oversight to not spend some time on Claudia, who would become the guiding motivation and emotional core for Louis. Because Lestat is the one who turned both Louis and Claudia, he is unable to read either of their minds. This further eats at Lestat, this companionship which he cannot share, this difference that he cannot stamp out. After accidentally killing a boy she loved, Claudia grows resentful of the immortal life they’ve subjected her to (Episode 104). Her mind grows but she stays perpetually trapped in the mind of a teenager, and she begrudges being made permanently infantilized. She leaves them to travel on her own and try to learn more about vampires than the little information that Lestat offered. But when she finally meets another vampire and is excited to find kinship, he rapes her. After this, she decides to return home, but only to retrieve Louis, who has been depressed without her. She recognizes the truth that Audra Lorde stated in Sister Outsider:

Without community there is no liberation, only the most vulnerable and temporary armistice between an individual and her oppression. Pg112

She is unwilling to trust Lestat, who has continuously demonstrated an unwillingness to grow, to empathize, to “recognize those differences and deal effectively with the distortions…” (Lorde, pg 122). Lestat reacts to the threat of abandonment with a great act of domestic violence, beating Louis and dropping him from the sky, which almost kills him (Episode 105). Louis eventually forgives Lestat for this in the next episode, but Claudia does not. Though all three characters share the nonnormative vampire identity, Lestat chooses to wield his status as their maker as an oppressive tool against them. All three become more feared and hated as the series goes on. Their home is vandalized on multiple occasions, and it’s made clear by the end of the series that they will need to leave town. But despite this shared struggle, Lestat cannot or will not stand in solidarity with Louis and Claudia. “…our future survival is predicated on our ability to relate within equality” (Lorde 122). Louis’ condition for forgiving Lestat was that he was honest and treated both Louis and Claudia as equals. But Lestat values his control over their lives over having them as true companions, even after promising change; he lies and manipulates them both and threatens Claudia with sexual violence (via letting her know he can invite the vampire who raped her to their home).

Change means growth, and growth can be painful. But we sharpen self-definition by exposing the self in work and struggle together with those whom we define as different from ourselves, although sharing the same goal. Lorde, pg. 123

Claudia changes and grows the most over the course of the series, beginning as a child but gaining maturity and intelligence as she experiences the pain and joy the world has to offer. She desires freedom for the first time in her human or immortal life, and feels that both her and Louis can achieve it if they work to free themselves at last from Lestat as a master. By the end of Episode 106, she has finally convinced Louis of the same.

Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire was already an intriguing piece of queer media that was progressive for its time and how it used vampirism as a vehicle to explore homosexuality, struggle, and longing. In the behind-the-scenes interview piece, producer Adam O’Byrne expressed the production’s desire to reckon with the media in a new way, as they were a new generation interpreting this art. Johnson stated: “quare studies offers a more utilitarian theory of identity politics, focusing not just on performers and effects, but also on contexts and historical situatedness” (pg13). With this new reckoning and interpretation of this media, the artistic team took a piece of queer media and transformed it into “Quare”. With all the inherent complexities of racial relations examined in this interpretation, the audience is able to explore the dynamics of power, freedom, longing and companionship in a deeper and more complicated way than was offered in the original text.

Bibliography

Ep 103 “Is My Very Nature That of a Devil” Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, teleplay by Rolin Jones & Hannah Moscovitch, directed by Keith Powell, AMC Studios, 2022.

Ep 104 “…the ruthless pursuit of blood with all a child’s demanding” Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, teleplay by Eleanor Burgess, directed by Keith Powell, AMC Studios, 2022.

Ep 105 “A vile hunger for your hammering heart” Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, teleplay by Colin Albert, directed by Levan Akin, AMC Studios, 2022.

Ep 106 “Like Angels Put in Hell by God” Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, teleplay by Hannah Moscovitch, directed by Levan Akin, AMC Studios, 2022.

Ep 8.1 “Interview with the Vampire: Behind the Scenes” Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, AMC Studios, 2022.

Lorde, Audra. Sister Outsider, The Crossing Press, Year, pgs. 110-123.

Munoz, Jose Esteban. Disidentifications: Queers of Color and the Performance of Politics, Minneapolis: The University of Minnesota Press, 1999.

E. Patrick Johnson (2001) "Quare" studies, or (almost) everything I know about

queer studies I learned from my grandmother, Text and Performance Quarterly, 21:1, 1-25, DOI: 10.1080/10462930128119

Cathy J. Cohen; Punks, Bulldaggers, and Welfare Queens: The Radical Potential of Queer Politics?. GLQ 1 May 1997; 3 (4): 437–465. doi: https://doi.org/10.1215/10642684-3-4-437

Moraga and Anzaldua, Entering the Lives of Others Theory in the Flesh, 23

#amc iwtv #louis de pointe du lac #iwtv s1 #academic writing #queer studies #race and ethnicity #claudia iwtv #warning this isn't exactly lestat friendly #i love him but hes the villain of s1 #also this was written before seeing s2 #which kind of some of these themes or at least they are less in focus #probably because the s2 villain is brown (again love armand but hes the villain at this point)#interview with the vampire

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queenaryastark · 10 months

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It's actually interesting examining Stansas and their absurdity.

