#and recently realized i had forgotten her name

[girlscience]

so so sleepy cause i was up till 2am being a freak

[prythianpages]

You're Good To Me | Eris x Reader

summary: Eris realizes two things. One, he's in love with you, his brother's betrothed. Two, he's put you in danger.

warnings: angst, mentions of killing, but there is some fluff in the middle!

a/n: This one is inspired by Hozier's Would That I. Eris is so Hozier coded and when I heard this song, I couldn't help myself but write this. You can find the masterlist for this series here or just read this as a stand alone imagine. I rewrote the last scenes to this so many times within the past couple of hours but I think I'm finally content with this.

The late morning sun casts long shadows through the towering trees of the Autumn Court's sprawling estate, dappling over Eris with golden hues. Resting against a centuries-old oak, he reads a book–your book–while his hounds run about freely. Occasionally, they bring him a random stick that he happily throws.

She was soft as an angel but oh, she could love with the fury of a demon–

Clover, his youngest hound, barks, pulling his attention from the book. It’s one that has an adorable chirp to it. His fingers still on the page he was about to turn. Recently, there’s been only one other person–besides him, of course– who can elicit such a sound. 

With a roar of a fire, Eris’s heart rises to its feet, mirroring Clover’s excitement. He can feel you too. You’re close. The book he was reading lays forgotten in his lap as he listens for the telltale sound of hoofbeats drawing near.

You had gone for a morning ride with his mother as you’ve done nearly every morning for the past week. How convenient for Eris to be reading near the stables around the time you’d return.

He was strategically positioned not to be in your direct line of sight but for you to come into his.

You’re laughing at something his mother said and the small smile that tugs at his lips is almost inevitable. He lifts his gaze, admiring the carefree expression on your face and the way the sunlight catches your hair. Clover lets out a small wine, tail wagging in anticipation as she watches you. She looks back at Eris, as if asking if she could run to you, and though Eris isn’t one to deny his hounds, he shakes his head at her. He wants to bask in your presence from afar awhile longer.

He can tell your lips are moving but from where he sits, he can’t discern your words. The soft pat you give your horse, Maximus, and the responding loud neigh is enough to clue him in. Maximus stands proud, his long white mane blowing in the gentle morning breeze as you dismount him with the help of one of the stablemen. You traded your pretty dresses for something more fitting for your morning ride. His gaze lingers on the way your pants cling to your curves longer than it should.

A low growl from Clover has him abruptly tearing his gaze away from your body. He watches as you run toward an older male. Your smile is so bright it competes with the sun as you throw your arms around your father. There’s something unsettling about the way your father looks at you. Something that makes your father undeserving of your smile. 

While you look up at him in admiration, he looks at you as if you are his most prized possession. An object. He can tell his mother senses it too by the forced smile on her face as she politely greets him.

In the blink of an eye, Clover is darting toward you with an urgency that startles Eris. The rest of his hounds pause, their muscles tensing as they watch the scene unfold. Your eyes widen in pleasant surprise. Clover bounds towards you, her tongue eagerly reaching out to shower you with affection.

“Do they just let vile creatures roam around freely here?” He hears your father loudly ask with a scowl on his face.

“Her name is Clover,” you are quick to correct, turning toward your father again.

Clover turns with you and suddenly, she’s growling and snapping at him. With a yelp, your father falls to the ground on his butt while Clover lowers her head with another growl in warning. Eris rises to his feet and brings his finger to his lips, letting out a sharp whistle.

Just as quickly as Clover had escaped his side, she obediently makes her way back to him. Your gaze follows after her, and it's then that you spot Eris. There's a softness in your gaze as it lands on him. Despite the tension between Clover and your father, you seem unfazed. Your focus solely on Eris as the stablemen rush to help your father, who is groaning out profanities while his mother apologizes on Eris’s behalf. 

Eris holds your gaze, patting Clover’s head in a reassuring manner. He’s not sorry about the whole ordeal. His hounds are trained to appear menacing and fearsome but they never attack without reason. Now, he’s inclined to investigate further, realizing he does not know enough about your father.

“Come along,” your father says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and forcing your attention back to him. He looks down at your outfit and a frown appears on his face. “You’re a Lady now, y/n. You need to dress like it.”

“I’m sorry,” he hears you apologize, unsettling him further. He watches as your body is enveloped by a golden glow and when he blinks, your riding outfit is replaced by a soft pink gown.

As your father rushes you back toward the forest house, you can’t help but glance back. There’s the slightest curve to Eris’s lips at that. He waves your book in a teasing manner, reveling in the immediate response he receives. You quickly turn back around and even from his distance, he can appreciate the blush that warms your cheeks. He feels a similar warmth swell in his chest, leaving him already anticipating seeing you again at dinner.

**

Eris hesitantly turns the final page of the book, as if reluctant to part ways. He had needed something to preoccupy himself with until dinner and with his father thankfully busy entertaining yours, he decided to immerse himself further into the book you held dear. He knew it was one you treasured by the worn-out cover and the pages threatening to detach from the spine. He’s almost distraught at the creases that line the top edges of random pages but is willing to forgive you for it. 

His gaze settles on the last words, a bittersweet ache tugging at his heartstrings.

"You are the love that came without warning. You had my heart before I could say no,” he breathes, holding her close. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” she croaks out as she looks up at him, blood seeping from her mouth. “I love you too.”

And as she drew her last breath, he felt his world end with it.

He stares at the words, reading them over and over again. Finally, he closes the book, but the words linger, echoing within him like a haunting melody. They stir emotions in him he’s never felt towards the ending of a book before. He feels lost. Angry. Disbelief. What kind of ending was this? If this book wasn’t yours, he would’ve flung it across his room.

He lets out a deep exhale, eyes fluttering shut momentarily. When he opens them, he looks at the clock hanging across the wall from him. Two hours until dinner still looms ahead. He wants to find you, to tell you his thoughts like you told him to but it’s too risky at this moment. 

Rising from his seat, he gingerly sets your cherished book down on the small table beside him. He grabs his coat, deciding fresh air will do him well. Perhaps, even a walk through the village. There is a shop he’d like to visit. Anything to quiet his thoughts and the clamor of his racing heart. The characters from the book struck a chord too familiar with him.

**

“Hold my hand.”

“No.”

Eris pauses at the voices, eyes immediately finding the owners. There's a notable gap between you and Sawyer, tension crackling in the air as you exchange heated glances. For a moment, Eris wonders if there’s fire coursing through your veins too.

“Listen,” you start. “I don’t want to hold your hand but I want my father to believe I’m happy.”

Sawyer lets out a chuckle. “Your father doesn’t care.”

The look of hurt that flashes in your eyes is enough to have Eris’s blood boiling. “Can’t you at least do this one thing for me?” You plead, clasping your hands in front of him.

“Nope,” Sawyer repeats, accentuating the “p” sound, evidently relishing in the opportunity to further irk you.

“Gods, you’re such an–an…”

Sawyer raises a challenging eyebrow, his gaze locking onto you as your voice wavers, the resolve slipping away. "Say it," he whispers sharply, and Eris's muscles tense instinctively, not liking his brother's tone. Maybe, he should intervene…and teach Sawyer another lesson.

“You’re an asshole.”

Eris almost chokes on his own spit. He fights back the urge to laugh. Not at you, but at the sheer surprise written all over Sawyer's face. Sawyer clearly hadn't expected such boldness from you, and if Eris were to be honest, he is surprised too. Pleasantly surprised. 

“Only for you,” Sawyer hisses back, surprise morphing into offense.

“I won’t even breathe in your direction for the next week.”

“And?” 

You look at him incredulously. “And?”

Sawyer doesn’t respond. He folds his arms tightly across his chest, letting you know he expects more from you. Your response is a frustrated huff, a sound that would have typically elicited an amused smile from Eris. But not at this moment. 

“Fine. I’ll cover for you for all the days leading up to our wedding. Do whom and what as you please. But–” you pause, holding a finger out to him. “–you have to say something nice to me in front of my father too.”

Sawyer’s lips curve into a pleased smirk. “That’s more like it, poo bear,” he purrs, bringing his hand up to pinch at your cheek a little too rough for Eris’s liking.

His fists clench at his sides, watching with envy as Sawyer slowly offers you his arm. Though it’s what you asked for, you eye it with caution. As soon as your hand is lifting to take Sawyer’s arm, Eris finally decides to make his presence known. He walks forward and toward the still notable gap between you and his younger brother. His shoulder purposely bumps into Sawyer’s, a mask of indifference on his face as he does so.

On the other side, his fingers graze against yours. A gesture so subtle it appears to be accidental. There’s no nuance in your expression but your fingers respond, gently lingering over his own. A tug on that golden thread in his chest has his steps wanting to falter. He does not give in, pushing forward instead.

Eris walks into the dining room and settles into his seat beside his mother, nodding a greeting to both his father and yours. They’re already immersed in what sounds like a pointless conversation over Prythian’s economy. Knowing that you and Sawyer will be following shortly, hand in hand, he yanks the bottle of wine from Oliver’s grasp. The heated glare he receives is instant but he couldn’t care any less as he fills his glass to the brim, wishing it was something stronger.

“There’s my blooming flower,” he hears your father happily greet as you grace them with your presence.

“The prettiest flower,” Sawyer remarks in a tone as smooth and soft as velvet. His younger brothers snicker, clearly amused with the drastic change in Sawyer’s attitude toward you. 

Eris, however, does not find it amusing. 

The grip on his glass tightens so harshly that his mother spares him a glance. She gives him a discreet kick under the table, silently urging him to relax. While his grip on his wine glass loosens, the tension in his jaw doesn’t. He remains quiet during dinner, chiming in only enough to not raise suspicion. He doesn’t dare to sneak a glance at you. Nor at Sawyer. Not even to glare daggers at him for every sweet word he speaks your way.

He knows it’s all an act but the thought does nothing to soothe him. Not when he heard you begging Sawyer to act like he likes you, to hold your hand, to say sweet nothings to you. To do all the things Eris is desperately yearning to do. 

The Cauldron was cruel.

**

“I’m glad to see you’re doing well here,” your father says as you walk arm in arm.  “A flower like you needs the right soil to flourish.”

After dinner, the two of you had taken a stroll through the gardens, catching up with one another. He told you all about his recent business adventures, gloating over how the deals coming his way were endless as the word of your family name mixed with the Vanserras spread throughout Prythian. It was when the autumn winds began to pick up and grew too cold for your liking that you made your way back in the forest house and toward your room.

“Do you really have to leave so soon?” You ask, a frown settling over your brows. Please stay, you want to add.

“I’m afraid so. I have a meeting with a potential business partner in Hewn City so I’ll have to leave early tomorrow to prepare,” your father replies in an apologetic tone. “I’ll try to make it in time for your next dress fitting.”

“Okay,” you respond, forcing another smile to your face. You hope your father can’t see right through it. “I’ll wake up early tomorrow to bid you farewell.”

“Lovely,” Your father says, the two of you coming to a stop near your door, where an Autumn guard is stationed right in front. With a nod of his head, the guard steps aside, allowing you access to your room. “Sleep well, okay?”

You lean your back against the door in contemplation. There’s so much you want to say. You want to tell him the truth. To ask him to call off the wedding. To have him take you with him, even if its to Hewn City. 

Perhaps, if it were your mother standing before you, you would’ve confessed it all. She was always willing to listen. Your father…not so much. Given the way he was already bragging about the benefits from your arranged marriage, you worried it’d only be a waste of your breath. You also feared burdening him further, knowing he already had a lot on his plate.

You worry your father senses your inner turmoil when he reaches out a hand, lifting your chin. He smiles at you, his eyes seemingly capturing every detail of your presence. Almost like he’s etching it into his memory forever. “You’re everything I could’ve asked for and more in a daughter. Your mother would be proud too.”

There’s a pang in your chest and your smile falters. Something tells you, you wouldn’t be marrying Sawyer if she were alive. Unlike your father, she would see right through you and find a way out for you. But you can’t blame your father, either. Your mother’s last wish was to see you married and happy. Your father only wishes to honor it. 

So instead of voicing your worries, you nod. “Goodnight, father.”

**

When you enter your room, you swear your heart skips a beat. Eris stands tall by your window, his red hair glowing like strands of molten copper under the pale moonlight. His gaze is fixed on the rustle of the leaves from the cool breeze, the shadows dancing across his delicate features. He looks ethereal just standing there.

“Your view is better than mine.”

You’re quick to shut the door behind you. “Lord Eris.”

Eris lets out a snort at your formality. He turns to face you with a small smile. “Just Eris,” he reminds softly as you approach him. 

“Sorry, it’s a habit now,” you reply in a sheepish manner. You walk further into your room, joining him at his side. “What are you doing here? You didn’t leave a note this time.”

“I finally finished it.” Eris says as he reveals what he’s holding in his hands. Your book.

“You did?” Your eyes widen as you take it back from him.

The spine is gently bowed from decades of being held dear but you notice that the pages that were teetering away from the spine have been carefully attached back. What catches your eyes most, however, is the golden thread dangling from the midst of the pages. Your fingers toy with the autumn leaf charms that hang from it. Opening the book, you realize the string is attached to a bookmark. It’s placed exactly where you had last creased the page you had been on.

“I can’t believe you dog ear your pages, angel.”

Eris’s nose crinkles in disgust yet there’s an amused gleam in his eyes that has a laugh bubbling in your chest. “You say it like it’s a crime.”

“Because it is,” he insists with an incredulous furrow of his brow.

“Did you like it?”

“Like?” He laughs and you feel a flutter of uncertainty course through you. “I loved it,” he admits, soothing the flutter but then adds: “But I hated the ending.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoes, his tone mirroring the playful glint dancing in his eyes.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment and you remind yourself to breathe properly. “Do you want to talk about it?” You offer tentatively, your heart racing with anticipation.

Eris grins. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Sitting on the window seat, he adjusts his body so that his back leans against the window. He carefully angles his legs, giving you space to sit too. You settle across from, hugging your knees to your chest. 

“Start from the beginning.”

And so Eris does, pouring out his every thought. 

He tells you how he enjoyed the author’s world building of the human world, though he knows in reality, it’s actually very boring. You attempt to defend the mortals but Eris dismisses it, claiming he knows their world is dull based on a human he knows. He then tells you how the slow burn romance between the two protagonists nearly drove him insane. That he’d never been more happy to read about two characters holding hands.  

“And don’t even get me started on the intimate scenes between those two. It went on in extravagant details for pages and pages,” he says with an amused exhalation. “How something so vulgar can be written so beautifully is beyond me!”

You can’t help but laugh at that, despite the heat rising to your cheeks. Eris continues with his passionate rant and you drink every single word. At some points, he pauses, asking for your interpretations of certain scenes, bringing forth small arguments and laughter.

"I just can't get over that ending," Eris remarks with a sigh, his brow furrowing in frustration. "It's just so... sad. Disappointing, almost. After all that trouble the hero went to save her only for her to still die at the end...”

"But isn't there a certain beauty in tragedy?" you counter softly. "The way it makes you feel, the emotions it evokes. The angst. Because as you read, you slowly begin to realize that it was not her who needed saving but him.”

Eris tilts his head, contemplating your words for a moment. Of course, you would see the beauty in the ending. His lips curve into a pout. He needs to protect you at all costs. He doesn’t want you to end up like him, spirit crushed by the cruel confinements of this court and forced to wear a mask at all times.

"I suppose I just prefer stories with happy endings. Life's already filled with enough sadness, isn't it?"

“It is,” you murmur, gaze softening with empathy. Then, your eyes are lighting up as a thought crosses your mind and you’re smiling at him. “Who would’ve thought Eris Vanserra, the heir to the Autumn Court, is a hopeless romantic with a soft spot for happy endings.”

The smile that breaks out brightens his entire expression and he lets out a chuckle, sending a warm flutter through your chest. He leans in closer, his amber eyes alight with an intensity that mirrors the flickering flames of the hearth in your room.

“And who would’ve thought a saint like you has the mind of a sinner.”

“Hey!” You gasp and give a playful kick to his thigh. 

Eris laughs, body relaxing as he slumps against the window for support. He’s lost count of the amount of times you two have laughed tonight but he knows it’s more than he ever has before. When you shift to give another kick, his hand grasps at your ankles. He raises a brow at you in challenge, almost daring you to try again.

“You said and I quote ‘something so vulgar can be written so beautifully,’ meaning that you enjoyed them too.”

“I did,” Eris agrees, lips curling into a smirk as he lifts his gaze. His fingers mindlessly dance across your exposed leg, sending a delightful shiver through you. “But I am no saint.”

It’s when he feels your leg twitch that he realizes what he’d been doing. He stands abruptly and lowers his head. He fears he’s getting too comfortable around you. “I sh–”

Standing from the window seat, your hand grasps for his, stopping him. “Since you read one of my favorites, it’s only fair that I read one of yours.” 

Eris's eyes widen in surprise and he turns back to look at you. No one has ever asked him about his favorite book. He read yours because he wanted to, curious to learn more about you through it. He didn’t expect you to return the gesture. 

 "Deal.” 

The word escapes him with such ease it scares him but it’s short lived as he’s overcome with excitement. His passion for reading had always been a solitary pursuit. It was something he never really shared with others, but he wants to with you. 

“I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you respond happily.

“But,” he begins, not allowing you to let go of his hand, his thumb brushes against the back of it. “You’re not allowed to dog ear my pages.”

“I’ll also need a book in return. It’s only fair,” he adds, mimicking your tone from earlier. His mind then drifts to thoughts of the both of you, curled up against one another with a book in your laps. Or maybe, you’d read to him while he holds you close, his head resting atop your shoulder and–

“Of course,” you reply, pulling him from his fantasies and toward the other side of your room, where many books were neatly lined atop a shelf. “I couldn’t bring all my books but I brought all my absolute favorites!"

Eris watches as you hum in contemplation. His attention is drawn to the way you tap a finger against your lips. He remembers the way they felt against his cheek. Lovely and sweet. Like your heart. He’s dying to know what they’d feel like against his lips…

He knows you’ve finally decided on a book when your other hand frees itself from his hold to reach out for it. You carefully slide it off the shelf and then turn around, presenting it to him. “You’ll love this one,” you tell him and you’re so confident it has his lips twitching upwards for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.  “It has a happy ending."

"I think I...," his voice wavers with a delicate tremor. He looks away, his cheeks tinged with a delicate blush over the words he couldn't bring himself to articulate. "You're good to me," he murmurs instead, taking the book from you.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Your words coax his gaze back to yours and the sincerity he finds in your eyes is one that’s never been directed at him before. It stirs a desire in him that he never even knew he was searching for. 