A lot has already been said about the fact that Sansa was created specifically to bully Arya. That's already been proven and is a fact.

But what's interesting to think about here are the different ways Stansas will attempt to excuse what can't be excused. Here are the tactics I've noticed:

Stansas will lie that Arya is actually the one who bullied her foil. I'm actually surprised this person didn't go with that tactic since they have ST's mug as their icon, which suggests they rely on Benioff and Weiss' inaccurate adaptation where Arya was shown as the aggressor toward the character who was specifically created to bully her. Regardless, this excuse relies on ignoring the books in favor of published fanfic. The books show that Arya is bullied by her foil.

Stansas will lie that Arya "gave as good as she got". Now, this one requires a little bit of accepting that bullying occurred but tries to decrease the concession by putting blame on Arya as well. This is still factually untrue. All bullying in this dynamic is only coming from one direction: from Sansa to Arya. What Arya endures is name calling, being told she's unwanted, being told her life is worth less than an animal's, having her appearance likened to an animal's, being casually insulted just in the flow of conversation, having a murdered friend of hers victim blamed as a taunt, etc. There are exactly zero examples of Arya treating Sansa this way. The closest they try to come to providing an example is using Arya's grief over Mycah where Sansa was victim blaming him for his maiming and murder. But that's not evidence of anything other than Sansa's malicious nature.

Stansas might transfer blame exclusively onto Jeyne Poole. Again, this requires admitting that bullied occurred. Rather than blame Arya, Jeyne is presented as the only bully or as a bad influence on Sansa 🤣. Again, this is incorrect. Jeyne is a member of the lower nobility. In a world where Sansa didn't exist, there is a 0% chance Jeyne would ever dare to bully the daughter of a high lord. Even if she tried, that first attempt would be cut off at the knees due to the difference in rank between Arya and Jeyne. It's Sansa's bullying of Arya that gives Jeyne permission to join her, since she is also a high lord's daughter, and Jeyne is able to follow her lead. So Jeyne’s blame in the treatment of Arya is far less than Sansa’s. But isn't it funny how quick they are to throw Jeyne under the bus? I guess that's on brand for Stansas since Sansa was canonically relieved that Jeyne, her dearest friend, was given over to a pimp because it meant she could read without having to hear her crying.

In the case of the person I screencapped, they attempt to excuse bullying as normal in order to strip away Sansa's complexity and purpose. They even tried to project their fav's behavior onto real people instead of just Arya and Jeyne. It's been proven that bullying has a long-term negative impact on the person who endures the bully. GRRM seems to understand this as shown in how he depicts Arya and her bullies. We see how her schooling suffers and she has a negative self-image, which results in her tolerating additional bullying from others as if it was something required of her (she only speaks up with Hot Pie and Lommy when she thinks they're insulting Jon). Studies have shown that the impact of being bullied as a child can stay with a person well into adulthood. So by trying to normalize it, not only are Stansas proving what terrible people they are, they're showing that they aren't capable of accurately analyzing the text nor understanding basic character development. In short, they're wrong.

If Stansas actually enjoyed Sansa as a character, they would embrace her complexity rather than doing mental gymnastics to pretend she's one-dimensional. But then I'd lose out on seeing their ridiculous trends in bad takes.

#arya stark #asoiaf

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slitheringghost · 6 months

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Unweaving Canon Lily Evans: Parallels to Voldemort

To illuminate what JKR was doing with this dynamic, alongside several other dynamics across the text, and how she wove in Lily as Voldemort's symbolic sister the same way Voldemort and Harry are "brothers", see my meta “And Cain Repented Not Of What He Had Done”: Harry Potter As Retelling of Cain and Abel

*Note: not necessarily accepting the narrative's (or Dumbledore's) exact judgments in all these quotes (i.e. reactions to very different childhoods, etc.; but working with the general concept of them as foils and choosing different paths, which is relevant wrt Lily’s experience of violence at and post Hogwarts during the war). Further fic recs, and notes on characterization are at the end. Much of this is to be elaborated in future metas, so excuse some of the loose threads here.