The fire in his veins burns brighter. The bond in his chest sings louder. He allows it to pull him closer to you. You're also leaning in until the book in his hand is the only barrier between your bodies.

There's nothing else to interrupt this moment between you both. No bells chiming like that day in the fountains. No cloak to trip over or lanterns like that night he snuck you out. It's just you two, in the stillness of the night, where the only sounds are your breaths and the crackle of the hearth nearby.

His movements are slow, giving you the chance to pull away at any moment. You don't. He watches your every shift in expression as his free hand tilts your chin up towards him. Your eyes flutter shut in anticipation.

And then he's kissing you.

Softly and delicately like a butterfly's wings. Your lips are warm and perfect against his, your taste sweet and intoxicating. Even better than he could ever imagine.

Your hands travel up his neck and thread themselves through his hair, pressing his lips harsher against yours. Heat courses through him as you kiss him back. You're like a wildfire, burning away all memories of past lovers and leaving only the embers of your essence to light his way.

When he pulls away, a shared breathlessness lingers between you. As he looks into your eyes, it's like the world has somehow shifted. All at once, everything is different. He longs for the night he'll be able to hold you tight and let the blinding light you bring consume him fully.

For now, he leans his forehead against yours, breathing you in and taking in the soft smile on your face that mirrors his own.

**

But the very next morning, he's harshly reminded that though he's had a taste, your radiance remains beyond his grasp. He fears it will forever, like a forbidden flame that flickers just out of reach.

"Who does he think he is, making demands of me?" Beron seethes, his voice laced with frustration, as he paces back and forth in his study.  “I’ve graciously taken in his daughter. I’ve even granted him half of his money upfront. And yet where is my promise?”

Eris, standing nearby, observes with cautious eyes, gauging the storm brewing within his father. He knew it was going to be a bad day the moment he woke up from a nightmare. A nightmare whose cruel grip he still cannot shake off…because for the first time, you were in it.

 He prays his father can’t hear the rapid beating of his heart as he says, “Cancel the deal. Call off the wedding with Sawyer...”

And wed her to me, he wishes to add but the words stick in his throat. The painful truth lingers deep in his chest, nestled next to the strings of fate that bind him to you. It’s best if you leave this court and go somewhere far.

Far away where happiness might embrace you. Far away from the cruel clutches of his father’s power and even your own. Far away where you may free him of this torment…but the more time he spends with you, the more precarious the thread his honor hangs on becomes.

He fears that nowhere would be far enough now.

“Call off the wedding?” Beron laughs in an incredulous manner. The gold and crimson tapestries adorning the walls seem to shiver in response to his father’s simmering frustration. When Beron abruptly turns to face Eris, the younger male can’t help but flinch. “When you were the one who suggested this arrangement to begin with.”

Eris’s throat tightens. He had been the one to suggest this arranged marriage. 

Your father, a respected merchant, extended an offer to Beron – an offer that, even now, Eris grapples to comprehend fully. It was a proposal that was lured with promises of enhanced power for the High Lord of Autumn in exchange for wealth and elevated status through matrimonial ties.

With no available Vanserra daughters to marry your father to and Sawyer's nightly endeavors tarnishing the family name, it led Eris to suggest an arranged marriage between you and Sawyer. A futile attempt to protect his younger brother from a fate similar to Lucien’s…but at what cost?

The Cauldron must be bubbling with amusement at the irony of it all. For, unknowingly, Eris orchestrated the union between you, his mate, and his brother. This is all his doing. All his fault.

Eris wills himself to maintain an outward appearance of calm. “What’s so important about this exchange anyway?” He asks with a measured voice.

“Jareth has access to something precious,” Beron responds, his words chosen with deliberate care. "Something that may hold the key to immortality."

Eris's eyebrows furrow in contemplation, his mind racing to grasp at what special thing your father could be harboring. "What if he is bluffing?" 

Beron's eyes darken, sending a shiver down Eris's spine. His heart sinks to his stomach as he can already anticipate what his father is going to say.

 “I’ll kill his precious daughter. Then, I’ll kill him.”

If your father keeps his end of the bargain, you’ll marry Sawyer. Doomed to a life of misery, where danger lurks at every corner. If your father doesn’t keep his end of the bargain, you’ll be the one to face the consequences of his father's wrath.

And you're in this situation because of him. The bond in his chest tightens, the golden strings pulling taut with a piercing resonance. No, no, no. Panic seeps in with an agonizing intensity. The mere thought of any harm coming to you, especially because of his actions, sickens him to his stomach.

He can’t allow that to happen. He won't allow it to happen.

“That won’t be necessary,” Eris says, carrying the weight of centuries of practiced composure. “I’ll ensure Jareth keeps his end of the bargain.”

“As expected,” Beron replies in a pleased tone. “I’m counting on you.”

Eris manages a nod, silently excusing himself. He’s never been more desperate to leave his father’s study. He feels his hands begin to shake and he shoves them into his pockets, not wanting to allow anyone a glimpse of the turmoil raging inside.

It's only when he's in the comfort of his room that he allows his facade to crumble. Leaning heavily against the door, he slowly sinks to the floor. His hounds are immediately rushing to his side, noses brushing softly against his arms.

"I made a terrible mistake," he tells them quietly and a low whine comes from one of them in protest. Then, with a strong determination, he says, "but I'm going to fix it."

"I swear it," he promises, rising to his feet, his hounds following after him as he makes his way further into his room.

You're not going to marry Sawyer and you're not going to be the one to pay the consequences of your father's actions, should he betray them. No. Eris will make sure of that. He's running out of time but he's going to find a way to get you out of this mess. He knows he can.

Eris realizes then he'd do anything to keep you safe, even if it means losing everything. Because if there's one thing he can't lose, it's you.

a/n: and here comes the angst train. I hope you enjoyed Eris and reader talking about her favorite book as much as I enjoyed writing it ♡

tagging: @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @fxckmiup @stormhearty @skyesayshi @sfhsgrad-blog @crazylokonugget @evergreenlark @secretlyhers @mybestfriendmademe @ib525, @96jnie, @kennedy-brooke, @scooobies, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria, @glitterypirateduck @thatsassyhufflepuff @acourtofbatboydreams, @mal-adaptive-dreams

[cosmopretty]

Forgotten Date

Caitlin Clark x Fem

Synopsis: After getting drafted Caitlin has been working so hard for Indiana Fever she seems to accidentally forget about you. Once she realizes she can’t help but want to make it up to you.



After being the number one pick in the WNBA draft, Caitlin your girlfriend has been working harder than she ever has. College basketball was nothing like this league, it was a whole new level and it was exhausting for her and her new teammates. You moved with Caitlin to Indiana because she loved you and wanted you to be with her while she lives out her dreams.

But watching your girlfriend work her ass off all the time and come home exhausted was not a sight you liked to see.

All Caitlin did was work, in the gym on the court, off the court. The whole world was watching her, expecting her to change the WNBA. It was so much pressure on her and recently every time you woke up in the morning, she was never there, never home. She left you notes, texts, food but wasn’t around physically.

You missed her so much and it was crazy because you lived with her so you shouldn’t because you live together.

“Caitlin I’m still making dinner call me back when you can I love you” You say into the phone leaving her a voicemail, after she didn’t answer your first two calls.

Knowing her she was probably at practice or the gym, so you put your phone down and go back to cooking. Caitlin knew you were going to cook for the two of you, you told her this morning. It was supposed to be a cute little date for you both since you haven’t been spending much time together and you just wanted to cheer her up.

The dinner was her favorite kind of pasta with grilled chicken you cooked and seasoned yourself and garlic bread. You spent all morning at the grocery store looking for ingredients and all afternoon cooking.

You set up the table and lit some candles, putting a vase down with fresh flowers you picked up today.

You sat at the table, staring at the empty chair across from you, the food growing cold on the plates. The silence in the room felt heavy, pressing down on you as you pushed the fork around your untouched meal. Each passing minute made the ache in your chest deepen, the disappointment settling in like a dull, unshakeable weight.

You called her multiple times, eleven to be exact at different times. She knew about this, she agreed and she didn’t show up.

You sat alone at the table, the flickering candlelight making soft shadows around the room. The food that you had carefully prepared sat untouched, their warmth slowly fading as the minutes ticked by. With each passing moment, the silence in the room grew heavier, and the hope that your girlfriend might still walk through the door began to fade, leaving only the sting of disappointment in its place.

After more than enough time you get up leaving the untouched food in its place, not bothering to clean anything up.

Walking into the room you shared with Caitlin you couldn’t even stand there for more than a minute before grabbing your bag and leaving.

You step out of your apartment, the click of the door behind you echoing in the quiet hallway. The evening air hits your face as you walk down the stairs, each step heavier than the last. You’re not sure where you’re going, but staying inside wasn’t an option. Not tonight.

She bailed on dinner didn’t even bother to show up. No call, no text, nothing you waited for an hour for her after she wasn’t even home all day.

You find yourself outside, the city buzzing around you, people going about their lives. Couples pass by, holding hands, laughing. It stings more than you expected, all you wanted was her but she couldn’t be there.

You pull your jacket tighter, feeling the chill that isn’t just from the night. There’s a knot in your chest, a mix of frustration, sadness, and something else—something harder to name. You wonder if it’s worth it, if she’s worth it, or if you’re just clinging to something that’s slipping away.

But for now, you keep walking, hoping the movement will take you somewhere, anywhere that feels less empty.

Ending up at the park you sit down on the bench you body heavy with emotions from tonight.

The park is quiet, the kind of place you go when you need to think, to clear your head. Trees sway gently in the breeze, their leaves rustling like whispers in the dark. You wonder what went wrong this time—was she really that busy, or did she just forget you?

Only an hour after you sat down your phone started going off, texts from Caitlin saying how sorry she is and calls over and over.

Caitlin stepping in side your shared apartment her heart dropping to her stomach when she saw the dinner she forgot of. She called you over and over and you declined every call even though you did wish to hear her voice.

The one thing you forgot was that the two do you shared locations so when Caitlin showed up at the park walking towards you a frown on her lips.

She’s walking toward you, her pace quickening as she spots you. There’s an urgency in her steps, in the way she calls your name. You hear her, but instead of walking towards her you get up walking the opposite direction, crossing your arms.

But she was taller than you and faster so she reaches you, slightly out of breath, her eyes searching yours.

“Hey,” she says softly, trying to catch your attention. You can hear the apology in her voice, but it feels like it’s too late. You keep walking, and she falls into step beside you.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, her voice filled with guilt. “I didn’t mean to forget I just- I got caught up in the gym, and time slipped away. I know that’s not an excuse”

You look up at her for a moment your eyes filled with unshed tears. But you don’t say a word to her, just continuing to walk. Caitlin reaches out to you grabbing your arming turn you to face her, the two of you stand still staring at one another.

“Please,” she pleads, her voice softer now, almost vulnerable “Talk to me” she begs.

“I miss you Caitlin and we live together so I shouldn’t miss you— I just wanna be with you that’s why I came half way across America for you and your never here and when you are your tired and that’s not your fault but it hurts” You vent to her a tear drop falling down your cheek.

Her eyes look at you filled with guilt, her handing coming up to wipe the tear on your cheek. Her thumb caresses your cheek rubbing back and forth— she never realized how hard this was for you, not just her.

“I’m so sorry baby I love you so much and I will make time for you- I promise” She says to you her hand coming down from your cheek to grab your hand.

Her lips turn up to a small smile causing one to fall upon your face “I’m sorry let me make it up to you please” Caitlin asks her brown hair falling over her face as she looks down at you.

Your hand comes up hesitantly to brush a piece of her hair behind her ear. Your hand stays on her face before slowly pulling her closer to you “Okay make it up to me” you whisper before closing the gap between you both, your lips crashing into each other.

Caitlin pulls away first “Come on I have an idea” she says her hand coming to hold yours pulling you with her as she walks down the pathway out of the park.

“Where are we going?” You ask her laughing a bit she flashes you a small, playful smile, hoping it would help with the nervous flutter in your chest “You’ll see” she say, trying to sound lighthearted “Just trust me” you nod at her words following her.

The streets are quiet as you bothwalk, the sky fading into shades of pink and purple as the sun dips below the horizon. You steal a glance at her, catching the way her lips are set in a thoughtful line. You can tell she’s still upset, at what she did to you today for all she has done recently unknowingly.

After a few minutes, you turn a corner, and there it is, the little ice cream shop you both love, the one you haven’t visited in what feels like ages.

“ Ice cream?” she asks, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she looks at you.

“Ice cream,” you confirm, grinning as you pull her towards the entrance “My treat. You can pick anything you want” she tells you pulling you inside the shop.

You both take your ice creams and find a spot by the window, the two of you settling into a comfortable silence as you start to eat. The cool, sweet taste melts on your tongue, and you savor the moment, the simple joy of being here with her, of seeing her smile again.

She looks up at you after a few bites, her eyes meeting yours with a warmth that you always found comfort in.

“Thank you” she says quietly, and you can hear the sincerity in her voice. Your brows furrowed confused on why she was thanking you in the first place.

“I needed this, and I need you your the reason I work so hard I want to make you proud- I want us to be happy” Caitlin says her hand dropping from her ice cream to grab your hand over the table.

As you sit there, sharing ice cream and quiet conversation, you feel the weight between you lifting, the bond you share growing stronger with each passing moment. You know that things aren’t perfect, that there’s still work to be done, but right now, in this moment, she made you happy. And that’s all that matters.

[lcriedlastnight]

Friends to lovers with Oscar. Maybe Oscar realized his feelings for y/n very recently and he’s still trying to accept the fact that he loves her. And one time at a party he gets extremely jealous like he has never felt before and somehow he ends up telling her "Kiss me like this is one of those stupid movies you love so much."

omg i love when men pine! tysm for requesting anon!

tw: fem!reader, swears, lmk if you want me to add anything.

w/c: 1.1k

how was this fair? oscar has to sit here and watch you with him! now, you were not really doing anything with him but it was annoying oscar the way that stupid guy, that he did not even bother learning the name of at the beginning of the party, was sitting so close to you that if he got any closer then he would be sitting on your lap! the more he thought about it the more it pissed him off.

you and oscar were not dating or anything, in fact the driver had just discovered his feelings for you a few weeks ago. it felt extremely unnecessary for him to find out this revelation then only a few weeks later watch some guy throw himself onto you, without any complaints from you. he was not sure if you just could not tell that he was trying so hard to get you to go upstairs with him or if you knew and were just playing hard to get. the brunette was praying it was the former.

this horrible jealous feeling that felt like it was suffocating oscar made him not only want to be with you constantly but also made him feel extremely guilty for thinking so. being your friend for almost two years he knew all too well how much you longed for a relationship, not even just a relationship but one like in those rom-coms you forced oscar to watch on those movie nights where you fell asleep halfway through, head slumped on his shoulder.

while oscar continues to glare daggers into the man sitting beside you he hears a mutual friend approach him. "you alright, mate?" his friend asks, sensing the jealous gaze oscar has stuck on you and your new friend.

oscar hums, eyes never tearing away from you as he watches you laugh at something he says. oscar decides that he has barely seen you tonight and he needs you close to him before he does something he knows he would regret come the morning, or even as he went to bed that night.

oscar felt as if he could hear your laugh ringing in his ears even when you were quiet. that is when he gets up off his couch and trails over to you, your name falling off his lips lightly as he looks at you with a desperate look of longing, he prays you understand.

"hi osc, forgot you were even here, were you hiding?". it is a joke. it is so clearly a joke with the way you laugh through the words and the teasing tone that laces your sweet voice. oscar is not too sure if you were serious with your words though. had you really forgotten that he was at the party? the thought of you forgetting about him sent the australian into a frenzy, mind scrambling for an excuse to get you alone and away from this stupid man who was making you forget that he even existed.

"yeah, i've been here. wanna come grab a drink with me?" oscar asks but in his mind it feels much more like a beg. in his mind it feels like oscar is down on his knees, hands pressed together as he begs for a second of your attention. the sad part is he knew that if that was what he had to do he would do it here, drop down on his knees in front of everyone and beg for you to pay him even a second of attention.

"sure," you smile up at oscar before turning around to face your friend again. "i'll see you later, it was great to chat with you again, it's been forever!" you say your goodbyes and the man beside you does the same. it pleases oscar to no end as he knows for a fact that you will not be seeing him for the rest of the night and it seemed like you knew that too.

oscar is quick to throw a hand out in your direction to help you up. your touching sending bolts of lightening through his nerves. he ignores it in favour of holding your hand all the way through to the kitchen. it had felt like years since oscar had been to a house party, it made him feel older than he was.

"you okay? you're kinda quiet." you ask as you pour your drink and mixer of choice into one of those red cups, just like in those films you adore, oscar notices.

"yeah, m'okay. just missed you." oscar mumbles, not really one for admitting that kind of thing but it felt weird to hide it from you.

"how's your boyfriend?" oscar could not keep him mouth shut as the questions slips out his mouth.

"my boyfriend?" you laugh "you mean liam?" the smile is not nearly enough to distract him from the guy that had made you laugh like that, like he was not just sitting across from you.

"is that his name?" oscar tries to act uninterested but it is very clear he is seeing as he was the one who asked you about him.

you smile at him. "yeah that's his name. he's good, not my boyfriend though." you having, what anyone who was not deeply in love with you, would call a knowing smile on your face as you take a sip of your drink.

"he sure likes to act like it." oscar huffs, blatantly ignoring everything else you had said except the boyfriend part. it almost makes you laugh and you try your hardest to not burst out laughing in his poor face.

"he's married, so i doubt it oscar." you inform him. your words shock him, he looks way too young to be married and he tells you so, earning a half laugh half scoff from you.

"they're highschool sweethearts and have been married for a year already, i didn't know they were married until today though." you explain to oscar who stares at you blankly.

you catch his eyes, confused at his expression. "what?" you ask.

"kiss me like one of those stupid movies you love so much." oscar mumbles before taking it in his own hands and pulling you close to him for your lips to meet briefly. he pulls away, a little panicked at what he had just done. you assure him with a smile as you pull him back in.

if you were being completely honest, it was a sloppy makeout session in someone's kitchen, both of you a little tipsy and a lot in love. it was not one of your proudest moments, oscar's either, but it was the one thing you would never take back. you thought it to be one of the best things to ever happen to you, as it finally bagged you oscar.

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (1)

Reader never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Reader and Spencer face the aftermath of their tryst. wc: 2,8k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

"YOU NEED TO LEAVE."

Since when did her life come to this?