1. Muggleborn

Harry turned to the back cover of the book and saw the printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London. "He must’ve been Muggle-born," said Harry thoughtfully. "To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road..." “You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?” said Dippet curiously. “Yes, sir,” said Riddle, reddening slightly. “You are Muggle-born?” “Half-blood, sir,” said Riddle. “Muggle father, witch mother.” "No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me," said Harry abruptly. "I don’t know myself. But I know why you couldn’t kill me. Because my mother died to save me. My common Muggle-born mother," he added, shaking with suppressed rage. "She stopped you killing me." (CoS) - “I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future,” said Dumbledore. “Are you family?” asked Mrs. Cole. “No, I am a teacher,” said Dumbledore. “I have come to offer Tom a place at my school.” (HBP) “And will it really come by owl?” Lily whispered. “Normally,” said Snape. “But you’re Muggle-born, so someone from the school will have to come and explain to your parents.” “Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?” (DH) - “There he showed his contempt for anything that tied him to other people, anything that made him ordinary. Even then, he wished to be different, separate, notorious. He shed his name, as you know, within a few short years of that conversation and created the mask of ‘Lord Voldemort’ behind which he has been hidden for so long." (HBP) “I can’t pretend anymore. You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.” “No — listen, I didn’t mean —” “— to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?” He struggled on the verge of speech, but with a contemptuous look she turned and climbed back through the portrait hole... (DH)

2. Magic

2.1 Controlling wandless magic before they knew about magic

“It’s... it’s magic, what I can do?” “What is it that you can do?” “All sorts,” breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. “I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.” His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer. “I knew I was different,” he whispered to his own quivering fingers. “I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something.” “Well, you were quite right,” said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Riddle intently. “You are a wizard.” Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild happiness upon it [...] “His powers, as you heard, were surprisingly well-developed for such a young wizard and — most interestingly and ominously of all — he had already discovered that he had some measure of control over them, and begun to use them consciously. And as you saw, they were not the random experiments typical of young wizards: He was already using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control.” (HBP) - “But I’m fine,” said Lily, still giggling. “Tuney, look at this. Watch what I can do.” [...] Lily had picked up a fallen flower from the bush behind which Snape lurked. Petunia advanced, evidently torn between curiosity and disapproval. Lily waited until Petunia was near enough to have a clear view, then held out her palm. The flower sat there, opening and closing its petals, like some bizarre, many-lipped oyster. “Stop it!” shrieked Petunia. “It’s not hurting you,” said Lily, but she closed her hand on the blossom and threw it back to the ground. “It’s not right,” said Petunia, but her eyes had followed the flower’s flight to the ground and lingered upon it. “You’ve got loads of magic,” said Snape. “I saw that. All the time I was watching you..." (DH)

2.2 Unsupported flight

Voldemort was flying like smoke on the wind, without broomstick or thestral to hold him, his snakelike face gleaming out of the blackness — He was gliding around the high walls of the black fortress — No, he was Harry, tied up and wandless, in grave danger — — looking up, up to the topmost window, the highest tower — He was Harry, and they were discussing his fate in low voices — — Time to fly... [...] — and he rose into the night, flying straight up to the window at the very top of the tower — [...] — as he forced himself through the slit of a window like a snake and landed, lightly as vapor, inside the cell-like room — A metal heart was banging outside his chest, and now he was flying, flying with triumph in his heart, without need of broomstick or thestral (DH) - There was undisguised greed in his thin face as he watched the younger of the two girls swinging higher and higher than her sister. “Lily, don’t do it!” shrieked the elder of the two. But the girl had let go of the swing at the very height of its arc and flown into the air, quite literally flown, launched herself skyward with a great shout of laughter, and instead of crumpling on the playground asphalt, she soared like a trapeze artist through the air, staying up far too long, landing far too lightly. “Mummy told you not to!” Petunia stopped her swing by dragging the heels of her sandals on the ground, making a crunching, grinding sound, then leapt up, hands on hips. “Mummy said you weren’t allowed, Lily!” (DH)

(Given he calls himself "flight from death" at 15, I assume Tom could do something similar to Lily as a child, and his flight in DH the fully trained version; possibly Snape's is the same innate ability but showed up a few years later than Lily's that they trained together, or some learned variation with a spell/ritual.)

2.3 Potential Legilimency

Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore’s, as though trying to catch one of them lying. (HBP) “Did you make that happen?” “No.” He looked both defiant and scared. “You did!” She was backing away from him. “You did! You hurt her!” “No — no I didn’t!” But the lie did not convince Lily: After one last burning look, she ran from the little thicket, off after her sister, and Snape looked miserable and confused... (DH) “Prove it,” said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, “Tell the truth.” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts —” “Of course I am!” “Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.’” (HBP) “Maybe once I’m there — no, listen, Tuney! Maybe once I’m there, I’ll be able to go to Professor Dumbledore and persuade him to change his mind!” (DH)

(the word “persuade” often used to refer to force via Legilimency) Mirrors the language around Dumbledore - who I assume is Legilimizing Snape in this scene, as he'd hardly trust a DE’s word without it, and makes a very specific accusation to manipulate Snape without Snape bringing it up (possibly Snape's opening up his mind on purpose). Similarly, Lily - said to be looking up at the canopy - brings up Snape's home life, then changes the subject when he starts to get agitated to something that makes him happy (talking about magic) that they've already talked about (despite this as only the 2nd/3rd time she's speaking to him), so she could be feeling bits of Snape's emotions throughout that scene, hence reacting so strongly when he drops the branch.