She wasn't sure what to make of when the words softly left his lips. The words weren't exactly pronounced in a way that the urgency was prominent, but she could still sense the weight of them as she stared into the dark walls of his bedroom, sprawled out across the bed of this foreign man she had spent the past two hours with.

What was his name again? Stephen? Sean? Or was it Sebastian?

It definitely started with an S.

Her eyes slowly made their way toward him, eying his tall figure as he carefully walked over to his drawers. He awkwardly tripped over a piece of her clothing which lay on the floor before mumbling some incoherent words. He shot her a dubious look past his shoulder and turned his body away, quickly grabbing the first thing he saw on top of his pile of clothes.

His sudden modesty seemed amusing to her when it was barely minutes ago they had shared the sex-induced fantasy of sharing body heat between complete strangers. It was as if he wasn't the one thrusting above her, eyes glazed in desire and mouth open in ecstasy, reaching the peak of his high with her legs wrapped around his narrowed waist.

Surely he hadn't forgotten all of that?

She prompted herself on her elbows and found the piece of clothing he had grabbed in his haste was a pair of brown pants and a nice clean dark shirt. She watched him again and under her scrutinizing gaze, he backed away even further.

His sudden discomfort should've offended her, but it didn't. Somehow it intrigued her how much he was trying to be oblivious of everything around him—the lustful tryst that took place moments ago. The naked woman under his covers. The sudden shrill of his phone ringing on the bedside table.

The latter seemed to catch his attention as he glanced at the source of sound with an alert expression. He crossed the room and quickly answered the call.

"Yes?" There was a muffled reply from the other end before he glanced at the still-naked woman staring at him with curiosity. He cleared his throat again and gave her a look. "I need to take this."

She shrugged. "Sure."

She saw him hesitate for a split second before slipping out of his room, throwing a short reply to the receiving end of his call that didn't go unheard. "Yes, Garcia, I have company." More mumbling. "What? I'm not answering that..."

His words were cut off as he closed the door behind him, leaving her to grasp the situation she had put herself in.

Having a one-night stand wasn't something she often did. She wasn't sure it ever happened again since her freshman year of college when sleeping with a senior at a raging party would solidify her college experience. It seemed right at that time. It was what everybody was doing and her innocent mind believed it was a good idea to expand her nonexistent romantic life.

New place, new experience, new beginnings.

The experience wasn't so bad. Brandon Wallace—who was now happily married according to his recent social media post—wasn't exactly the best lover she ever had, but he also wasn't that bad. It was the awkward moment after the endeavor that made her avoid any repeated situations with somebody she barely knew.

Which was why she was questioning why she let that exact avoidance happen tonight. Why she had stepped into her favorite bar on a random Wednesday night and laid her eyes onto the awkward man sitting a few stools away from her.

Maybe it was the way he seemed out of place. Wearing a crisp blue shirt and a vest over it, he sat in a poised manner while constantly wiping down the bar counter with the napkin he seemed to keep requesting the bartender for.

She was there because she needed the kick of alcohol to calm down the stress from her current work assignment. Jamison, her strict boss who didn't take no for an answer, was starting to make her consider the act of murder. But committing such a heinous crime wasn't exactly nifty, so alcohol was the safe bet.

And thus, what was he here for? The cold beer sitting in front of him was barely touched as he looked around the room in a very uncomfortable manner.

Maybe the fact that she was sitting in an almost empty bar had loneliness wash over her, or maybe it was the alcohol finally kicking in, that she found herself making her way over to him. She was only going to greet him, introduce herself, and remark on how he stuck out like a sore thumb when he clearly was trying to keep to himself.

The hue of the bar lights reflected into a golden halo around his head. She slid beside him, tipped her drink towards his way, and gave him a simple smile.

He shifted in his seat and turned sideways, throwing her a questioning look. Up close, she could see his features clearly. The sharpness of his jaw, his hooded eyes, the unruly mess of brown hair on top of his head. She could tell he wasn't sure how to react to her sudden appearance, but he didn't seem to mind.

She sat there, her lips inching wider at the frown forming on his brows. How could someone be awkward yet adorable at the same time? Y/n was about to introduce herself when he suddenly sat forward, threw her a hesitant smile, and slowly asked, "Do you have any change?"

The random question startled her. "Excuse me?"

"I... I need to pay for my drink."

She shot him a ludicrous look, not sure she was hearing him right. Was he really trying to ask a stranger to pay for his drink? So much for spending the night with what looked like good company. But before she could counter her disappointment, he reached out his hand and in a swift motion revealed a ten-dollar bill from the back of her ear.

"Never mind.” He waved the money in front of her face and cleared his throat. “Found it.”

She blinked, once, twice, trying to comprehend the past few seconds. Then her lips twisted into a wide grin, his own lips twitching into a shy smile.

His attempt at an introduction based on a silly magic trick tugged her heart in a way that had her leaning closer, fingers tracing across his other hand that rested on the table. She didn't know what had impulsed her to be so brazen. It was very unlike her to show interest in the opposite sex, but here she was, touching the warmth of his skin.

But then his breath hitched and her stomach dropped. What the hell was she thinking? Touching a complete stranger without consent as if she was trying to maul him in public.

She shook her head and backed away, an apology already hanging at the tip of her tongue when he suddenly leaned in and wrapped a hand around her wrist. The gesture was very innocent, but somehow his fingers manage to burn her skin. She looked up and held his gaze, found the same bashful smile still playing on his lips, and relaxed at the warmth radiating from his body.

And then the rest was history, to say the least.

Yet even after the travel from the bar to his place, after the haste of removing each other's clothes, and after the post-orgasm that left them both satisfied—although to be completely honest, she would've been more satisfied if he'd let her have her second orgasm—she was starting to question her decision.

She finally threw his covers away and slipped out of his bed. She picked up all her clothing scattered around the room and slowly dressed herself as she carefully tried to listen to the conversation in the other room. But all she heard was muffled voices, and deciding that she couldn't pick out his exact words, she tuned out his voice and smoothed down her hair with her fingers.

Feeling more presentable, she stepped out of his room and finally took in the personal space he lived in. Now that she wasn't preoccupied with unbuckling his belt, she realized how dark his apartment actually was.

There were stacks of books lined up on the walls and scattered papers laying around every corner. He clearly wasn't a clean freak. Although he did seem to dislike public spaces, and honestly she couldn't argue on that when her mind considered the sticky, sugary residue that coated the floorboards and every other surface of the bar.

His hushed voice sounded aggravating and she turned to find him standing in what looked like his kitchen, his back facing her. Not wanting to interrupt him, she decided to look around her surroundings, eying the few framed certificates hanging on one side of his walls. There were a lot of certified achievements he was definitely very proud of with his name glorified on each frame.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

His name was Spencer!

She let out a chuckle. She wasn't exactly good at remembering names. Hold on—doctor Spencer Reid?

Her eyes went wide. But before she could feed her curiosity, she heard footsteps coming closer behind. She quickly turned away and found him glaring at his phone as he strode into the room.

"Bad call?"

Spencer—it was nice to finally put a name on him—abruptly looked up. His eyes studied her in bewilderment as if realizing she was still there. Then his expression slightly softened as he threw his phone away on his couch. "Not really, it was a work thing."

She raised her eyebrows. "You still work this late?"

"I don't exactly have a scheduled working hour."

There were a lot of questions she wanted to ask. What kind of work did he have to be getting calls this late? Why was he inside that bar when he clearly looked like he didn't want to be there? Was he really a doctor? And why did he look so adorable with that frown across his face?

There was something strange and hollow in his eyes that she couldn't quite put on as his hand rubbed over the back of his neck. She could sense the awkwardness stretching between them and needed to fill in the silence.

"So..."

"So..."

She let out an awkward laugh. He, on the other hand, started to fumble with his words as he suddenly spoke, "Did you know that awkward silence is the result of a disconnect between people?" She peered up at him with raised eyebrows. "When there is nothing to say, or maybe one person feels uncomfortable in a situation and doesn't know how to respond."

She blinked in confusion. But he wasn't finished.

"Statistically speaking, 80% of communication is nonverbal, whereas 20% is verbal. So in a way, silence can also communicate just as much information as speaking does. It is used to express anger, sadness, excitement, and other emotion. It can also create tension in a conversation or release it..." He trailed off before letting out a sigh. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"You most definitely are," she confirmed. "Where did that suddenly come from?"

He looked away as a blush crept on his cheeks. "I have an incredibly active imagination. It—uh, it leads to a tendency for me to ramble as my thoughts are constantly flowing."

"And you just know all these random facts?"

"I have an eidetic memory."

"You don’t say?" Her sarcasm was followed by eying the framed achievements plastered on his wall before glancing back at his confused face. She sighed. "Look, I'm not better at this than you are. Let's just... I don't know, thank each other? Say goodbye? Shake our hands?"

His eyes lit up as another piece of information filled his brain. "You know, the number of pathogens shared during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to..." He trailed off again and suddenly gulped, mentally kicking himself when he realized the fact he was about share. "...kiss."

She couldn't help the smirk twitching on her lips. "Is that so?"

He absentmindedly nodded as his eyes glanced toward her mouth. She instinctively took a step closer, noticing the tension in his body as he quickly looked away. This man had just flirted with her using an adorable magic trick, had his head between her thighs minutes ago, and reached an earth-shattering orgasm... yet he had the audacity to act all flustered.

She should probably leave. That was what he wanted moments ago, wasn't it? The words came out of his mouth the moment he checked his phone before jumping out of bed at lightning speed to dress his naked body. He needed to be somewhere. He had this somewhat confidential work he had to do.

Yet somehow he was warm and her hands were surprisingly very cold. The heat radiating from his body called out to her and without registering what she was about to do, she softly placed the palm of her hands on his chest.

She was internally screaming when she inhaled a sharp breath, his scent suddenly engulfing her senses. He smelled slightly sweet with a hint of spice; a woody, earthy musk that was mixed with his natural scent of sweat and hormones. She peered up into his eyes, traveling down to his cheekbones before they rested on his lips.

A riot of emotion burst inside her as she saw his tongue flicking out and holy shit—she just stared at him, completely, utterly enraptured.

Her focus was on his hot breath against her mouth, his lips a mere inches away from hers. He was so close she could practically hear the fast pace of his heartbeat. She could feel him everywhere, his hard body flushed against hers, his head moving closer to her and—

Then his damn phone started to ring again and all her senses went to alert. She quickly took a step back.

Now that was her cue to leave.

And it was a pity because whether she liked it or not, a part of her wanted to stay. But that was not an option. He wanted her to leave and she needed to do just that. She needed this to be a one-time thing.

Because there was never going to be another time. The moment she walked out the front door, they were back to being strangers. She would go back to her life and he would go back to his, probably back to his seemingly not-so-normal job with the way he described his working hours. Or the lack of it, anyway.

His phone stopped its ring and he shifted his weight from one foot to another. He was back to being awkward and she was back to being rational. Although her heart was beating fast and she was as flustered as he was, she didn't him to know what, especially when it seemed like he was about to kick her out again for the second time.

She was too busy oscillating between stunned, mortified, and turned on. She refused to blush. She refused to appear even an ounce embarrassed.

His phone rang again and he looked flustered about what to do. She helped him decide by grabbing her bag that was conveniently hanging by the door. "I should probably go."

She knew she was slightly disappointed, but she'd be damned if he knew the truth. Her mother used to describe her as a spiteful person ever since she was young. But then again, was it so wrong to feel that way? She figured she was just evening the misery out. If something was making her unhappy she felt it was her right to bring at least equal measures of unhappiness.

It seemed relatively immature, but she didn't feel like caring especially how her night had turned out. She took a deep breath and worked out her pettiness.

"Thank you for tonight... Stephen."

He suddenly tensed. "It's Spencer."

She studied the frown on his face. God, she was evil. She would probably regret this childish behavior of hers, although that was something she could deal with later. The very least she could do now was to give him a proper goodbye before she turned her back towards him for good.

"Well, good night, Spencer."

She wasn't sure he even remembered her name or whether he was just as petty as she was. It was more likely the latter considering he had an eidetic memory. "Good night."

She gave him a final nod. He answered by throwing her an awkward wave, a tight-lipped smile, and an even deeper frown as she slipped into the cold air.

>> NEXT PART

[bloatedandalone04]

Bets & Bargains - Part 2

Series Masterlist

➪in which you and bradley hang out after meeting at the frat party, and he quickly begins to regret coming up with the cruel bet once he gets to know you.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 5.5k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

When Bradley woke up the next morning in his bed with the worst hangover he’s ever had, he made the same old promise to himself that he’d never drink again - when he knew he would be opening up a bottle by the end of the next week. 

He rolled over and his arm instinctively reached for Bri, and when it fell flat against his bed instead of over her waist, he remembered what happened the previous morning.

His head was pounding as he pushed himself up into a seated position and looked around his messy room. Various beer bottles were strewn around, and he knew he didn’t drink that much last night, let alone in his room, so he knew someone else was in here getting drunk during the party. 

He really needed to start locking his door. 

Bradley groaned as he sat up and lazily threw his comforter over his bed in a half-assed attempt to make it before venturing off to his bathroom. He splashed a bit of water on his face then opened the medicine cabinet in a search for painkillers, taking them dry when he found them. 

When he closed the cabinet he was met with the tired face of a twenty two year old who had been recently dumped and discarded as if he was nothing but a fucktoy. His eyes were a bit red and his neck sported a dark hickey he received from that same girl who broke up with him. His scars were a light pink in color and were raised from his skin, making it look like he went face first through a glass table. He hoped they would fade fast, but he also wasn’t counting on it.

In other words, he hated his current appearance. 

He scowled at himself before turning the light off and sulking back into his room. Just as he began to debate on whether or not he should just go back to bed and sleep off the hangover, his phone went off from its place on his nightstand. 

Maybe it was Bri? 

He felt pathetic for hoping it actually was her texting him and confessing that she wanted him back. Eli was right, she really did do a number on him. 

When he unlocked his phone he was met with a name he briefly remembered hearing last night, and he tightly shut his eyes as he tried to recall how this person had gotten his number. 

Y/n: How’s the hangover? Bearable enough to leave the house? 

Y/n. 

All color drained from Bradley’s face as he realized that this was the girl he was currently in a bet for. 

God, what the fuck did he get himself into last night?

Hey, yeah, it’s bearable. As for leaving the house….depends. What are you up to?

He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t blocking your number and calling off the bet. This was bound to end in disaster, and he didn’t want to be the reason for your potential pain or heartbreak. 

Y/n: I’m actually surprised you responded. I was prepared to be ignored, I thought you would’ve forgotten most of last night. 

Bradley sat down and tried to recall the events of the prior night, and he wanted to punch himself in the face when he remembered what he had involved himself in. No, for what he created. 

He wasn’t going to go through with that bet. He couldn’t. 

But what is the harm in befriending another student? Bradley did think you were really cute last night, and if he remembered correctly, you were into him as well. 

No, I remember you. You were the cute one standing alone in the corner of my dining room, right?

Your response had him laughing just a bit as he tugged off his tee and began searching for a new one.

Y/n: Guilty. That was one embarrassing fact I didn’t want you to remember. I hate parties.

After dressing himself in a white, loose-fitting tee and dark jeans, Bradley pulled open his bedroom door with one hand while he used the other to text you back. 

I’m happy to know you made an exception for mine. It was nice talking to you last night, we should hang out again. This time sober. 

He hoped he wasn’t being too forward, but if he was just embarrassing himself right now, UVA was big enough to avoid you if it came down to it. 

He didn’t need to though. 

Y/n: What are you doing later?

-

Fratley: Meeting up with this cute girl I met last night? 

Your face heated up a bit as you shoved your phone into your pocket just as Sam walked through the front door. The small smile that had formed on your lips vanished as you met her eyes, and you could see the nervousness in them. “Oh, you’re home,” you state as you stand up from the couch. “Did you have fun with Tanner last night? I assume that’s where you were as you failed to come home. Nice to see you’re still alive, by the way.”

Sam dropped her jacket and purse onto the coffee table as she walked towards you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ditch you last night, that wasn’t what I intended to do at all,”

She sounded sincere but you were still annoyed. “As long as you didn’t intend to,” you give her a fake smile as you go to walk around her. “Tan seems nice.”

“Y/n,” she stopped you by placing her hands on your shoulders. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. Don’t be mad at me.”

You probably would’ve dropped the attitude if she hadn’t decided to say that last sentence. “Don’t be mad?” You scoffed as you headed towards the kitchen and grabbed your school bag. “I didn’t even want to go to this party, remember? I went for you, and you ditched me.”

Sam rolled her eyes as she reached down to rid herself of her heels. “I saw you talking to some guy last night, too, Y/n/n, so I didn’t leave you alone completely,”

You held back a noise of frustration as you slipped your bag over your shoulder and opened the door. “You shouldn’t have left me alone at all,” was all you said before you stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind you. 

With a newly soured mood, you head out to the campus grounds, despite your class not starting for another forty five minutes. 

Sam has always been like that, and you weren’t sure why you continued to put up with her. She was selfish, to put it simply, and didn’t want to show up to that party last night alone. That’s why she invited you, and that’s why she ditched you as soon as she found someone better to spend her time with. 

You drop your bag onto a bench and sit next to it, pulling out your phone as you did so. Scrolling through various apps, you tune out the rest of the world as you try to calm yourself down. 

While Sam never failed to piss you off at times like this, she is still your best friend, and you didn’t want to say anything to her that you would probably end up regretting in the end. This was the best way to ensure that didn’t happen.

Just as you clicked off one of the apps, a notification pops up from a number you debated on blocking more than once now, and without thinking much of it, you pressed it. 

Luke♡: Can we talk? I miss you. I think we should get on the same page here, before you start school again. 

 You rolled your eyes and shoved your phone in your bag. Now he wanted to talk? You had waited all summer for him to take the first step and reach out to you, but he never did. Well, not until now. “Fuck off,” you muttered and jumped a bit when you heard a laugh come from above you. 

“Wow, clearly I got the wrong impression from our texts this morning,” a somewhat familiar voice teases, making you look up and meet the eyes of Bradley, the guy you met last night. “You know, I thought we connected last night, but I guess not.” 

You huff out a laugh and cover your face with your hands as embarrassment takes over your body. “I’m sorry, you caught me in a mood,” you weakly defend your previous words.

“Did I? You seemed at least a little happy over text earlier, so unless you’re really good at hiding what you’re actually feeling,” he trailed off as he adjusted the strap of his bag. “Or you just got a text from someone you hate.”

You laugh again and shake your head, “Hate is a strong word,” you reply. “But, yeah, I just got a text from someone I’m not particularly fond of at the moment.”

He grins down at you and you were powerless to stop your own smile from forming when he said, “Sounds fun,” and then gestured to the empty spot beside you. “Can I sit?” 

You nod quickly, moving over and setting your bag down on the ground. “Yeah,” you answer, giving him another shy smile once he sits next to you. “Sorry, you caught me earlier than I expected. I guess I’m more confident over text.” 

Bradley shrugged, placing his bag next to yours. “I don’t think that’s true,” he murmured. “You seemed pretty confident last night.”

You laugh, bringing your knees up to your chest. “Yeah, well, that was when I was drinking pretty much straight vodka,” you said back. “And I’d be really surprised if you can remember any of our conversation. You were really drunk.”

“I was not,” he scoffed. “I was barely tipsy.”

“Yeah, right,” you playfully roll your eyes. “You looked like the definition of a heartbroken guy before I finally got you to cheer up a bit at the end.”

He shook his head, draping his right arm along the backrest of the bench. “Pretty sure I was the one who cheered you up,” he pointed out. “You seemed pretty down before I came over and saved you from a boring night.”

You shrugged, “It was still half boring,” you hold back a grin and take the time to look over his features. His eyes were a pretty shade of brown and you noticed that the left side of his face held various scars that were nearly fully healed. They went all the way down to his neck, stopping at the base of his throat, and you quickly looked away as you thought about how painful it must’ve been to receive them. You also took notice of the obvious hickey on his neck that looked just about as painful as the scars. “But yeah, I guess you saved me from a night of misery.”

He laughed, and it sounded like he was surprised that you had actually gotten that reaction out of him. “It was that bad, huh?”

“I just really don’t like parties,” 

Bradley nodded before looking around at the campus. Multiple students were walking to and from class, and some were lounging about on the grass, and the busy surroundings had him leaning towards you. “I don’t really like them either,” he confessed, making you raise your brows in shock. 

“Wait, really?” You ask, looking around as well before focusing your gaze back on him. “Why do you have them then?”

He shrugged, moving back to his original place. “So I don’t piss off my roommates,” he answered and you nod understandingly. 

“Yeah, my roommate kinda sucks, too,” you mumble and feel his intense stare on you. When you look up and see his boyish smile, your face heats up and you look away again. “But I kinda love her. I mean, I kinda have to…we’ve been best friends for nearly ten years now.”

Bradley went quiet for a few seconds. “I wish I had friends like that,” he mumbled. “Or even just one. All the guys I know are pricks.”

You furrow your brows, wondering how a simple conversation with him left you feeling like you had known him for years. “So…why are you friends with them?”

He meets your eyes again. “It’s easier to not get attached to people,” he replied and you stay silent. No more words are shared between you for a few beats before he added in a much lighter tone, “So, do I get to find out who the asshole is that made you so mad?”

You let out a surprised laugh and shake your head. “No, that’s a story for another time,” you say and grab your bag. “I gotta get to class.”

Bradley stood up, too. “So…there will be a next time?” He asked and you blush a bit as he almost sounded hopeful with that question. 

“Do you want there to be?” You ask in return, watching as he held back a smile and leaned down to grab his own bag.

“Yeah, I do,” he replied. “What are you doing later?”

Not wanting to miss the opportunity, you back away from him as you offer, “Meeting up with the hot guy I met last night?” 

-

Fuck, you were nice. And really pretty. And really fucking nice. 

How could Bradley ever go through with the dumb fucking bet when it’s you who he’d be undoubtedly hurting in the end?

He had already decided that he was going to forget ever coming up with that idea, and maybe he could even form something with you. He was still hung up on Bri, so he wasn’t planning on anything other than a simple friendship, and if he was able to get her back in the long run, then that was just a bonus. 

Besides, Bradley could use a few decent people in his life, and you seemed to be far more than that. 

He was actually pretty excited about hanging out with you later. Bri was kind of right, he didn’t leave the house much at all during the summer break, and he was beginning to realize that he hated being stuck inside all day when he was by himself. 

Who knows, maybe this will get Bri’s attention, too. 

A few hours pass before Bradley decides to text you for more details about where you were going, and your response had him laughing quietly to himself.

Y/n: I have no idea…was really hoping you would decide what we’re doing.

You seriously have no idea where to go?

Y/n: Not a single one.

Bradley laughed again before looking around his room as if it’ll help him come up with something. Just as he was about to suggest a simple fast food place, his eyes caught sight of the pamphlet he had been given a few weeks ago from some guy on the street. 

He was trying to go pick up dinner for him and Bri when the guy handed him the pamphlet for the Botanical Gardens that had been recently renovated and supposedly looked better than ever. 

Bradley, having a hard time saying no to people, took the pamphlet with a forced smile as he continued on his way, and he had tossed it on his dresser when he returned home with the food. He never moved it or threw it out, and when he looked it up online, he saw that the reviews for the gardens were all positive.

That could be a nice place to go to, right?

I might know a place, just as long as you’re not allergic to any kind of plant or flower. Are you free soon?

Y/n: I am not…I’m also intrigued. And yes, whenever you’re available.  

He sent you the address and asked if you wanted to meet there since it was a five minute walk from campus, and you agreed. He debated on whether or not he should offer to walk with you to the gardens, but decided against it, not wanting it to seem like a date.

He was just meeting new people, that’s all.

Bradley changed his shirt to a plain black tee before leaving his room and frat house. He pockets his wallet after making sure he had enough cash in it to cover both his and your admission tickets, then he was making his way across the campus towards the entrance gates. 

As he passed by the dorm Bri lived in, he made eye contact with the guy from the party last night. What was his name again? Bradley had no clue, but he was sure he would’ve forgotten it all over again when his gaze drifted to the left and met Bri’s. She was already looking at him, an unreadable expression on her face as he stood next to the nameless guy. 

Bradley stopped walking as he held her gaze, and he was about to raise his hand in a wave when she broke eye contact and turned to face the guy again. He watched as she leaned up and began placing kisses to Jensen’s, he thinks, throat. 

He knew she was doing it just to rile him up, that much was obvious as she glanced over at Bradley as Jensen led her back inside the building, and it was working. Bradley felt his body heat up in anger as he watched his ex-girlfriend of a single fucking day be practically carried back to her room. 

She wasn’t his anymore, so he didn’t really have a right to be mad. He was also seeing other people, but he wasn’t planning on making out with you later, he was just planning on talking to you like a normal person who just got broken up with. 

It made him think that Bri was seeing other people while she was with him, and he hated the fact that despite that possibility, he still wanted her back. 

But he knew it wouldn’t happen any time soon. She just had to have her fun, maybe fuck a few different guys then come back to him. He just had to wait. 

Not wanting her to ruin his otherwise good day, Bradley pushes his thoughts of her to the back of his mind as he leaves the campus grounds. The short walk helped cool him off, and by the time he got to the gardens, he was feeling content again. His eyes met yours, and you gave him a nervous smile and wave as you stood near the doors. “Hi,” you greeted him in a quiet voice. 

“Hey,” he said back, looking down at the floral print dress you were wearing. “You look pretty.”

Your smile widens as you, too, look down at your dress. “Oh, thanks,” you trail off, looking behind you at the indoor garden. “I had on something more casual, then I looked up the address and decided to change. I hope it’s not too formal.” 

Bradley shakes his head. “No, you look nice,” he glanced down at his black tee and jeans. “A lot better than what I have on.”

You beam at him, “I think you look good,” you say then quickly add, “You know, in a casual way.”

A genuine grin spread across his lips as he shakes his head again and gestures towards the doors. “Do you wanna go in?” He asked as he took out his wallet. 

“Sure, but I already got our tickets,” you reach into your bag and pull out two tickets, making Bradley pause with hand still in his pocket. “I got here a few minutes before you did, so I went ahead and bought them.”

Bradley raised a brow as he pulled his wallet out. “Okay. Thanks,” he said, flipping through the few tens he had in there. “How much was it?” 

You waved him off and handed him one of the tickets. “Don’t worry about it,” you say with a shy smile as you step around him and head towards the entrance. “It’s been a while since I’ve actually gone somewhere, so I don’t mind buying the tickets.”

He opened his mouth in protest, but promptly closed it again when you gave him a pointed look. “Okay,” he said again with a laugh as he put his wallet back in his pocket. “But just so you know, I plan on paying for something else in the future.”

“Hey,” you tease as he moves to stand next to you, and you both show the girl at the entrance your tickets. “We haven’t even made it through today, it’s too early to be talking about us hanging out again.”

Bradley laughed, putting the ticket in his pocket afterwards as you put yours back in your bag. “You’re right,” he nodded. “This could end horribly and we might never talk again.”

You glance back at him with a small smirk. “And what a shame that would be,” 

A thing Bradley noticed even last night was that you and he bounced off each other pretty well. Whatever he put out there, you gave right back to him with the same amount of energy. It was a nice change to Bri’s constant bickering. 

Bradley quickens his pace until he’s walking next to you, and as you and he walk together, he notices just how pretty you are. You looked nice earlier in casual clothing, and you looked nice now, and he was quickly beginning to realize that maybe you are his type after all. 

He said to Wes and Eli last night that you weren’t, but he was also pretty drunk and wasn’t able to see you in proper lighting. Now that he’s seen you in broad daylight, he could easily say that you definitely are his type, and you were very pretty. 

He actually had a hard time looking at anything else but you as you gazed around at the various plants and flowers. Your dress matched the daisies you were standing next to now, and he knew he needed to get a hold of himself before he did something embarrassing. 

Yeah, you were pretty and he was attracted to you, but he was still upset about Bri. He didn’t really pay much attention to other girls when he was with her, so he couldn’t be blamed that he was feeling like this after allowing himself to talk to one after being dumped by his her. 

“So, what made you choose this place?” You ask and turn to face him, making Bradley quickly look away and move closer to this red colored plant in hopes it looked like he was observing it instead of you. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered, lifting his hand and running the tip of his finger along the stem before turning to you. When he looked at your pretty eyes, he decided against making up some answer as he didn’t feel the need to pretend with you, and that in itself was a surprising discovery. “I got handed this pamphlet for it a while back, thought it might be worth checking out.” 

You press your lips together and nod as you run your fingers along a rose bush. “Let me guess,” you look over your shoulder at him with a teasing smile. “It was some preacher that you got stuck with at the crosswalk.”

Bradley laughed unexpectedly at how spot on your guess was, and he nodded as he followed after you. “That’s exactly what it was,” 

You face forward again and follow the stone path with him close behind you. “You gotta learn how to say no, Bradley,” you joke, and he was stopping in his tracks at the fact that you called him by his actual name and not some dumb nickname he hates. Bri, Wes and Eli have always called him Brad or Bradshaw, despite him telling them over and over again that he hates it. 

He grew tired of correcting them on it, thus resulting in him just putting up with it. To hear you call him by his real name was refreshing in a way, and he grew to appreciate you a bit more. “Yeah, well,” he replied as he moved quickly to catch up with you again. “It gave us a place to go to, right?”

You turn to face him with a shrug, “That’s true, I guess,” 

Bradley felt his heartbeat quicken at how natural this all felt, and he knew he really needed to get a grip. You were the first girl he’s hung out with in months, he just wasn’t used to anyone other than Bri. 

“So, what are you majoring in?” He asked, changing the subject to a more boring one in hopes it would actually dampen the conversation, because this was going really well and Bradley had a bad habit of ruining things. 

“Creative Writing,” you answer as you turn to face him and lean against a heavy stone vase. “I’ve been really into journalism for most of my life, and I got good grades in high school. My English teachers would often try to guide me into doing something with writing once I started applying to colleges.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” he hummed, leaning against the vase opposite to you. When you just playfully roll your eyes, he adds, “I mean it. I could never do all that creative shit that writers do.”

You give him a poorly hidden smirk, “You mean write?” You ask, making his face heat up a bit as he raises a brow. “That’s pretty much all we do. That and read. A lot.”

“Haha,” he said, watching the way your lips curved upwards. “You’re funny.”

You shrug as you push yourself off the vase. “I get that a lot,” you reply, running your hand along the smooth stone of the pots. “What are you majoring in?” 

“Political Science,” he answered and you give him what he thinks is an impressed look. 

“Nice,” you dragged the word out with a grin and he felt a smile form on his own lips. “You must be smart then.”

“Definitely the smartest in my fraternity,” he responds and you laugh with an eye roll.

“Yeah, no offense, but I think most people are smarter than your frat buddies,” you trail off, pausing by a small fountain. “I saw a few of them last night, and they don’t seem the brightest. You should give yourself more credit.”

Bradley stopped by the fountain as well and just looked at you in slight awe. Bri always called him dumb or insinuated that he wasn’t smart, so to have someone actually believe he wasn’t just some dumb frat guy was a bit reassuring. 

He knew he needed to stop comparing you to Bri, but you were so different in so many ways, it was kind of hard not to. He also felt bad that he couldn’t get his ex out of his head while he was with you.

At his lack of response, you add, “But who am I to assume?”

Bradley shook his head quickly, moving to stand next to you. “No, you’re right to assume,” he said, staring down at you. The height difference was very noticeable with you. Bradley had always been a tall guy, but he looked huge next to you. It made him feel like he had to protect you for some reason, and he knew he really needed to get out of his head because this was getting a bit ridiculous. “Wes and Eli are probably the dumbest guys I know.”

You furrow your brows, “But they’re your friends?” You asked for clarification, and he nodded. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he trailed off, not wanting to get into that right now. While he couldn’t stand Eli and Westley half the time, he still cared for them, despite their very unlikeable personalities. “I guess they’ve always been there for me.” Hardly, but you didn’t need to know the full details. 

You give a tight smile. “Well, that’s good then,”

That conversation died right then and there, but before it could get awkward, Bradley’s lips curved into a smirk as he leaned closer to you. “I have a question,” he started, making you look up at him in interest. 

“Shoot,”

His smirk grew at that. “Earlier on campus, when you had to go to class,” he paused, watching as realization dawned on you. He wore the smuggest grin as he asked, “Did you mean it when you called me hot?”

A blush spread all over your face as you broke eye contact and suddenly became very interested in the bleeding hearts next to the fountain. “You, uh…you caught that, huh?” You ask and he just nods. “Should I have not said that? I’m sorry, it’s just, you called me cute and I saw the opportunity and I took it.”

Bradley shrugged, “Because you are cute,” 

The blush covered more of your face and further proved his words, “Well,” you clear your throat, beginning to walk away from him. “Now that we’ve settled that.”

“No, I don’t think we have just yet,” he called after you, catching up with you in just two strides. “You didn’t answer my question.”

You give him an innocent look that he found himself wanting to so badly corrupt. “What was the question?”

 Bradley moved to stand in front of you, successfully stopping you from walking away from him. “Do you think I’m hot?” He asked again, giving you a sly grin. “You can lie to me, it’s okay.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. “You’re hot, Bradley,” you say, making his grin soften a bit as you move past him. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

Time went by quickly after that, unfortunately, and it was dark out when the two of you finally left the gardens. It was still summer, but the nights were slowly but surely getting colder, that much was evident as the sun had disappeared and left a cool chill in its place. 

You cross your arms over your chest as you and he stand in the same place you were in before you went into the gardens, and Bradley felt bad that he didn’t check to see if the temperature was going to drop. Maybe he could’ve prevented the multiple chills that ran through both your bodies. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, getting your attention as you gazed up at him with your pretty eyes. “I didn’t think it would be this cold earlier. I should’ve prepared better.”

You wave him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it,”

Bradley looked around the dark street and squinted in the direction of the campus. “Hey,” he said as he turned back to face you. “Can I walk you back to your place? I know it’s still early, but I don’t like the thought of you walking home alone in the dark.”

You smile at him and it only grows when he offers you his arm, “Such a gentleman,” you observe, wrapping both your arms around his and clinging to his body heat. “Yes, you can walk me home.”

The walk back to campus was relatively silent, but it wasn’t awkward in the slightest. When you stopped at the doors of a dormitory, Bradley reluctantly moved his arm away, and he missed the feeling of you being so close already. 

“Well, this is it,” you state the obvious with a teasing glint in your eyes. “I had fun, so…thanks, Bradley.” 

“Me too,” he said back, and he was completely honest. Even though he had spent the last two hours looking at plants, he didn’t feel bored once. He knew it was because of you. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He hoped he didn’t sound too desperate for attention, but he had a strange feeling that you wouldn’t mind if he did.

“Definitely,” you say back as you grab your keys from your bag, but before you could fully turn away, you glance back at him. “Is it okay if I call you Bradley? I should’ve asked earlier, but it kinda slipped my mind. I’ve heard others refer to you as Brad, so did you want me to call you that instead?”

Bradley grinned at you as he shook his head, “Please don’t,” he begged. “I fucking hate that nickname.”

A smile breaks out on your face and you nod. “Okay,” you breathe out. “See you tomorrow, Bradley.”

He nods, too, and watches as you enter the dorm and disappear down the hall. 

You really were too sweet for him, and he couldn’t believe he made a bet on you with his fucking frat buddies. You didn’t deserve that, even if the details of the bet would never be told to you. Not as long as he had a say in it. 

Was Bri even worth it? Did she even want him back? Was he just wasting his time with her when he could be spending it with someone a lot nicer instead?

Those questions loomed in his brain as he made his way across campus, and as he stood outside his frat house, he thought he had the answers when he felt his phone go off in his pocket. 

Bri ❤️❤️: Hey, saw you on the quad today. Sorry for not saying hi, I had company. Nice to see that left your man cave for once.

Maybe it was working after all.

[about-faces]

Last night, I was once again struggling to actually write smut for a Harvey/Bruce/Gilda fic, when I noticed a very timely new guest comment on my Gilda fic, Bust. It was the first truly critical response I’ve gotten so far, and while that sort of thing would normally send me into a depressive tizzy, I actually found it really interesting!

So instead of actually writing the ship, as I should have been, I wanted to take this opportunity to think about just why the heck I shipped them in the first place.

Here’s how I responded, with added scans to hopefully better illustrate my point, plus some additions that occurred to me upon drafting this post:

I’m actually glad you raised this point, because I would have felt the exact same as you just a few years ago!

I’m gray-asexual, and I used to be a bit bothered by the rise of Bruce/Harvey shippers, because it was their canonical platonic FRIENDSHIP that mattered so much to me. I gradually warmed up to the shippers, because 1.) I realized I was ace and they probably weren’t, and 2.) they at least understood the importance of Bruce and Harvey’s bond, which is more than I can say for LOTS of official DC media.