“How are things at your house?” Lily asked. A little crease appeared between his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “They’re not arguing anymore?” “Oh yes, they’re arguing,” said Snape. He picked up a fistful of leaves and began tearing them apart, apparently unaware of what he was doing. “But it won’t be that long and I’ll be gone.” “Doesn’t your dad like magic?” “He doesn’t like anything, much,” said Snape. “Severus?” A little smile twisted Snape’s mouth when she said his name. “Yeah?” “Tell me about the dementors again.” (DH) “Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?” “No — no message — I’m here on my own account!” Snape was wringing his hands: He looked a little mad, with his straggling black hair flying around him. “I — I come with a warning — no, a request — please —” [...] “If she means so much to you,” said Dumbledore, “surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?” “I have — I have asked him —” “You disgust me,” said Dumbledore, and Harry had never heard so much contempt in his voice. Snape seemed to shrink a little. “You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?” Snape said nothing, but merely looked up at Dumbledore. (DH)

2.4 Disillusionment/Invisibility

It would not do for Snape, or indeed anyone else, to see where he was going. But there were no lights in the castle windows, and he could conceal himself… and in a second he had cast upon himself a Disillusionment Charm that hid him even from his own eyes. And he walked on, around the edge of the lake, taking in the outlines of the beloved castle, his first kingdom, his birthright… And here it was, beside the lake, reflected in the dark waters.

(Lily implied as having the same ability to be explained in another post)

2.5 Conquering death

“No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that [...] That’s probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn’t want another Dark Lord competing with him." (CoS) “I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman’s foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah... pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it.” (GoF) “I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal — to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked... for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it.” (GoF) “Certainly,” said Voldemort, and his eyes seemed to burn red. “I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed —” (HBP)

Lily creates blood wards to protect her sister // the only other time we (explicitly) see a blood ward is outside Voldemort's Cave protections, protecting his mother's locket

4 examples of sacrificial magic, 3 Voldemort's, 1 Lily's - in CoS Tom is killing Ginny to gain a body; in GoF the "flesh blood and bone" rebody potion; and obviously horcruxes; Lily's sacrificial magic). Lily does sacrificial blood magic using a parent's sacrifice; LV does sacrificial blood magic using a parent's sacrifice (father's bone, blood of the enemy, etc). Twice when Lily's sacrificial magic comes up between Harry and LV, Voldemort's in the process of doing his own sacrificial ritual and also in the midst of a "rebirth" (in CoS and GoF)

"This is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it" // LV's own to counter her magic - "I knew that to achieve this - it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight - I would need three powerful ingredients."

The only time "magical traces" are (explicitly) mentioned are LV seeing the traces of Lily's protective magic on Harry // and Dumbledore seeing the traces of LV's magic in the Gaunt house and the locket Cave (symbolic Gaunt shack), both horcruxes related to his family and to Merope

"His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice..." (GoF) "I stumbled across the ring hidden in the ruin of the Gaunts’ house [...] He hid it, protected by many powerful enchantments, in the shack where his ancestors had once lived (Morfin having been carted off to Azkaban, of course), never guessing that I might one day take the trouble to visit the ruin, or that I might be keeping an eye open for traces of magical concealment." (HBP) "How did you know that was there?" Harry asked in astonishment. "Magic always leaves traces," said Dumbledore, as the boat hit the bank with a gentle bump, "sometimes very distinctive traces. I taught Tom Riddle. I know his style." (HBP)

LV invents a concentrated dementor potion to symbolize Merope's murder in the Gaunt home and Dumbledore takes 13 sips in that cave (12 of the Drink of Despair, 1 of Inferi water) // when LV gets close to the house where he murdered Lily, it has the effect of a concentrated dementor on him and Lily vanquishes him for ~13 years (13 1/2 inches is also LV's wand length) - Lily described like a dementor in the memory of the Potters' deaths (to be elaborated in future metas)

"So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted.... I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul into her..." (CoS) “If it can, the dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself... soulless and evil.” (PoA)

LV (more or less) kills Dumbledore who he can't beat in a duel with a curse that strengths with time // Lily kills LV who she can't beat in a duel without a wand and with obscure magic

Priori Incantatem (elaborated here) // Merope's locket // Resurrection Stone :

And she came… first her head, then her body… a young woman with long hair, the smoky, shadowy form of Lily Potter blossomed from the end of Voldemort’s wand, fell to the ground, and straightened like her husband. (GoF) Out of the locket’s two windows, out of the eyes, there bloomed, like two grotesque bubbles, the heads of Harry and Hermione, weirdly distorted. Ron yelled in shock and backed away as the figures blossomed out of the locket, first chests, then waists, then legs, until they stood in the locket, side by side like trees with a common root (DH)

Likewise, the shades out of the Resurrection are implied to be Lily's soul, creating those versions of James, Sirius, and Remus, the way the locket creates Riddle-Harry and Riddle-Hermione.