Still, something bugged me about the ship, and I realized what it was: the lack of Gilda from the equation. She’s always been deeply important to me, especially her scant older appearances, and erasing her for a Bruce/Harvey ship (even one I’d come to appreciate) didn’t sit right with me.

But like you said, it’s not canon, and I’ve always been deeply invested in canon, even the stuff that’s frustrating and contradictory. So yeah, the throuple would have bugged me too.

Except! It all depends on WHICH canon you’re talking about!

So over the past 15 years, I’ve been obsessed with tracking down the entirety of the obscure, forgotten Batman newspaper comic strip from 1989-1991. I’ve posted the entire thing at @batman-daily, and I strongly encourage you to check it out. A couple years ago, I reread it and noticed something really interesting: the remarkable relationship between Bruce, Harvey, and the latter’s wife, Alice, who is Gilda in every way but name. They are all mutual friends, with Alice even going to visit Bruce alone to help/bully him to take care of himself.

It all reads like a perfect long-game setup for a love triangle, or for Harvey—having become Two-Face—to go after his loved ones in a jealous rage, like he did in Paul Dini’s “Two-Timer,” a story which notably showed that Grace had feelings for Bruce.

With that in mind, consider the final story arc of the newspaper strip, wherein Bruce acknowledges his OWN feelings for Alice and PASSIONATELY KISSES HER, all in a hilariously roundabout way to save her marriage to Harvey! It makes sense in context and is frankly hilarious.

And it works! Because Harvey isn’t jealous! The love triangle conflict you expect NEVER HAPPENS! Because they all love one another! And that love saves Harvey in the very end!

Was it explicitly a throuple? No, but nor have Bruce and Harvey ever canonically touched dicks. And yet the love between Bruce and Harvey in canon is true and real enough that shippers who want to make it sexual are perfectly allowed to do so, because it’s the love that matters. At least, for those of us who aren’t afraid to acknowledge the love between men, platonic or otherwise. And that love is rooted in canon.

So consider this: the mutual three-way-love between Bruce, Harvey, and Alice/Gilda is ALSO canon. That comic strip has been officially accepted as DC multiverse canon in the “Crisis on Infinite Earths: Absolute Edition,” which designated it as Earth-1289.

Furthermore, there’s something else you need to consider: the fact that Harvey HAS been used in love triangles against Bruce in several stories in recent decades. I already mentioned “Two-Timer,” but there’s also Nolan’s “The Dark Knight,” the animated “Gotham By Gaslight” film, and the Telltale game. In various ways, these stories serve to throw a wedge in the friendship between Bruce (the protagonist, whose story serves him) and Harvey (the guy who is going to lose it all, the woman included). I hate that shit. I hate the contrived drama that’s meant to stir up needless added conflict between two men who love each other.

And then, on the other hand, you have Mariko Tamaki’s Gilda story from “Batman: Black and White.” Tamaki depicted Harvey and Gilda being in a distant, loveless marriage, where even on their wedding day, he was constantly ignoring her in favor of work. The only person who could actually get his attention was Bruce.

At the time, this felt an awful lot like that problem I was talking about with the Bruce/Harvey shippers: raising up the gay ship while throwing the woman under the bus. In this case, for the purpose of doing an avenging girlboss take on Gilda. I hated that too, especially when Tamaki didn’t even follow through with the gay subtext in her next, miserable Two-Face comic.

You know that meme of a bride, groom, and best man all kissing one another, while the bride flips off the cameraman in the end? @whipbogard redrew the Tamaki wedding scene as that meme, right around the time I reread the comic strip. And suddenly, everything clicked into place for me.

After a lifetime of never, ever having any serious fandom ships, I fell in love with the idea of Bruce/Harvey/Gilda. Take what the comic strip did and bring it into the mainstream canon I love to spite the canon I hate.

In those great old Gilda stories, she saw through Harvey’s bullshit and knew how to reach him, however temporarily. She could do the same with Bruce. She’d be a valuable third voice for the ongoing toxic relationship between Bruce and Harvey, the one who could love them both while also getting to be frustrated with how fucking stupid and fucked-up both these men are.

Before she was reduced to a ride-or-die killer housewife in "The Long Halloween" (which, I'll grant you, has its own appeal), classic Gilda would actually stand up to Harvey and tell him to cut out his shit or else. I love the idea that she can also see right through Bruce, understanding how very alike he and Harvey are, even if they don't want to admit it.

Writing Gilda this way speaks to me as a longtime fan of both men, while also wanting to try to develop her place, as a woman stuck in the middle of their decades' worth of conflict and angst. She sees these men at their best, worst, and most pathetic/ridiculous, and while she's got the nerve to stand up for herself and call them out as needed, she still loves them nonetheless. For me, Gilda has become the voice for fans just like me, who are helpless to stop Batman and Two-Face from continuing the cycle of violent, toxic friendship, but still loving them nonetheless, and always hoping for the best.

So, at this point, let’s say I’ve at least managed to make you grudgingly accept my reasoning for the relationship. Even if that’s true, I’m gonna guess that the mention of a threesome felt like it came out of left field. I can’t argue with that. I wanted to actually write that as its own smutfic but, being ace, I struggle with that. But I really liked the idea, and as I was writing this, it just really wanted to be mentioned, so I included it.

The response has been positive (until now), which indicated to me that I had been successful in introducing Gilda as a viable third into a slice of fandom which had only shipped Bruce and Harvey. This is fanfic, after all, such things are expected, even encouraged, so I leaned into it.

Now, if I were ever (un?)fortunate enough to write for DC, officially? I doubt I’d have the nerve to go that far. But I’d still want to at least embrace the polycule-coded relationship between those three that we saw in the newspaper comic strip. I think it adds a whole new, refreshing spin on their ongoing dynamics, while being rooted in relationships that were established all the way back in 1942 by Bill Finger.

Finger’s story, at its heart, was all about how love can save a life. How love is the only way to defeat the villain. For Harvey Kent’s part, Gilda’s love was every bit as important as Batman’s unwillingness to give up on his friend. So I’m just taking it one step further within the freedom allowed me by fanfic.

Sorry for the length of the reply, but as you can see, I only came to this shit after several decades of thinking about 80+ years of official material. I hope I have at least been able to lessen your feelings of being jarred out of a story you otherwise seemed to appreciate. For my part, I hope to further develop the potential of this fucked-up polycule in future stories, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll be able to get you on board too. Hope to see you then!

(art by ofossart)

[bunniesanddeer]

Hiiiii! I was wondering if I could request a fic with a sick reader? I'm currently sick with the flu and am looking for a bit of comfort :(

Hi! I am sorry for taking a bit to respond. Needed some sleep after work. I wasn't sure if this is exactly what you wanted, so I am sorry if it isn't. This is just some minor fluff from the perspective of Alastor.

Sick

Pairing: Alastor X Sick!Reader

Tags: Sick reader, fluff, minor angst, allusions to sickness and Alastor's past.

Word Count: 1,048

Alastor did not like when people got sick. He did not like seeing their snotty faces, or listening to their fevered rambles. He did not like getting sick, either. The Radio Demon hated it. It reminded him of being a weak child, and it was something he actively avoided. In order to do so, he avoided sick sinners, giving them an even wider berth than the average sinner. That is, until you got sick.

It had been a normal morning up until Charlie spoke up. 

Charlie had called your name as the group made their way to the dining room. Alastor had been setting the final platters down. They were heaped full of pancakes, and waffles, something you had requested recently. He looked up from the table, making eye-contact with a confused Charlie.

“That’s weird,” she said. “Normally they’re up pretty early. Has anyone seen them?” Charlie looked at the group, and got shakes of their heads in response. 

Yes, that was odd. Normally, by this time, you were up and following Alastor around the kitchen. He rarely let you help, but you always sat in the kitchen with him. Sometimes you would ask him silly questions about his life, and sometimes you would sit, sipping your drink, and listening to whatever music he played. 

Alastor realized that it had been quiet all morning. (Something in him twinged. He had completely forgotten about your morning ritual! How rude). “Well, my dear! You get everyone settled in for breakfast. I’ll go see if they have merely lollygagged in bed too long!”

Charlie thanked him with a smile and a thumbs up. He didn’t respond, merely making his way past her and towards the stairs.

When he finally got to your room, he knocked on your door with a flourish. Alastor’s ears twitched as he listened intently. Nothing. There was only silence on the other end. He knocked again. Still nothing. With a sigh, and a mild form of discomfort, (one did not just barge into another’s sleeping space!), he opened the door, and let himself inside.

The room was quite dark. The curtains were pulled tight across the window, and the room had a musty smell to it. Something made Alastor feel the slightest bit skittish. Hmm.

There, on the bed, was a lump swallowed by blankets. He rolled his eyes. Ah! You were merely avoiding the day. With little sympathy, Alastor ripped back the blanket, to be met with the sight of you curled into the fetal position, eyes barely blinking open.

“Al?” Your voice was rough, and nasally. “Wa’s goin’ on?”

Your eyes had crusts at the corner, and your face was flushed. Your hands twitched, and your breath seemed to whistle just the slightest.

Gross. Alastor was immediately on guard. He did not want to get sick. He wanted out of this room.

But the sight of your exhausted face, made him think twice. He pondered over the situation for a moment, before gently putting the blanket back on the bed, gently tucking you in.

“I will be right back, dear. I am just going to go get some water and a thermometer,” Alastor said, taking off from the room before you could respond. His hands itched. If he was being honest, the drive to send someone else to take care of you was definitely there, but… You were ever so sweet on him. He couldn’t understand why, but he wasn’t about to repay that shred of kindness by abandoning you.

Alastor made his way to the kitchen, and to the medicine cabinet tucked in the corner. He pulled the thermometer, and after briefly reading over some labels, one of the medicinal syrups. He grabbed a cup, a plastic one he was not about to give a sick person a glass that they could drop, and filled it with water. On his way out, Charlie caught his eye. Alastor merely shook his head at her, and made his way back to your room.

Back in your room, Alastor helped you sit up, and propped the thermometer in your mouth. The back of his hand settled on your forehead, a strange habit he would never break. Your face was full of exhaustion, and it reminded him of another face, and he needed to force himself to focus. 

“Just a moment, dear. Then I can give you this water,” he said, waiting for the strange thermometer to beep. He pulled it out of your mouth with a gentle tug, and read the number. “Ah. 102. You definitely have a fever. It’s not severe, but let’s help you get better.” Alastor handed you the cup, keeping the bottom of it supported as your weak grip held it. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked as he set the cup down on the bedside table. He settled down, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“M’ throat hur’s,” you mumbled, your eyes blinking slowly. “An’ I don’ think I can eat anythin’ right now.” 

Alastor hummed. “Yes, I suppose we can let you rest now. We will get some warm broth in you later. If you do… expel later, it will be much worse on an empty stomach. Plus! Some good always helps heal the body and soul.” His claws push back some hair from your forehead. You lean into his hand, making him pause. (He would pretend the way his chest suddenly ached at the sight meant nothing. It was better that way).

“Can I have a hug?” Your voice is rough, but you’re looking at him with such hope in your eyes. Alastor can feel his smile get involuntarily tugged wider. 

“Hmm. I suppose. He crawls up onto the bed, and settles besides you. You were much smaller than him, so he towered over you, even as he settled against the back of the bed. You immediately turn and nuzzle into his side, face tucked into his ribs. His arm wraps around your shoulder and back. Alastor decides to ignore the fact that you’re sweaty, because he’s being nice, not because the way your arms wrap around him cuts off his thinking. 

“Sleep, dearest. I’ll be here.” Alastor hums to himself as you fall asleep.

He doesn’t like when people get sick, but perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing.

Asks are OPEN!

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Last Man On Earth (Aemond Targaryen x reader)

Summary: No one told King Aemond about the Song of Ice and Fire. As the daughter of Rhaenyra, you have one last mission left.

Warnings: Violence, death, mentions of sex, smut, toxic dynamics. Misuse of biblical verses

A/N: I'm about to make so many people angry.

And to the woman, the Father said:

“I will make your pains in childbearing very severe;

with painful labor you will give birth to children.

Your desire will be for your husband,

and he will rule over you.”

(The Father's Book. 4:22-26)

The letters stopped getting there on your eight and ten name day. Childishly, you waited a few more weeks, telling yourself it must be only a delay. Perhaps the war that went on, or the weather, had detained the ship that carried it. Perhaps your mother had simply forgotten. But deep down, you knew something had to have happened. Rhaenyra Targaryen was not a good woman, perhaps even not a good mother. But she had always remembered your name days.

Your brain refused to believe it, but you knew, deep in your gut, that it was not a mere delay. You had mourned too much already to deceive yourself. Luke, Jace, Joffrey, Daemon, Helaena… The time spent in the Free Cities had served you well, when it came to learning the deep pang of sadness.

First, it had been the death of Luke. Your beloved twin. Then, the loss of your home. Vanished from Dragonstone by your mother, to keep safe. After that, the separation from your half brothers, by then mere babes. It was best, not knowing where they were. If you were captured, it wouldn’t mean the end of Rhaenyra’s line.

Despite the eagerness displayed by both your mother and Daemon to get you out of the Seven Kingdoms, no one had come looking for you very hard. Every once in a while, an overzealous sell sword got lucky, and you had to relocate, yet the occasions seemed to become further and further apart. No one cared enough to keep looking for the only Targaryen unable to claim a dragon, after all these years.

But at the beginning, you had survived on a network of favors. A chain, if you will, set up by your stepfather. First, it had been that friend of his in Pentos, where you posed as his niece, a dark haired, brown-eyed thing no one actually believed came from such a man. Then, you were the daughter of a courtesan in Lys, recently reunited with your mother and with aspirations of becoming a priestess. After that, you had been the cousin of some Lord in Volantis, then a Septa in training in some forgotten convent in Myr. And so on it went. You had perfected the art of shedding names and titles as if they were an old dress. Yet you never claimed to be Valyrian.

Most would think it had been your lack of dragon, the reason for being sent away. It would even be used as an argument against Rhaenyra, in the years to come, “Isn’t she so progressive? But she sent her daughter away because deep down she knows women are not meant for war.” Others would say it was your nature, a meek and shy thing that always faded in the background when your outspoken brothers and cousins were around.

No one would ever guess the real reason. It would mean giving much credit to Rhaenyra Targaryen, the whore. She had realized, a long time ago, that war was brewing. Rhaenyra, much like you, tried lying to herself. But she knew it, deep down. So, when the time came, for her to prepare her heir, the Princess didn’t tell the secret to just Jacaerys. She told Luke and you.

An heir. A spare. A safeguard. And so, you were sent away. When the letter didn’t come, you realized your mission just started. A painfully long journey, hours in the sea. You would think, with how much you had traveled, you would have gotten your sea legs by now. But it seemed even the sea knew the truth about you.

Normally, a Princess would travel with a retinue. Or at least, if she insisted on the lack of formality, her sworn shield. You had not the funds, nor the need for it, anymore. You had left King’s Landing a girl and returned a woman. In your common cloak, and with your dark hair, no one would have ever mistaken you for a Princess.

The ship docked early in the morning, King’s Landing not yet awake. It was a merchant’s ship, filled with spices and a few other passengers. You disembarked in silence, taking in the surrounding city. It shook you to your core. These were not the streets you remembered, filled with people preparing for war. Nor were these the streets your mother talked about, when she reminisced the time when she and Daemon had fallen in love for the first time.

The city was dirty. The stench was much worse than you remembered, and quite different from other capitals you had visited. It smelt coppery and rotten, as if of old blood. At the gates, there was a head on a spike, a cloud of flies so great surrounding it that you had to bat them away to walk.

Silver hair, no eyes, the softest hint of a quirk in the mouth among the rotting flesh. The same one that you often see in the mirror. It was a head you knew well. It was your mother’s.

You tried hard not to gag, and walked past it at a breakneck speed. Careful not to stare. A woman feeling faint at the sight was expected. A woman falling to her knees and bawling her eyes out was treason.

It was hard, after that, to want to help Aegon. The pig had no redeeming qualities. He had been a bad husband to your aunt, an awful commander and a drunk. You had no doubt now he was going to be a poor King. There was, of course, the fact that he had killed your mother and not even granted her the kindness of a Valyrian funeral.

Still, you had to. You had to because the last time you had heard your mother’s voice, you had promised to. Promised that if you ever were captured, the firsts words that you would utter would be those, and not a plea to the Greens for mercy. You wiped at your eyes, harshly brushing the tears away, and put one foot in front of the other. A step. Another. Easier each time.

“This is bigger than we.” Your mother had said, the night you were to depart. Cloaked by the night, a ship was set to sail towards Pentos. Only a cargo of sheep, it declared at the port. Of sheep and a tiny princess, scared out of her mind. “No matter…” She had choked up, the death of your twin still fresh on her mind. In yours. Luke. Your other half, now gone. The possibility of losing the war, before not even a thought on your mind, now a reality. The first loss of many, even if you didn’t know it then. “Aegon’s dream. No matter who wins, in the end. You have to pass it on.”

“You will win, mother.” You had replied, brushing your own tears away. You didn’t know, that evening, that you would see her again, nearly in the same place, lifeless and empty - eyed. “You have to.”

“Oh, my dragon. My sweet dragon.” Rhaenyra had cradled your face in her hands, placing one last kiss to your forehead. “Promise me. You will help them if I die. You will tell. Because it is not about who sits on the Iron Throne now, but when the Song of Ice and Fire will come to pass.”

“Mother…” A sob broke out your throat. “Mother, I can’t. Don’t ask me to betray you like that, not when…”

“You will. You are my daughter. My only daughter. The strongest out of your siblings because you are a Targaryen, but you are also a woman. Your body was made for pain, your spirit to remain unbroken. Remind that, daughter.”

Your ship had sailed away, the figure of your mother getting smaller and smaller on the horizon. But the duty remained at the forefront of your mind for the years to come. And you intended to fulfill it. No matter what.

The state of disarray King’s Landing was in made it easy to sneak into the Keep. Among the mass of beggars and injured, no one noticed a girl making her way through the streets. You snuck in, using a passage Jace had written you about a long time ago. You got in, your presence unknown to the sleeping servants and barely awake guards.

Perhaps it was the fact that it had been Jace, who had taught you how to get in like that. Or maybe it was just a sudden fit of nostalgia. But with the sky barely pink, the Keep strangely empty, you figured there was no danger in visiting the courtyard.

The servants and the Kingsguard had not yet risen. Too early for even the lowliest of servants. Without a second thought, you lowered your hood. The space was vacant, you had dark hair and a common cloak. No one would notice you if you kept your eyes lowered.

The space looked odd, without the sparring men and the flock of admiring ladies. Still, it looked smaller than you remembered. That thought triggered a memory. Jace. Jace had said the same thing, and then he had turned and…

You walked a few steps and pressed your hand to the mark on the wall, eyes closing. A tiny sob escaped you. It was still there. So much had changed, yet the mark on the wall remained. You could picture him, clear as day, hair windswept, eyes sparkling with wonder. Slightly younger than you, sweet. Warm. Yet your hand only found cold stone.

Lost in those thoughts, you didn’t notice the light footsteps approaching you. You only did, when a familiar voice spoke, a heavy hand falling on your shoulder.

“And who…” Before you even had a chance to try to flee, your uncle, the man that you hated the most, was turning you around. Aemond. Now, nothing in your life has been easy. That was probably why you should have expected the first member of the Greens you would encounter to be him. “…Niece?”

Slowly, as not to startle him, you lifted your hands, pushing your hair back, so he could get a good look at your face. You drank him in, familiar, yet so foreign. He no longer wore the eye patch, but the sapphire eye and the scar were as prominent as ever. Responsible for the death of your twin and stepfather, and turned a formidable commander by the end of the war, having been humbled by defeat. Too many, dead by his hand.

Aemond looked startled at the sight, as if he was looking into the eyes of a ghost. His face paled, lips stretching into a tense grimace before the mask fell back into place.

“What are you doing here?”

"Uncle Aemond." You lowered your head, feeling clueless about what to say. Here’s the man you have nightmares about. Here’s the face that haunts him so. "How have you been?"

"I had better days.” Aemond took your hand, placing it in the crook of his elbow. His eye glittered dangerously, madly. “Walk with me.”

The years had done him good. That much was clear. He had now the look of a man who was used to getting his way, to never being told no. You wondered if sleep proved so elusive to him as it did to you now.

There was almost a pained expression on his face, all sharp angles, that the soft light of sunrise did nothing to light up. Aemond was skinnier than you remembered, taut muscles and dark circles under his eyes adding to his handsomeness. Your uncle had always looked otherworldly, fae like, but now, he looked barely human. Targaryens had always been closer to gods than men, Daemon had used to say. It had never resonated with you in the way it did now.

“You put me into quite the conundrum.” Aemond said, walking you towards the gardens, pace unhurried. He barely dared look at you. You figured, for him, it was more painful. Lucerys must wander his dreams in the same way it did yours, yet you had grown accustomed to seeing the face looking at you in the mirror.

For Aemond, it must be his personal haunting, seeing in you what Luke could have been, had he not cut his thread so early on. You had played that game enough. So many afternoons spent in front of a mirror, watching your reflection get further and further away from what Lucerys had been. So many, thinking that your face was blurring his.

Here’s a secret. Losing a twin is like having a severed limb. An extension of yourself you took for granted and are not, ever, getting back.

Just as you are, Aemond is gathering himself. So, you wait the silence out. You don’t notice the two guards falling into step behind you, when you pass a more transited hallway.

“What is it that you seek? Surely, you don’t intend to rally an army.” He finally asks, and it comes out wrong. Short. Clipped. But not hateful, in the way it used to be, when he crowed Lady Strong in your ear. It feels wrong. Calculated. Like a dragon playing with its food.

“No, Kepa.” You muttered, words sweet, hoping High Valyrian would soothe him. There is something in you telling you to run. Pure, raw instinct, the one we all have. When you see a predator, you run and don’t look back.

Aemond turned towards you, and raised your hood, placing it tenderly over your head. The touch a parent would give to a child. You closed your eyes, delighting in the softness of the touch. You would despise yourself for it later, thinking you had encouraged him. But right now, it has been so long since someone with your same blood touched you. Someone who shares your eyes. For a second, the familiarity makes you think of better days, when both of you were children and Jace and Aegon and him ran around these same halls.

“If you go now, I won’t chase you, little niece. Too much blood has already been spilled for me to wear the Conqueror’s crown. I do not know what prompted you to come here, but I can…” But whatever he was going to say, it was nothing more but static in your ears. You felt like one of the dolls your mother gifted you when you were a child. Head full of wool, limbs weak as if made from string.

His mouth kept moving, lips forming words in a distance. Yet you didn’t hear. Your mind could only fixate on one thing. You stumbled, feet getting tangled in the edge of your dress and cloak, or maybe you were just dizzy with shock. At your sudden move, Aemond’s grip tightened against your arm.

“Niece. Niece.” He muttered urgently, pulling you outwards with such force it would bruise. “You didn’t know, I take it.”

“I didn’t know, Ke… Your Grace.” You dropped into a hurried curtsy, pulse beating loudly in your ears. Your body felt like it was on fire. It explained the changes in him. It made sense, despite your reluctance. Aemond wore the crown well.

“What did you think, byka tolīmorghon?” Aemond chuckled, humorlessly, pulling you to your feet. “So it wasn’t defiance, but ignorance. Hardly a worse sin.”

“I thought… Aegon, or his children…” You trailed off, realizing what it actually meant. If Aegon was not wearing the crown his family had fought so hard to place on his head…

“Dead. Aegon killed your mother, but not before she gutted him like a pig.” Aemond shook his head, seemingly unaffected by the topic of discussion. “His hubris killed him, more than Rhaenyra. He dared set a dragon against a Targaryen, but didn’t count on her being the truest of them two.” Then, as if realizing what he said, he fell silent. Remembering the time he too had dared set a dragon against a Targaryen, but won.

“Experience always trumps, does it not, Your Grace?” You regretted the jab the moment it left your mouth. Aemond let go of your arm, angrily pushing you away. His hand went to his belt. You looked at the sword, hanging there, and felt the urge to retch. Dark Sister. Not only had he killed Daemon, he had taken his sword as a souvenir.

“I don’t know what to do with you.” He said, purple eye burning with anger. His frame towered over you, yet you didn’t flinch. You were the blood of the dragon, as much as he was. More so. Stronger, with an iron will. Because you were half Targaryen, but you were a Targaryen woman. “The blood of Rhaenyra lives on you, contesting my claim to the throne. Despite it, you have marched into my hands willingly. The Seven know with what purpose, byka tolīmorghon. Do you have a death wish?”

“How many dead, Kepa? How many of us left?” You needed to know. Needed because it was essential to your task. No matter how much it hurt.

“None of yours.” Aemond said, and you covered your mouth with your hand, choking back a sob. “None of mine, either. Mother and Helaena… Neither could take it. I rule over ash and bones. The great houses, diminished beyond belief. The dragons… I rue spilling your blood, niece. 'Tis the source of my conflict.”

“I came here to tell you a secret.” You blurt out, before he gets second thoughts. Your eyes keep watch of his sword arm, just because his hand is too close to his belt. It’s not because it makes it easier, not looking at him. At all.

Aemond listens to your story in silence. You tell him all you know, from the blade your mother had said still exists, to the belief your Grandfather and her had in the dream. How he needs heirs, desperately. Anyone, as long as it is his blood.

“I had suspected.” He finally says, shoulders dropping. Aemond looks exhausted. You wonder exactly how heavy the crown is on his head, how much of a burden it is to try to rebuild a country that has been through a civil war and a conquest in less than fifty years. The coffers must be empty, and he speaks of no nobles to tax. To do so on his own… You would go mad. Perhaps he is, already. Too much blood and the latent Targaryen madness, always ready to pounce. It had taken your mother, too.

But there is no one else to rule. You don’t voice those thoughts. You just stare at him, waiting to be dismissed.

“There is no written mention of it, of course. Or else either your stepfather or I would have found out. I have read every book on our history I could get my hands into. I bet Daemon did, too.” And he speaks of it so casually, too. You want to slap him. You can’t. To do so it’s treason. Instead, you curtsy at him, intent on being dismissed, even if you have to prompt him.

He glares. He does not speak a word. You risk a look at his face. Aemond is angrier than you have ever seen. And it’s nothing like it was before the war. It’s a cold thing. A quiet anger, that twists his face into something that reminds you of the portraits of Maegor the Cruel. You take a step back. Then another. Somehow, you know, he will not let you leave these gardens alive. You still try.

“You are the same as your mother.” Aemond said, quietly. You stop, dead in your tracks. “Just as irresponsible.”

“Excuse me?”

“You came here, to drop your mess in my lap, and now you intend to leave?” His hand grips at your wrist, painfully tight. Tight enough to bruise. Aemond snarls, baring his teeth.

“What do you want, Your Grace?” Your tone comes out pleading. Scared. Like a dog showing his belly to a more dominant one. You hate it. “Let me go.”

“You think I will let you leave, byka tolīmorghon?” Aemond laughs. It sounds… Ugly to hear, all twisted. It holds no humor, only disdain. For the poor, silly little girl who thought she could get away.

“Are you going to kill me?” You take another step back, shrugging off his grip. Someone unsheathes his sword. Startled, your eyes are drawn to the source of the noise. And when his guards started to approach? They are cornering you. You have one on the left and Aemond is taking the right. Your back hits the wall.

“No, you won’t walk away that easily. You are staying, niece.” Aemond pressed closer, cornering you even more. Here was a man pushed past his limits, his eye seemed to say. A sudden thought crossed your mind. He was the King. But there was no mention of a Queen.

“I… No. No, uncle. Let me go, now.” You started struggling, dread pooling in your stomach. Surely, you had misinterpreted his meaning. He could not, not when he prided himself on being a trueborn Targaryen.

Aemond merely smirked. It was clear he had noticed, by your increased panic, that you finally understood. A slap. Skin against skin, both of his hands trapping your wrists now. The sound, so loud to you, so similar to the closing of cuffs. He couldn’t. Not with how much he scoffed at your bastard, dirty blood.

“You have Targaryen’s blood. And I need a wife. Kind. Sweet. Pure.” His grip shifted, now holding both of your wrists in one hand. With the other, he pulled you close. You didn’t resist. You just looked at him, helpless. The guards, probably used to seeing much worse from their King, didn’t even flinch. “Strong. To be queen, to give me many heirs.” Aemond nuzzled the top of your hair, hands coming to grasp at your waist, hugging you against him.

“You are insane.” You tried to shrug him off, aware that if you kicked or pushed him too hard, he could have you charged with treason and put to the sword. You didn’t dare fight him in earnest and he knew it. Trapped. He had you cornered.

“Maybe. Maybe. But you are staying. And you know it.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, and you shrieked, as if your skin was crawling at his touch. It was not. You hated it. He was warm and hugging you, and you hadn’t been comforted in so long. None of the guards tried to help you. They didn’t even glance at you.

“That’s not… You can’t, Your Grace, please.”

“You could have sent a raven. Or a pageboy. Yet here you are, pretty little tolīmorghon. Mine to ruin. You will marry me.” You understood, then, what he meant to do. Aemond didn’t even like you. He was going to break you. Just as he was, shouldering the same weight you had tried to push on him.

Aemond was as tortured as he was dutiful. He wanted to drag you into his hell, too. Because it had been unfair, in his eye, that so many of your family had escaped responsibility by death. He was not giving you the chance to do the same.

“Uncle…” You begged, starting to tear up. Aemond released you, roughly. He gestured to a guard, who wordlessly slid into step besides you.

“Go change, niece. That is not proper attire for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” And with a little shove, you were made to march towards your old chambers by his guards.

The Mother blessed them and said to them,

“Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, and over every living creature that moves on the ground.”

(The Smith's book. 1:32-36)

“Your Grace.” The maid said, becoming him over. Aemond rose from his seat immediately at the sight of her. Corlys, his hand, remained unbothered and nodded in approval. He, too, felt this matter was more important. Ambition. The death of many good men.

“Ah, Margaret. Has the Queen finally worn herself out?” Aemond asked her, noticing her slightly concerned expression. He wasn’t too worried. No dragon liked chains. A bit of destruction was expected from your sudden captivity.

“Your Grace, I don't think she is fine.” The maid whispered, worriedly.

“Did she hurt herself?” Corlys asked, plainly. Aemond knew he was not truly interested in your condition. You two had no contact, since you were sent out of the Seven Kingdoms, and there was no family resemblance. He only cared that you were able to sit on the throne next to Aemond. And it was fine by him. Corlys could look out for the Velaryon last name, Aemond would look out for you.

“No, she's… sitting there.”

“Crying her eyes out?” Aemond nearly snorted at the question. It was clear your alleged grandfather didn’t know you.

“Staring blankly at the walls.” The maid answered, and at that, Aemond grew slightly concerned. You must be planning something. Better be on guard.

“It's a good sign. She has calmed down.” And as Corlys reassured the maid, Aemond left the room, walking towards your chambers. He made sure to only leave his sword behind, carrying instead a dagger. Least you got ideas. He didn’t fully trust you yet. Slowly, he opened the door, surprised by the amount of destruction you had caused in such a short amount of time.

“What a tantrum, niece.” Aemond spoke, softly, eyeing the torn curtains you had knotted together and were in the process of throwing down the window. The bed was sheetless, you had clearly used those too for your makeshift rope.

“Back off or I will jump.” You warned, still busy with your rope. Aemond shook his head.

“Now, I would say throwing down the table and chairs was overkill. You have frightened your maid.” He slowly advanced, unbuckling his belt. You glared.

“Don’t you dare!”

Aemond nearly laughed. He was the King and here were you, a tiny slip of a girl, trying to tell him what to do. Your eyes darted nervously towards the window. He knew as well what you were thinking. It was a big fall.

“Helaena jumped out of one of those.” He got even closer, and tugged the makeshift rope out of your hands. You let go of it easily, too distressed to really think. “I’ll not make the same mistake as Aegon.”

He would not. You were not escaping this. It must be fate, what else? Out of all the people, you were the secret keeper. Sister to Lucerys. The last of your line. Aemond was the last of his, too. The two last true Targaryens, out of all.

Aemond liked the symmetry of it all, he had realized. There was something about it being the death of your twin what started the war, and your marriage ending once for all the division in the Kingdoms. Life and death, both by his hands. You would eventually give him a son. He was no dreamer, but he could feel it. And when his son finally took the throne, a perfect mix of Greens and Blacks, all wounds would be healed. That would be Aemond’s legacy. Finally mending things.

It was not all, though. It was a form of penance, too. A way of never letting him forget, through the rot of it all, that it had all been his fault. In his mind’s eye, he could see you growing older, next to him. And for every line that appeared on your face or neck, Aemond would wonder if that’s how Lucerys would have looked.

Aemond moved even closer. You slapped him, uncaring of the consequences. What a fierce little thing you had grown into. Hot headed. Not very queenly. Aemond pursed his lips and shook his head, taking the slap without complaint. You were entitled to your rage, having the moral high ground. Your hands were not stained like his. But he couldn’t stand for you escaping. He needed you.

So when you tried to duck around him, Aemond pounced. It was not that he was very convinced of the dream. He had a distaste for dreamers, even if Helaena had been one. They often spoke in riddles, never saying what they meant. For all you knew, Aegon’s dream could have been a metaphor for some other event and not a great threat. But you were his path to redemption.

So many nights he had spent on his knees, at the beginning of the war. Praying for a sign, or a chance to fix things. To fix what he had broken. Along the way, he had lost faith. Perhaps the Seven didn’t listen to him, for his soul was already tainted. Perhaps, all the death around him was a punishment for all his faults. And then you showed up. His byka tolīmorghon. His little ghost.

What was he supposed to think, besides that you were the answer to his prayers? After all, he had been favored by the Gods, or so everyone said. It was the Seven, who gave him the Iron Throne. It was his godly given right to rule. Surely, your return was a sign.

You didn’t even make it to the door. Aemond grabbed you by the hair, dark strands curling around his fingers as if rings. How fitting.

You were shrieking something, but he was not really paying attention. It was probably a cry for mercy or insults. He was not too worried about it. Aemond was more concerned about restraining you, else you try to hurt yourself. You had little to lose, after all, and were stubborn enough for it. Oh, he could feel the headache starting.

He needed you. And you thought you needed him. It was easier than it looked. You two could collaborate. The Seven knew he required all the help he could get, with ruling a country that was more ashes and corpses than real people. You could not exactly get Targaryen heirs without a Targaryen husband, and apart from the lost babes, there was simply no one else around.

“Why must you vex me so, tolīmorghon?” Aemond marched you toward the vanity, dragging you by the hair. He threw everything that was on top of it away with a dismissive gesture, and slammed your chest down on it, careful not to slam your head in the process. “You always make everything difficult.”

His grip shifted, from your hair to the back of your neck, making sure to keep you down. You whimpered. The slam had clearly scared you. Good, Aemond thought. Perhaps a little fear would make you listen.

With ruthless efficiency, he had tugged your wrists behind your back, kicking your legs open without a second thought. Tying his belt around your wrists had been easier, once you started to cry. It was clear the consequences of your actions were starting to sink in and that you had no much fight left.

“Not so eloquent now, niece?” Aemond couldn’t resist but taunt, pulling you to your feet. The motions were practiced. He tried not to think from where he had acquired that knowledge.

“Fuck you, kinslayer.” You screamed. Aemond laughed. It seemed you had fight left, then. A shame the insult was not very good. The moniker didn’t hold the weight it once had, after the war. Half of the Targaryens had turned into kinslayers by the end of it.

“Oh, if you only knew.” He grabbed a handkerchief from the floor, no doubt one of the ones that had fallen from his purge of the vanity, and held it in front of your face. “Open up.” He demanded.

You glared and turned your head away. Aemond pinched at your nose. You, ridiculous little thing, held your breath until you started to go red. There were tears on your cheeks, and your lips were turning an alarming shade of purple. Aemond idly wondered if it was from the lack of air or how hard you were pressing them together.

“You do realize you either open up or you pass out, and I gag you anyway, right?” He arched an eyebrow.

You opened up, finally, spluttering and coughing. A shame he stuck the cloth inside your mouth just then.

“Now.” Aemond ordered, full of the confidence only ruling could give. “I will speak and you will listen. Do you understand?”

The cloth muffled your scream.

Women. So tiresome. Aemond rolled his eye, waiting until you tired of the dramatics. Your stubbornness was admirable, in truth. Like a carriage wreck, he couldn’t stop looking at how you worked yourself up. You were both screaming and bawling your eyes out at the same time. After a few minutes of ceaseless struggle, you slumped down, sweaty from the exertion.

“You will bathe after this, of course. I can’t have the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms walking around like that.” He finally offered, amused. “I will not hurt you, little fool. This marriage will help unite the Kingdoms again.”

You stared blankly. Aemond nodded, guessing it was a bit unfair to wait for your input.

“You see. There is still division between Blacks and Green. Were you able to produce a child, both claims would rally behind him.”