Lily's protective magic burns LV in front of the Mirror of Erised // Merope's locket horcrux with Riddle's eyes through mirrors burns Harry, the Dark Mark's burn (elaborated below)

2.6 Dark Arts, DADA, Potions, inventing spells and potions (extrapolated for Lily via Snape)

3. Childhood memories

Both show immense joy and wonder at magic, Snape and Dumbledore play similar roles: acknowledge them as unusually magically powerful, explain the laws of the wizarding world to two Muggleborns pushing boundaries before either even knew any existed (Snape, who ignores many of those laws himself, coming from a different angle than Dumbledore). Also note that we are meant to question Lily being too pure to end up in Azkaban - because she's implied to have ended up there, in a way, in a state similar to LV's imprisonment in Albania (to be elaborated).

“At Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, “we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure — been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic — yes, there is a Ministry — will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws.” (HBP) “...and the Ministry can punish you if you do magic outside school, you get letters.” “But I have done magic outside school!” “We’re all right. We haven’t got wands yet. They let you off when you’re a kid and you can’t help it. But once you’re eleven,” he nodded importantly, “and they start training you, then you’ve got to go careful.” [...] “Tell me about the dementors again.” “What d’you want to know about them for?” “If I use magic outside school —” “They wouldn’t give you to the dementors for that! Dementors are for people who do really bad stuff. They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban. You’re not going to end up in Azkaban, you’re too —” (DH)

- Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. “Where can I get one of them?” (HBP) Lily had picked up a fallen twig and twirled it in the air, and Harry knew that she was imagining sparks trailing from it. (DH) - "I’m not mad!" "I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic." There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore’s, as though trying to catch one of them lying. "Magic?" he repeated in a whisper. "That’s right," said Dumbledore. (HBP) Then she dropped the twig, leaned in toward the boy, and said, "It is real, isn’t it? It’s not a joke? Petunia says you’re lying to me. Petunia says there isn’t a Hogwarts. It is real, isn’t it?" "It’s real for us," said Snape. "Not for her. But we’ll get the letter, you and me." "Really?" whispered Lily. "Definitely," said Snape, and even with his poorly cut hair and his odd clothes, he struck an oddly impressive figure sprawled in front of her, brimful of confidence in his destiny. "And will it really come by owl?" Lily whispered. (DH)

3.1 Alienation from the Muggle world/family

(to highly different degrees, but outsiders shows up as connection even in dynamics where the specifics are very different - Tom using Ginny's alienation from her brothers, Dumbledore and Doge, etc)

“I don’t — want — to — go!” said Petunia, and she dragged her hand back out of her sister’s grasp. “You think I want to go to some stupid castle and learn to be a — a —” [...] “— you think I want to be a — a freak?” Lily’s eyes filled with tears as Petunia succeeded in tugging her hand away. “I’m not a freak,” said Lily. “That’s a horrible thing to say.” “That’s where you’re going,” said Petunia with relish. “A special school for freaks. You and that Snape boy... weirdos, that’s what you two are. It’s good you’re being separated from normal people. It’s for our safety.” (DH) “He was a funny baby too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was... odd.” […] “He’s definitely got a place at your school, you say?” “Definitely,” said Dumbledore. “And nothing I say can change that?” “Nothing,” said Dumbledore. “You’ll be taking him away, whatever?” [...] “I don’t think many people will be sorry to see the back of him.” (HBP)

4. Brilliant students

Prefects, Head Boy/Girl, Slughorn's favorites, charming, charismatic, good-looking, well-liked but with few close friends

"Brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen [...] Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts [...] Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here." (CoS) "You shouldn’t have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother," Slughorn added, in answer to Harry’s questioning look. "Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl." (HBP) Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn’t suit him. It made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry’s neck. "If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed." (CoS) - "Your mother was Muggle-born, of course. Couldn’t believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good." (HBP) “I don’t know that politics would suit me, sir [...] I don’t have the right kind of background, for one thing.” A couple of the boys around him smirked at each other. Harry was sure they were enjoying a private joke, undoubtedly about what they knew, or suspected, regarding their gang leader’s famous ancestor. “Nonsense,” said Slughorn briskly, “couldn’t be plainer you come from decent Wizarding stock, abilities like yours. No, you’ll go far, Tom, I’ve never been wrong about a student yet.” (HBP)

- "I forgot," lied Harry, Felix Felicis leading him on. "You liked her, didn’t you?" "Liked her?" said Slughorn, his eyes brimming with tears once more. "I don’t imagine anyone who met her wouldn’t have liked her... Very brave... Very funny... It was the most horrible thing..." (HBP) "As an unusually talented and very good-looking orphan, he naturally drew attention and sympathy from the staff almost from the moment of his arrival. He seemed polite, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. Nearly all were most favorably impressed by him." (HBP)

Lily as Ideal of a Gryffindor with a Slytherin streak (like Harry) vs. Tom as Ideal of a Slytherin

Then Professor McGonagall said, "Evans, Lily!" He watched his mother walk forward on trembling legs and sit down upon the rickety stool. Professor McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat onto her head, and barely a second after it had touched the dark red hair, the hat cried, “Gryffindor!” (DH) “Well, the start of the school year arrived and with it came Tom Riddle, a quiet boy in his secondhand robes, who lined up with the other first years to be sorted. He was placed in Slytherin House almost the moment that the Sorting Hat touched his head." (HBP) "I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too." [...] "I was Head of Slytherin," said Slughorn. "Oh, now," he went on quickly [...] "don’t go holding that against me! You’ll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose? Yes, it usually goes in families." “You’d better be in Slytherin,” said Snape, encouraged that she had brightened a little.