This time, you seemed slightly more frightening. Probably at the prospect of laying with him, which, fair. He had not had such a good first experience either, and it had taken him quite a long time with Alys to even try again. Aemond guessed it was likely more frightening, as a woman. It didn’t matter whether your body responded or not, it was happening anyway.

“I won’t hurt you.” He repeated, softly, and grabbed at another handkerchief to clean your face. He kneeled in front of you, despite your panicked attempts to pull back, and softly dabbed at your wet cheeks. “I think two years is a prudent time to get you to give yourself up to me. I would give you a lifetime if I could. But we are not getting any younger, and I need an heir.”

You tilted your head to the side, as if questioning. You were rather puppy-like. It reminded him of your twin even more. Aemond gave you a sad smile.

“You were insistent on getting heirs made, if I understood correctly. I think we can manage to raise children that will not slaughter each other.”

A scoff. Aemond wiped the drool from the corners of your mouth next. Quite undignified, really. Oh, if his mother was watching him from above, she would be laughing at his expense. He had had to learn the art of cooperation the hard way, but it had proved fruitful in getting his ends. Much more than all the anger he held in his youth.

“How hard can it be?”

Your glare was his only answer. Aemond knew he was slowly getting through you. Perhaps a little more kindness? Empathy? What a foreign thing. He had not exercised that much, in the last few years. Ruthlessness was what had given him the throne. But he was willing to try, to get what he wanted.

“You have a point there. Well. I will not treat you badly. I will be a kind husband to you. You will rule by my side.”

This time, your look shifted from distrust to disbelief.

“Funny thing, isn’t it? Neither of us were meant to get the throne, yet…” Aemond shook his head, and softened his tone. He knew just the words to make you budge. “I need your help, if we are going to pull this off. You must truly believe in that dream, if you risked coming here.”

A nod. He had you. Aemond tried not to smirk, knowing it could undo all his work at gaining your collaboration.

“Can I trust our agreement, then, and take the gag off?”

You nodded again. He pulled the cloth off, careful not to hurt your mouth.

“If you are good, I will untie you next.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a pious man?” It was a curious thing, that that was the first sentence you chose to say. Still, Aemond didn’t want to break the fragile trust that was forming between the two of you, and so he decided to indulge you.

“I’m not certain, anymore.” He answered, carefully. It was the truth. He had been so sure, once, that the Seven guided his steps. That the Crone lit up the right path for him to take, that the Father led him to fair decisions. It had all shattered when the Stranger had entered your lives.

Yet here you were. A gift, from the Maiden herself. A Queen, for a King who had nothing. Much like she had done for Hugor of the Hill.

“Isn’t there something on the Seven Pointed Star about this?”

“There is also something about attempting on one’s own life.” Aemond glared at you, pushing your chin up with a finger to take a good look at your eyes. He was deeply displeased by your threat, even if it was an empty one. It had rattled him, the reminder of Helaena. “Any attempts on your life will be dealt with swiftly.”

Aemond couldn’t lose anyone else. He couldn’t see Luke fall to his death again. Even if it meant locking all the windows in the Keep, and taking away all the knives. Or keeping you tied with silk ropes. Whatever that was necessary.

“You said you wouldn't hurt me.”

“Oh, it won't hurt you. Too much.” And it was the truth. He had learned quite a few interesting methods of discipline, while he traveled to different settlements during the war. Aemond was willing to practice them on you, if it meant you stayed by his side.

And though a man might prevail against one who is alone, two will withstand him—a threefold cord is not quickly broken.

(The Mother's book. 12: 22-23)

It was an odd feeling. Getting ready for your wedding in your mother's chambers. Much to the King's displeasure, none of your old gowns fitted you. He had offered to get you new ones, but after seeing that Aemond had kept most of the rooms in the Keep untouched, you had chosen to wear one of your mother's.

It still smelt like her. Entering the room felt like time had stopped. Everything was exactly as it had been, except there was no Rhaenyra sitting on the couch.

You opened the chest of gowns, placing it carefully on the rug. At your back, Ser Willis cleared his throat. With an annoyed noise, you stepped back.

“Do not be angry, my Queen.” The Kingsguard said, as he opened the trunk and efficiently took away all the bottles and pointy objects he could find. “The King does this with your welfare in mind.”

After the incident at your old chambers, you had been moved into Aemond's personal ones. He was never there, after all, being an insomniac and a workaholic. But his had the great advantage of being near the ground floor.

Your behavior had allowed you to graduate from bound wrists and a gag to a constant shadow. Willis Fell had been tasked with your protection from all threats on your life, including yourself.

“I didn't really mean to attempt on my life!” You said, frustrated. “And do not call me Queen, I'm a Princess in my own right.”

“To a claim that no longer exists, your Grace.” The man repeated, cheerfully. “It matters not who you were, but who you are now. If King Aemond says you are to be called Queen, then you are.”

You huffed, angrily, and ignored him, quickly picking two gowns. Aemond had demanded they were in the Blacks' colors and not the Velaryons. It had brought great displeasure to the Lord Hand. Your grandfather had wanted to see you enter the Sept in his colors. He would have to conform with handing you to Aemond.

Corlys Velaryon made you have mixed feelings. On one side, there was the fact that he had changed sides faster than one could change cloaks, after your mother was dead. On the bright side, he was the only ally you had in court. The only person willing to oppose Aemond for your sake.

It was a curious choice, on Aemond's part, to keep him so close. It was a good show of unity and forgiveness, a proof of the noble heart of the King. Or maybe it was because he had control over other, low-level threats to his throne. You had heard Rhaena and Baela had survived the war. They had already confirmed their attendance to the joyous occasion, but you were not allowed to meet them alone. You would have to wait until tonight, when the feast took place, or even tomorrow, at the wedding.

“What do you think, Ser Willis?” You showed the man two gowns, one crimson red and one black. “I do not think black is proper for a wedding, but wearing two crimson gowns seems too much. Perhaps… The black one at the feast?”

"I think this one is a bit…” The knight trailed off, and you looked at it closely. He was right. It was the dress of a matron, too dark-colored for a wedding, too grown up for you. Your mother had worn it the night that your uncle made his toast. Gods, you had all been so young. You remembered how beautiful she had looked in it. “What about the dress your mother wore for her own wedding? It is still there. I saw it.”

You lifted some dresses, searching for a light colored one. A beautiful gown of white and gold, one you had discarded because it didn’t fit the criteria Aemond had set, and its significance was lost on you. You didn’t know that had been your mother’s wedding dress. Rhaenyra at eighteen had been a petite woman. You clutched at it, wondering if it would even fit you. It could probably be adjusted, or copied.

“Thank you, Ser Willis.” It didn’t hurt to be polite with the man. He had been on Aegon’s side, and had been quite outspoken with his disapproval of your mother and Daemon. But he was only doing his job. Aemond was the one who had ordered you not to be left alone at any time. Sometimes, you were grateful for it. It helped ward off your loneliness. Other times, it got suffocating.

“A pleasure, my Queen. The King will not be able to keep his eye off you. A good match, you are.” He offered, smiling at you. You had learned he seemed to thrive on courtly manners.

You gave him a sad smile and passed him the dresses to carry. As you walked, you noticed it was starting to get late.

“May we ask for the maid? Margaret? I wish to change for the feast.” Your guard nodded, and repeated the order to the guard outside Aemond’s chambers.

Margaret was the one that had the duty to guard you when you were doing womanly things. It was a good system, you had to give it to Aemond. He had thought of everything. It gave time for Ser Willis to rest and eat, and it gave you slightly more privacy and a companion.

You despised his thoughtfulness. You didn’t want to like him. He had murdered your twin, after all. But your mother had murdered Aegon, even if in self-defense, and ordered the murder of one of Helaena’s kids. Children. There seemed to be no morals in any of the sides.

After your forced truce, you had seen little of Aemond. He had slowly given back your freedom, in the two weeks he had had you by his side. The planning of a royal wedding in such little time kept you busy. You never wanted Alicent, in your life, but you found yourself longing for her. It was hard, after a life of exile, to remind all the stuffy rules of courtesy in the Seven Kingdoms. Alicent had been great at even, much more than your mother and Daemon.

At first, you had been constantly on edge, as if you were waiting for the executioner’s sword to fall on your neck at any time. But the more the wedding approached, the more you realized Aemond had no devious plan to lull you into a false sense of safety and then kill you. His only devious plan was marrying you and giving you half the responsibilities of running the Red Keep.

Slowly, he had been piling them on you. The better you behaved, the more you were trusted to oversee. It was not the incentive he probably thought it was, but it kept you busy. It was you, who had to supervise the servants and manage the finances, now. You were consulted on what should be served at feasts, asked about settling arguments. Aemond’s wife in anything but name, the acting Lady of the Red Keep. Soon, noble children would be sent here, and it would be your responsibility to mind their education.

It was an adjustment. Making sure there was sufficient in the stores was hard, as it was monitoring where all the money went. It was not like being the wife of any lord because your finances impacted on those of the Kingdom. It had brought you closer to the servants, asking for advice on how to do your duty properly. And it had allowed you to learn quite a few things about Aemond.

One. He was an insomniac. He went to bed late, when you were already asleep, and left after only four hours, five at most. Aemond might be sharing your bed, but you never saw him. He disliked the dark, too. He used more candles on his nightly walks than you did in a week.

Two, he forgot to eat often. Aemond was an overall workaholic, and thought everyone was, too. Frequently, his meetings would drag on and on, and he would skip lunch. It was a comical sight, when he was with the small council. The lords, the Hand included, would flock out of the room as soon as they were dismissed. Then, in a very undignified manner, they would dilapidate the kitchen, messing up your tracking of the stores.

Third, he had taken a liking to poetry. It had greatly perplexed you, when you found that your household now included two poets. You had grown used to minding them too, and tolerating their strange ways.

Margaret entered silently, placing a bucket of water in a corner. You took your hair down and started to brush it, hurriedly. Margaret went to attend to the clothes you would wear to give you privacy to bathe. When all the painstakingly process of getting a Queen ready was done, you exited Aemond’s chambers and ran right into him.

He was already dressed for the feast, wearing a rich black doublet, the Conqueror’s crown on his head. His long silver hair was held back in a half updo, much simpler than what your father used to wear. Still, he looked regal.

“Ah, niece. I see you are ready.” Aemond offered his arm, gently. Careful not to move abruptly, less he spooked you. “Shall we?”

You take his arm, fighting the impulse to flinch in disgust. Your brother’s killer! The thought echoes around your head. But also, the last Targaryen standing. You need to get used to it, you promised your mother you would not allow the Song of Ice and Fire to ruin Westeros. Targaryens have to multiply. If it meant carrying his child, then so be it.

Aemond says nothing. He seems amused by your internal conflict. You will be his Queen, soon enough. His touch has to stop surprising you. It could be much worse. Aemond could have killed you, or kept you locked up. Instead, he has offered something very generous.

The hall looks exactly as when you left. The faces, though, are changed. Despite the houses' colors and sigils being the same, you don't recognize anyone but the Hand. There is also Tyland Lannister, who you know sits on the small council. Or you hope it's him. You were never able to tell the Lannisters apart.

Most of the crowd gasps when you and Aemond enter the hall. The dress was a statement, one that was not seen in quite a few years. Red and black, and previously worn by Rhaenyra, it made clear where you had stood.

“...So he is going through it…?”

“Look at her, the bastard daughter of that whore…”

“Wasn't he engaged to a Baratheon?”

“... Worse than Maegor, the bitch… Taxes through the skies…”

“She is his niece!”

You braved the whispers, clinging to Aemond's arm. Idly, you considered running away. Far from all this nonsense and back to the Free Cities. It was too much, hearing these people call your mother a whore and the second coming of Maegor, when her head was still on a spike, and they sat here, plump and rosy from the good life.

You knew Rhaenyra's reign had not turned out well. And that whatever her and Daemon had been up to, it had driven her mad in the end. She had executed and murdered many, and been a poor ruler, blinded by panic. But she was still your mother. A human being. A Queen. Whose head hung on the city's gates as you were made to marry her replacement.

When you finally made it to the table, Aemond pulled your chair out for you, and pressed his palm against your back. A warning. You didn't know how, but he could tell what you were thinking. He would not tolerate any kind of scene from you, he had stated. Nothing that made him look weak, or you would regret it.

“Good evening.” Aemond said, remaining standing behind your chair. It was an odd position to choose while addressing his subjects, but it was one that showed his power over you. “I thank you all for coming to witness such… Joyous occasion.” He smirked, squeezing your shoulder. You couldn't fight the slight dropping of your fake smile.

“Tomorrow, the division between the Blacks and Greens will finally be over. And it's all thanks to this wonderful woman.” Aemond took your hand and raised it to his lips. He certainly knew how to put on a show for the masses. When you were children, he had been much less charming, although he had had his moments of political savviness. The engagement to the Baratheons, for example. His taste for the dramatic, unfortunately, had always been there. Take that awful speech, for example.

His lips were cold against your skin. You shuddered.

"A toast." He said, looking directly into your eyes. The perfect picture of the dutiful fiancée. You glared, but gave him an even brighter smile. You disliked being made a show. “To my niece. The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

The crowd cheered. Aemond sat down next to you, prompting the servants to start serving the food. You didn't speak a word. It was the first time you ate together after two weeks of sharing the same chambers.

You poured him wine, noticing your grandfather's expectant eyes on you. The conversation on the table was stilted. The King didn't care much for noise, so the council spoke quietly and formally. None thought to include you.

"Thank you." Aemond said, and placed a few cuts of meat on your plate.”When you finish dinner, I will be expected to socialize. You are welcome, but not forced to do the same.”

“Are Rhaena and Baela here?” You looked at him, eagerly. They were the only people you were excited to see.

“We have agreed it would be best if you saw them tomorrow, after the wedding.” Corlys interjected, smoothly. Aemond grunted. Ah, how cunning of the Hand. To meet your once sisters-in-law to be after you couldn't escape.

“I understand. Well. I think I will enjoy the company of your council, Your Grace.” Your tone was polite, but firm. No room for argument. All these stuffy lords, eager to go spend money in the brothels, were now stuck in your company. It surely wasn't winning Corlys any friends.

You smirked. Aemond finished eating, and with a kiss to your crown that was all for show, departed.

At first, you made conversation with the Grand Maester, about the latest book releases and how the war had nearly killed the industry.

"Not enough people want to read, your Grace. Terrible. I do hope, when we open the Red Keep to children again, you will teach them the importance…"

"I think that's enough." Corlys said, offering you his hand. "I think you owe this old man a dance, granddaughter." And he couldn’t lose the chance to lord his relationship with you all over the rest of the lords. It would be simply too much to ask. He was still the same ambitious man he had been back then, when you didn’t really know he was not your grand sire.

"Of course." You took his hand and allowed him to lead you into a polite dance. Your grandfather was a graceful, still a handsome man. You could see what Princess Rhaenys had seen in him, once.

“I do not begrudge you, Your Grace.” Corlys said, as he twirled you.

“Begrudge me?” You asked, once he had pulled you in once again.

“You and I know your father was not going to sire children in any other way. He loved Jacaerys, Lucerys and you like you were his own.” He whispered, quickly. Your smile froze. Was he really…? “Joffrey more so, since he got to pick his name” Corlys teased and you relaxed. He was offering you his support, and you were not fool enough to refuse him. Despite not knowing his motives.

“I… You shouldn’t.”

“I know. Your future husband would have my head. But know that you are Laenor’s daughter in all the ways that matter." Corlys gave you a polite little bow, as the song ended. His parting words left you more shaken than you wanted to admit. "And that come fifty years down the line, no one will remember what you looked like, or who sired you. They will only remember your maiden name, Velaryon, and your husband’s."

You were alone in the middle of the dance floor, too stunned to even speak. So that was his motivation. The Velaryon name, on the Iron Throne. The accounts later would call you the granddaughter of the Lord Hand, much like Queen Alicent had been the daughter of Otto.

A new song started. The crowd started to dance again, pushing at you. Immediately, Ser Willis started to make his way towards you. His ever vigilant eye never lost anything. Deciding to make his job easier, you walked towards a less crowded corner, so he could reach you. But as you waited, another man approached.

“Lady Velaryon.” The man dropped into a bow, so deep it might as well be kissing the floor. A Stark, by the sigil on his cloak. Quite handsome too. He was around Aemond’s age, but looked much friendlier. You jolted your memory. Jacaerys had mentioned a Stark in his letters. "You look just like your brother."

"Cregan Stark?" You asked. At his nod, you gave him a small curtsy. “Lord Stark, pleased to meet you.”

Ser Willis, still far away, touched the shoulder of another Kingsguard. They both crept closer.

"Are you safe?" Cregan grasped your hands in his, in quite a bold move. To touch the King’s betrothed, it was an offense that could be punishable by death if Aemond so chose. And none of the people gathered in the hall would blame him for it. Daemon had killed men for much less, and so had your mother. Targaryens weren’t rational, when they thought someone to be theirs.

Cregan’s words were spoken in a hushed tone, but not enough for your guards not to hear. You gave them a nervous look.

"Yes." You answered to Cregan, hoping it was convincing enough that he wouldn’t try some foolish plan to liberate you, when in fact, you hardly needed one. Your agreement with Aemond was enough. You truly had nowhere to go, you were tired of running, and you were fulfilling your mission. It was your mother’s will. She had said at any cost. You won’t disappoint. If Cregan Stark wanted to take you away from your only purpose, he would have to drag you away, kicking and screaming.

“You don't have to marry him, my lady. The North would back you, you could have an army.” Your smile froze. Those were dangerous words, no matter how low they were muttered. Treacherous. Was everyone in this feast intent on getting killed?

“I am marrying him because it is my duty.” You squeezed his hands, hoping he would get the message. Ser Willis stepped closer to you, ready to intervene. The other guard went away, surely to look for reinforcements.

“Is it, to marry your family's killer? My lady, there is no need…”

“There is something stronger, binding the King and me.” You interrupted, firm but polite. Why didn’t he get the hint? A pair of arms snaked around your waist. So the guard had not gone looking for reinforcements, but Aemond. You relaxed into his hold, knowing he wouldn’t let Cregan Stark take you away and try to save you from yourself.

Aemond pressed a kiss to the top of your hair, the cold crown he wore bumping against your head. You were not a small woman, but he had to lean down to be able to kiss you. By the look on Lord Stark’s face, it didn’t make him less intimidating in the least.

"Ah, Lord Cregan. How good it is to see you.” His voice was mocking, taunting. “What are you doing with my betrothed?”