5. They Even Look Something Alike

Just as this is pointed out for Voldemort and Harry, and Voldemort and Snape, in DH it's Voldemort and Lily that look alike and are revealed as reflections - and Lily as Voldemort's symbolic sister the same way Voldemort and Harry are "brothers".

5.3 The Same Eyes

And all of a sudden, for the very first time in his life, Harry fully appreciated that Aunt Petunia was his mother’s sister. He could not have said why this hit him so very powerfully at this moment. All he knew was that he was not the only person in the room who had an inkling of what Lord Voldemort being back might mean. Aunt Petunia had never in her life looked at him like that before. Her large, pale eyes (so unlike her sister’s) were not narrowed in dislike or anger: They were wide and fearful.

The barman grunted. Harry approached him, looking up into the face, trying to see past the long, stringy, wire-gray hair and beard. He wore spectacles. Behind the dirty lenses, the eyes were a piercing, brilliant blue. “It’s your eye I’ve been seeing in the mirror.” Dumbledore’s long silver hair and beard, the piercingly blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles, the crooked nose: Everything was as he had remembered it. And yet... Dumbledore was wearing his familiar, kindly smile, but as he peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles, he gave the impression, even in newsprint, of X-raying Harry He met Aberforth’s gaze, which was so strikingly like his brother’s: The bright blue eyes gave the same impression that they were X-raying the object of their scrutiny, and Harry thought that Aberforth knew what he was thinking [...]

The burn of Lily and LV's eyes through the mirrors is repeated in the description of their eyes, and additionally both Snape and Lily's gaze described like LV's:

Voldemort’s expression did not change. The red eyes seemed to burn in the firelight. Slowly he drew the Elder Wand between his long fingers. But the lie did not convince Lily: After one last burning look, she ran from the little thicket (The Prince's Tale, DH) His red eyes fastened upon Snape’s black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. (Dark Lord Ascending, DH) “I’m just trying to show you they’re not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are.” The intensity of his gaze made her blush. (The Prince's Tale, DH)

Likewise in OoTP, Voldemort (when Harry is in his head) and Snape described as having slits for eyes (Other Death Eaters - Lucius and Bellatrix - described similarly via their hoods - "her mad eyes staring through the slits in her hood" etc); then in DH, it's only Voldemort, Nagini (symbolic Merope), Harry, and Lily described with slits for eyes - Harry in the Malfoy Manor mirror, face blurred like LV’s in HBP, unrecognizable as himself and Draco unable to look at him (it's significant that Hermione's the one to make him look like LV - see this post); the same mirror LV’s in front of with slits for eyes tormenting his DEs, and Draco and Snape (parallel to Lily and LV and the Mirror of Erised in PS); Lily while looking at Snape in his memories:

Was this why Dumbledore would no longer meet Harry’s eyes? Did he expect to see Voldemort staring out of them, afraid, perhaps, that their vivid green might turn suddenly to scarlet, with catlike slits for pupils? (OoTP) “He was possessing the snake at the time and so you dreamed you were inside it too...” “And Vol — he — realized I was there?” “It seems so,” said Snape coolly. “How do you know?” said Harry urgently. “Is this just Professor Dumbledore guessing, or — ?” “I told you,” said Snape, rigid in his chair, his eyes slits, “to call me ‘sir.’” (OoTP) A cracked, age-spotted mirror hung on the wall in the shadows. Harry moved toward it. His reflection grew larger and clearer in the darkness... A face whiter than a skull... red eyes with slits for pupils (OoTP) Harry let out a hastily stifled gasp. Voldemort had entered the room. His features were not those Harry had seen emerge from the great stone cauldron almost two years ago: They were not as snakelike, the eyes were not yet scarlet, the face not yet masklike, and yet he was no longer handsome Tom Riddle. It was as though his features had been burned and blurred; they were waxy and oddly distorted, andthe whites of the eyes now had a permanently bloody look, though the pupils were not yet the slits that Harry knew they would become. He was wearing a long black cloak, and his face was as pale as the snow glistening on his shoulders. (HBP) [...] his face shone through the gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. He was so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow. The huge snake [...] rose, seemingly endlessly, and came to rest across Voldemort’s shoulders […] its eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. (Dark Lord Ascending, DH) Harry clutched at his excruciatingly painful face, which felt unrecognizable beneath his fingers, tight, swollen, and puffy as though he had suffered some violent allergic reaction. His eyes had been reduced to slits through which he could barely see; his glasses fell off as he was bundled out of the tent Harry was facing a mirror over the fireplace, a great gilded thing in an intricately scrolled frame.Through the slits of his eyes he saw his own reflection for the first time since leaving Grimmauld Place. His face was huge, shiny, and pink, every feature distorted by Hermione’s jinx. His black hair reached his shoulders and there was a dark shadow around his jaw. Had he not known that it was he who stood there, he would have wondered who was wearing his glasses [...] yet he still avoided eye contact with Draco as the latter approached. “Well, Draco?” said Lucius Malfoy [...] “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?” (Malfoy Manor, DH) Lily’s bright green eyes were slits. Snape backtracked at once. (The Prince's Tale, DH)

In HBP, only Morfin, Tom Riddle, and Harry are described as remorseless; in DH only Harry, Voldemort, and Lily are described as pitiless:

“So you smashed my prophecy?” said Voldemort softly, staring at Harry with those pitiless red eyes (OoTP) Harry could see it happening. He watched Voldemort’s white, snakelike face vanishing into darkness, those red eyes fixed pitilessly on the thrashing elf (DH) “Slipped out?” There was no pity in Lily’s voice. “It’s too late." (DH) --- “This discussion is getting us nowhere,” said Ogden firmly. “It is clear from your son’s attitude that he feels no remorse for his actions.” (HBP) “Didn’t you tell them, sir, what he’d been like when you met him at the orphanage?” asked Harry. “No, I did not. Though he had shown no hint of remorse, it was possible that he felt sorry for how he had behaved before [...]" (HBP) “He told her to get out of the way,” said Harry remorselessly. “He told me she needn’t have died. He only wanted me. She could have run.” (HBP) “— Kingsley and Mr. Weasley explained it all as well,” Harry pressed on remorselessly. “Once I’m seventeen, the protective charm that keeps me safe will break, and that exposes you as well as me.” (DH)

5.1 Halloween, 1981

In the scene where he goes to murder the Potters - LV and Lily both enter through a door ("identical movements"; the Veil described as an "ancient doorway" - because sin is crouching at their door), both sneaking up on the enemy they're about to kill, and while Harry and James are described as "black-haired", LV and Lily have their faces covered ("matching hairstyles"; and because I show not your face but your heart's desire), and identical laughs - because the laugh that for six books were told was LV laughing as he killed Lily wasn’t him laughing, it was Lily laughing. (Explanation/closer analysis of this scene to come.)

“Nice costume, mister!” He saw the small boy’s smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face: Then the child turned and ran away And he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and stared over it A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now the father scooped up the son and handed him to the mother. The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open. He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall.

5.2 The Mirrors

“How did you get this?” Harry asked, walking across to Sirius’s mirror, the twin of the one he had broken nearly two years before. - Behind both of the glass windows within blinked a living eye, dark and handsome as Tom Riddle’s eyes had been before he turned them scarlet and slit-pupiled. (DH) A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he’d touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air — she and the others existed only in the mirror. She was a very pretty woman.She had dark red hair and her eyes — her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green — exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. (PS) - Then a voice hissed from out of the Horcrux. “I have seen your heart, and it is mine.” [...] “I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible...” [...] “Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter... Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend... Second best, always, eternally overshadowed...” (DH) “It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible." (PS) - “Ron!” he shouted, but the Riddle-Harry was now speaking with Voldemort’s voice and Ron was gazing, mesmerized, into its face. [...] “Presumption!” echoed the Riddle-Hermione, who was more beautiful and yet more terrible than the real Hermione: She swayed, cackling, before Ron, who looked horrified yet transfixed. (DH) He tore his eyes away from his mother’s face, whispered, “I’ll come back,” and hurried from the room. (PS)

Lily's bright green eyes look at Harry from the Mirror of Erised; LV meets Harry in front of that mirror (there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake // The evil face was now smiling); LV describes Harry's parents' deaths and especially Lily's death/sacrifice; then Lily's protective magic burns LV in front of the Mirror of Erised when he tries to touch Harry.

Riddle's dark eyes that gleam red look through the mirrors in Merope's locket, the dark twin of the Mirror of Erised (the connection also implied in it being Tom’s mother's locket and the only horcrux to have a mirror; and Ron coming with Harry to the Mirror of Erised and destroying the locket); Merope's locket horcrux burns Harry - right after he and LV see the full memory of Lily vanquishing him, after trying to kill him.

I show not your face but your heart's desire // The locket showing distorted faces of Ron's "family" - not their real faces but his heart's fears

Voldemort screamed “SEIZE HIM!” and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell’s hand close on his wrist [...] and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him [...] he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers — they were blistering before his eyes [...] “Master, I cannot hold him — my hands — my hands!” And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms — Harry could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny. “Then kill him, fool, and be done!” screeched Voldemort. Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell’s face — [...] Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn’t touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain [...] - “I couldn’t get the Horcrux off you [...] It was stuck, stuck to your chest. You’ve got a mark; I’m sorry, I had to use a Severing Charm to get it away. The snake bit you too [...]" He pulled the sweaty T-shirt he was wearing away from himself and looked down. There was a scarlet oval over his heart where the locket had burned him. He could also see the half-healed puncture marks to his forearm. the figures [....] swaying over Ron and the real Harry, who had snatched his fingers away from the locket as it burned, suddenly, white-hot. [...] while the contents of the locket rattled like a trapped cockroach. It would have been easy to pity it, except that the cut around Harry’s neck still burned. (DH)

Harry's curse scar likewise described as burning and scorching - all echo the Dark Mark's burn: "Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord [...] When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to [...] Apparate, instantly, at his side [...] We both felt the Mark burn.”

Not taking the Love thing or Lily as inherently pure literally but - the prophecy says LV would "mark him as an equal"; Dumbledore says "love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign [...] It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good" aka Lily marked Harry as her equal (evidently it left some sign, per LV seeing traces)

6. Personality traits

6.1 Curiosity, Cunning, Manipulation

Skilled at using people's weaknesses against them:

Slughorn pulled himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk as the boys filed out. Voldemort, however, stayed behind. Harry could tell he had dawdled deliberately, wanting to be last in the room with Slughorn. (HBP) Lily glanced toward her parents, who were looking around the platform with an air of wholehearted enjoyment, drinking in the scene. Then she looked back at her sister, and her voice was low and fierce. (DH) “You didn’t think it was such a freak’s school when you wrote to the headmaster and begged him to take you.” Petunia turned scarlet. “Beg? I didn’t beg!” “I saw his reply. It was very kind.” (DH) She dropped her voice. “And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow, and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there —” (DH) Lily blinked. “Fine,” she said coolly. “I won’t bother in future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.” (OoTP) "Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you’ve just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can — I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it." (OOTP)

- The text draws a very deliberate parallel between her, Tom Riddle, and Harry (and to an extent Dumbledore) regarding their cunning and manipulation in HBP - i.e. Slughorn calls Lily charming, charismatic, says that he used to tell her she ought to have been in Slytherin, which means she has Slytherin traits (cunning, ambition, resourcefulness, a disregard for rules) and which sounds like the kind of thing he'd say specifically when she was displaying those traits - akin to when Slughorn tells Tom Riddle that he'd "like to know where he gets his information", that he's "more knowledgeable than half the staff" and has an "uncanny ability to know things he shouldn't".

- Lily calls Snape an affectionate nickname ("Sev") three times. Lily addresses people by name a lot, it's a part of her speech patterns; but it could also be read as having a slight manipulative edge to it - the way Harry and Dumbledore use "Lily Evans" to manipulate Slughorn and Snape, and LV uses names to simulate intimacy (especially given Lily uses Snivellus later, and if Lily's using Legilimency on Snape in this scene - "Severus?" A little smile twisted Snape’s mouth when she said his name - she'd be extra aware of it).

- Not super difficult to fake given Lily could do magic at Snape's house, but the Dursleys not knowing Harry can't do magic at home implies that Lily hid the Underage Magic rule and kept up a lie to likely all three of her family members for a while; like Harry threatening Dudley ("it was only their terror that he might turn them all into dung beetles that stopped them from locking him in the cupboard [...] Harry had enjoyed muttering nonsense words under his breath and watching Dudley tearing out of the room as fast as his fat legs would carry him.")

- Sneaks into Petunia's room with Snape to read her mail - she has the same curiosity and penchant for solving mysteries and sneaking that others have (i.e. parallels Harry reading Filch's mail in CoS). Her knowing about the Prank, dynamic with Slughorn and Bathilda Bagshot (gets the same "best kept secret" info out of her that Rita Skeeter gets using Veritaserum) may also imply this trait.

Rulebreaking and Bravery

“Yes, I speak it,” said Riddle. He moved forward into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Harry could not help but feel a resentful admiration for Voldemort’s complete lack of fear. His face merely expressed disgust and, perhaps, disappointment. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Snape could no longer contain himself, but had jumped out from behind the bushes. Petunia shrieked and ran backward toward the swings, but Lily, though clearly startled, remained where she was. Snape seemed to regret his appearance. A dull flush of color mounted the sallow cheeks as he looked at Lily. “What’s obvious?” asked Lily.

“Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you —” “I’d like to see them try,” sneered Riddle. (HBP) “Let me? Let me?” Lily’s bright green eyes were slits. Snape backtracked at once. (DH)

- "Lily, don't do it!" "Mummy told you not to!" "Mummy said you weren't allowed, Lily!" "But I'm fine" She only obeys when Petunia appears genuinely freaked out ("Stop it!" Petunia shrieked / "It's not hurting you").

- Lily laughs and takes a selfie while James runs after Harry; thinks it's hilarious when Harry breaks Petunia's vase; goes on "little excursions" under the Cloak while in hiding; goes "I'm not sure he'd be pleased if he knew!" wrt Bathilda spilling Dumbledore's secret then proceeds to gossip to Sirius about it.

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