“I… Your Grace.” The Stark flustered, helplessly looking at you to save him. You gave him a cold look, knowing that if you intervened, Aemond could take it as a show of favor towards the man. Not only would it doom him more, but it would also get you punished. You didn’t fancy walking into your wedding with bound wrists.

“Surely not convincing her to run away?”

“I…” Your eyes closed, trying not to think of the destiny of this man who tried to help you and now was going to have a bloody ending for his troubles.

“I know many men would want a wife like her.” His grip turned slightly more possessive, hands digging into the bodice of your dress. Insinuating something. Painting a nice picture for Cregan Stark. “You were recently widowed, were you not?” Dismissive. A power play. One of his favorite things.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Beautiful. Learned. Strong.” Aemond hooked his chin over your shoulder, smiling at the other man. As if you were nothing more than a prize to be won. But the nickname was too much. You lean back, and stomped on his foot. Aemond made a gurgling, pained sound. The Stark raised his eyebrows in surprise, but made no comments. He surely was thinking about how he had misread the situation.

Cregan Stark would never understand it. He was a good, honorable man. And you and Aemond were everything but. He was tainted by war, you were tainted for rolling in the mud with him. Both dishonorable, both self-interested. Both lying to yourselves, telling you were doing this for the greater good.

Targaryen blood called to each other like moths to a flame. Slowly, you stumbled into each other's arms, thinking yourselves the last man and woman on earth. You were not. If you were to have a child with any other man, those children would still be Targaryens.More so if Aemond had children with another woman. Perhaps, it would even be more useful, producing more children. Neither of you voiced it.

It was an excuse, the Song of Ice and Fire. But a useful one, for both of you.

"Worry not, wolf. I know a woman like her is enough to lead any man to insanity.” Aemond squeezed your hip, and you knew, the snide little remark was not for Cregan but for you. “I will take your words as they are, nothing more than courtly love and deep admiration for my niece.”

“Cursed is the ground because of you;

through painful toil you will eat food from it

all the days of your life.

It will produce thorns and thistles for you,

and you will eat the plants of the field.”

(The Father's book 5:12-16)

It was a strange sight. In the Velaryon’s cloak, all dark hair and eyes. It was painfully obvious to anyone with eyes, the truth of your heritage. Yet none of those who stood in the Sept dared say a word.

The good thing about being King? The truth was what he said it was. Aemond suddenly understood his father more and more. Viserys had chosen to deny the truth until the bitter end, and there was nothing that could be done about it. As long as the King protected you, bastard or not, you were safe.

Aemond wondered if you realized the amount of trust you were placing in him. Should his Hand decide to deny your heritage, it was only Aemond’s word that shielded you from being put to the sword. Still, if the choice was between you and Corlys Velaryon, Aemond already knew who he would pick.

You had not opposed him. You had not installed a maritime block on the Seven Kingdoms, making the common folk suffer from the lack of food for not declaring for Rhaenyra. You had not switched sides.

As you approached, on the arm of the same man that he was currently plotting to kill on your behalf, Aemond was a little dumbfounded by how beautiful you were. When he had first seen you, all grown up, he had thought you pretty. A sufficient distraction to curb his loneliness. Now he knew, you were not pretty. You were otherworldly.

You didn’t look anything like a true Valyrian. Your beauty was not the same as the one his cousins had. He had been foolish, thinking that your darker features put a damper on your beauty. The sun kissed skin, the enchanting eyes… It only added to your charm. It had taken him two weeks to realize it, and it was a shame. You were more than just a projection of Lucerys he could use to torture himself.

When the time came, Aemond draped his cloak over you, placing you back under the Targaryen’s red and black. He couldn’t help but give you a smug smile. You looked good on his house’s colors. Better. Like you belonged in them. It didn’t matter, that you had come out of the womb with a strong resemblance to Rhaenyra’s sworn shield. You were half Targaryen, and as far Aemond was concerned, that was the half that mattered.

Velaryons. What a joke. Who wanted Velaryons, when they were too ambitious for their own good? When they were unable to bring children into the world safely? No, he decided. You made the perfect Queen because you were not a Velaryon. You had performed every task he had set for you perfectly. Born to rule.

The wedding passed in a blur. It felt as if he barely blinked and suddenly, you were both saying your vows and were being hand fasted together.

“Wife.” You turned towards him, all wide dark eyes. Slightly scared. He leaned down, and whispered in your ear, to warn you. “I’m going to kiss you, then we will retire for the night.”

“But Rhaena and Baela…” You started to protest, but Aemond leaned down and kissed you. It was only a peck, a brush of the lips. It was enough to quiet you. You shyly looked down, the image of a sweet maiden. The lords clapped, politely.

There would be no Rhaena and Baela. He was already thinking of a way to take Corlys out of the equation in case he ever became an obstacle. It would do not good, if you were too attached to the girls, and he had to kill their grandfather.

“You can see them tomorrow, tolīmorghon.” Aemond took your tiny hand in his. You were cold and sweaty in his grasp. Anxious. He nearly smirked. You would grow out of it, he was sure. Aemond was already ruining you, and you didn’t even realize, too worried by the others. He had seen how you didn’t jump to Cregan’s aid.

“But… The guests… The feast…”

“I will keep my promise, if that is what worries you.” Aemond tucked a soft strand of hair behind your ear. Careful, careful, to sound teasing and not like he resented it. “But since I do not get to bed my wife, I want to at least get to spend the night with her.”

“You have been spending the nights with me.” You muttered to him. He almost laughed. Clueless thing that you were, to think your nights were spent with him.

Aemond started leading you away from the guests, and towards his chambers. He was eagerly awaiting to watch you sleep. A thing he missed from before the war was the ability to get a full night of sleep, but Aemond betted watching you do it would be nice. Your face held still childlike innocence, and most probably perpetually would. It was that damn combination, of Harwin’s puppy eyes and being shielded from war. Asleep, you would surely look like an angel.

He liked your purity, compared to other ladies of the realm. You had known of the horrors of war, but you hadn’t actually seen it. Sometimes, he thought he had chosen to keep you because of it. You didn’t know what kind of monster Aemond really was. How much blood stained his hands.

You knew he had killed Lucerys, you knew he had taken Harrenhall. You didn’t know he had executed all the men there, children and elderly included. You knew he had killed Daemon, you didn’t know exactly how many times he had stabbed him, until both Caraxes and Vhagar were both plunging to their deaths. You knew he was a killer. You didn’t know sometimes he didn’t regret it.

“I have spent nights with you?” He asked, amused. Most women would be terrified to share his bed. Not you, apparently, if you had thought Aemond was sleeping by your side already and had made no fuzz.

“Where are you sleeping, then?” You opened the door to his chambers, already used to the creaking hinges. As if those had been your chambers your whole life. “I thought…”

“I have been sleeping on my study.” So you went to bed every night and fell asleep thinking he would later join you? It was cute. Perhaps keeping you would be easier than he thought. Aemond was halfway there already. “It wouldn’t have been proper, otherwise.”

“And you are all about property.” He ignored your taunt, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The satisfaction he felt was too high to be bothered. Not only did he had you already, but you had slowly started to trust him.

You wanted to stay. The state of his rooms showed it. He was a tidy man, and liked to keep his rooms the same way. Still, there was something enchanting about the way you had taken possession of the place during the past two weeks. Your gown, placed over the bed, surely by your maid. A few books on the left side of the bed, that were definitely not his. A tiny pair of slippers just next to the fire.

Aemond nudged you towards the armchair. You sat down without complaint, looking at him with curious dark eyes. He kneeled in front of you and helped take off your shoes, placing the slippers on your feet instead. The skin of your ankles was soft and vulnerable. He gave it a gentle rub before sitting back on his haunches.

“I brought you here because I have something to tell you.” Still on his knees, worshiping another effigy. Aemond liked the parallels of it. So many nights, spent asking for forgiveness at a Sept. More nights, he would spend at your feet, begging for atonement to his own personal goddess.

“Why are you on your knees?” You asked, looking down at him, eyes so sweet and pure, not even the Maiden herself could compare. How many nights, would it take? How much time, until you became a sinner like himself? “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Aemond cleared his throat. He looked up at you, suddenly feeling fear choking him. Expiation was not an easy thing. The High Septon himself had said, before spluttering some nonsense about how if he wore the Crown, it was by the grace of the Seven and their favor. Not because he had been the last one standing in a pit of gladiators fighting to death. Not because he had been the only one not to drown in the rivers of blood that followed.

The thought of ruining your innocence, turning you like him, was a thought that warmed him and filled him with dread. After it, Aemond would never be alone again. You would be just like him, broken, ruined, dirty. You would never leave his side because you would understand there was no other place for you but by his side. And just as he did, you would love him and hate him in equal amounts.

But you were so pure. Filled with good intentions and loyalty. Sweet. A balm to his wounds. It would be lost when you turned like him. The one good thing he had found for himself, broken beyond repair.

The silence went on and on. Aemond finally broke it, by speaking in a tone so soft, you might not even be able to hear. Confessing.

“I didn’t kill Luke on purpose. It was…”

A twitch of your mouth. The Maiden come to life, growing impatient. Eyes cold, as if they could erase him from existence.

You would not like this truth. It had all been for nothing. The death of your twin, the war… It was never meant to happen. A foolish mistake. If he had truly meant to kill the boy, perhaps this mess would make some sense. Frame it as a war between bitter enemies, and not family, with combatants that were barely out of childhood.

Or children themselves. Like Lucerys and you had been.

“It was an accident. I lost control of Vhagar. I shouldn’t have, and I despise myself for it, every day. I wish I had never…”

Never chased after him. Never set Vhagar on the smaller dragon. Because back then, he had not been a bad man. That morning, Aemond had been happy. Celebrating an engagement that brought honor to his house. He had not rolled out of bed thinking of killing a child. How few hours of innocence he had left.

No one had told Lucerys how few hours of life he had left, either.

A sob. Aemond can’t tell if he voiced all of that, but by your horrified look, he has. It feels like being stabbed in the eye all over again. Worse than Daemon nearly taking his head off.

It takes him a while to recognize the feeling that curls around his stomach, makes him want to throw up, as your gentle hand presses over his head, prompting him to rest it on your lap.

As you said the words he so craved to hear, he finally got it.

“I forgive you.” But could you, really, when you didn't know what you were forgiving him for?

Shame. It’s shame, the feeling in his stomach. He had not felt it in a long time.

Shame, for what he had done to wear this dammed crown. Shame, for killing Luke. Shame, for what he was about to do to you.

The months go by. You start sleeping on the same bed. Rigid. Side by side, as if children. Slowly, your bodies start to curl against each other. Aemond, always awake before you do, wonders if you realize. He moves away before you wake, but your body always seems to search for him when you sleep.

It’s a cold marriage. One of duty, or so the rest of Westeros thinks. Even the Lord Hand is fooled by it. Aemond has heard the maids whisper about it, about the poor, pretty Queen, trapped into marriage to a monster. Wasting her beauty and sweetness on a man who doesn’t see her.

As a team, you work well. Outside your chambers, your relationships and interactions are extremely polite. The Seven Kingdoms have never been more prosperous than under your combined rule. Aemond is pleased with his legacy. Give it a few more years, if he doesn’t ruin anything, and he will go down in history not as a kinslayer but as the bringer of the golden age of Westeros. The arts prosper, the people are educated and well-fed, the crime rate is low.

“What a dreadfully boring marriage.”

“Duty. Only that. I would go mad, if my husband never touched me.”

“Do you think the King is like Ser Laenor?”

Aemond doesn’t mind, if they think his marriage is colder than the North beyond the Wall. He knows the truth.

There are nights, where you wake up desperate, a scream in your throat. Sometimes, you scream at him, you say you hate him. In others, you sob yourself into a meltdown, saying you hate yourself.

It’s always the same, on nights like that. He holds you in his arms, until you stop fighting. Overcome by hysterics, it’s you who searches for his mouth. You kiss him.

Aemond holds you down. You fight, you push and pull, like the waves lapping at the shore. Your nightgown rides up, his pants and shirt come off. He chases your sadness away with steady rolls of the hips, until all that is left is you and him, and not the ghosts of your past.

You break down gloriously, beneath him. Clawing at his back, wanting to make him hurt as you hurt. Sometimes, Aemond needs to hurt, too.

Sometimes it’s him, who wakes up screaming.

You fight. You scream. The guards knock on the door, concerned about what you are doing to each other, thinking one of you finally snapped and attempted murder. Like beasts, you roll around on the floor, clothes ripping, hair being pulled, skin bitten.

You ride him, sometimes. Your delicate hands turn into cuffs, keeping him pinned down. You sob your way through it, until Aemond cannot tell if it’s over stimulation or sadness. It’s sick. You two act like cats in heat. It’s the best sex he had ever had.

No matter who was the instigator, the next morning you slip out of bed, embarrassed by your behavior. Cold. You avoid his eyes, his mere presence makes you flinch. But despite your sudden turn into the most proper woman in the realm, Aemond knows the truth.

You are ruined. Just like him.

Hugor and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame.

(The Smith's book. 2:14-15)

[entomolog-t]

Bitten - Part I

What is this?? A written post?? My Bite Me size swap is finally up (sorta). I initially was going to post this all in one shot, but it got long so enjoy non canon Bite Me content 💕

I've been absolutely swamped lately, so hopefully me posting is a sign that things are finally easing up!!

Shortly after the events of Chapter 10 Aedes wakes up to a rather big surprise- or perhaps more accurately, a small one.

Taglist: @smallsday @ratcatcher0325 @not-a-space-alien @bittykimmy13 @naive-bias

- - - -

Next Part

Word count: 1238

CW: Nudity (non-explcit/implied), Adult language

Warm hands envelope Aedes in a way that dances on the border of intimate and claustrophobic. His thoughts felt thick, almost sticky in his mind, as they struggled to flow. Those soft doting hands clung to him, overwhelming in their size, anchoring him firmly in place. He can’t move- but … was that really so bad? With his mind in a daze, he didn’t have the capacity to tell himself he hated it. Far from it… There was an undeniably comfort in the silken touch, warm in a way that surpassed intimate. Warm in a way that would melt pain from his chest, render flesh from his bones and put him together anew. Those plush hands dotted over him, filled him with life - with such vigor and… and- 

Want. 

So much want. 

He knew her taste, its memory, sweetened with time, dances on the tip of his tongue just out of reach. So did her name. What was it again… He’d seen it somewhere…

If only he could drink. He was sure he could find her name and so much more hidden away in that taste. 

From her hands, all encompassing in their grasp, he felt her pulse. The rhythm of her rattles his bones, shaking him to his core. Each beat moves him, yet he himself remains unable to do so- anchored in place by strangely sticky thoughts and firm hands. God, if only he could just turn his head. If only he could sink his teeth into her… have just the smallest taste- 

A drop. 

He would gladly drown in a single drop. 

If only he wasn’t stuck- if only he could be set free from their grasp. 

Then, all at once, he was. 

Falling. 

Without their warm embrace- their suffocating hold, was sent falling back-

Or maybe, falling into himself? Aedes awoke as the ground met his face. 

The fall, it seemed, had not been exclusive to the dream. 

Rubbing his face, Aedes feels the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Something was off. He grimaced- not at all fond of the strange stain the remnants of the dream, no, nightmare, had left on his brain. It left him with a strange chill on his body, as if he was yearning for the warmth of the dream…

Or… clothes? Aedes looks down, startled by his own apparent lack of modesty. Why am I… 

As Aedes moves to sit up, the strange realization is immediately put on the back burner as a much stranger realization takes its place. His stomach lurches as his mind struggles in vain to right itself. 

High. His stomach lurches, as if forgotten someway far below. Too high- Why was he so high up?? Vertigo hit him with all the grace of a car crash as he heaved- his very being ripped away from the ground and rocketing up by his own doing-  much too high much too fast.  

Slowly, on his hands and knees, Aedes blinks. 

The dizzying spin didn’t leave- but his breath certainly did. 

If he hadn’t so abruptly woken up he would have thought he was still dreaming. Cool morning air sent a chill over his skin from a window he could reach out and touch. Books fit for his hands lined the shelves he had so recently scaled. Clawed fingers traced the various knick knacks that should have dwarfed him… 

That, until this very morning, had dwarfed him.

How…

His mind scrambles to make sense of it all. He needed answers. 

He needed to know how this happened-

How could this happen?

But more than anything, Aedes needed to know how to breathe. 

Each shakily attempted breath felt stuttered, the tightening feeling in his chest constricting each and every inhale. His heart pounded wildly against his lagging lungs, yet it wasn’t the beat of his own that concerned him. 

Aedes' ears twitched, straining to hear the faint thrum, the slightest indication of something, someone, alive in the room with him. 

His eyes locked on the source in an instant. 

June. 

Her name finally finds its home on his lips- stolen from some hastily placed piece of ID left laying on her desk. June Murphy. 12 Oakline Road, Saint Mira Lake, ON. Born June 18th. 172 cm.  Aedes swallowed a lump of mixed emotions at the sight of her.  

Small… God she’s so small. 

And he… was not. 

Nearly buried in a mass of blankets and oversized clothes, June Murphy stares at the relative behemoth in front of her- mind reeling as they lock eyes.

This… This has to be a dream right? 

Yet she was all too aware of reality, having been jolted awake by the thunderous impact of what she’d initially assumed to have been … well, really anything but the reality that was staring back at her. A car could have plowed straight through her living room wall and it would have made more sense than what she was seeing.

Yet despite the unfamiliar perspective, she recognized him in an instant. The tousled black hair, the pointed ears… 

Those piercing eyes. 

Aedes. 

In an instant, he was on his knees, moving at a speed June found to be even more unsettling now that he loomed above her. The sight of him so close was… bizarre… Uncanny even. Sure, she’d technically seen him far closer, when he’d been… 

Pressed up against her lips… 

In the palm of her hand…

June’s face flushes at the memory. You really don’t get much closer than that… and yet… even at what must have been a foot or more away, she saw him far more intimately than when she’d… June’s thoughts wander off, far too entranced by the man in front of her to remain focused on anything else. 

Aedes was far more handsome than she had initially realized, and she’d already had quite the high impression of his aesthetics. His pale skin was smooth, bordering on flawless even at such a scale, his features were defined, a straight nose, distinct jawline, yet the edges had a softness to them, smooth in a way that seemed inviting- as if they’d been carved from marble. Her gaze lingered on the soft yet rich color of his lips, the realization that this man really wasn’t human hitting her hard- the knowledge that there were teeth behind such a pretty feature sending a shiver through her. Though none of his features held a candle to his eyes. Piercing and black, this stare bore into her… defile her, even…

June scrambles back, face hot. 

Aedes does the same, reeling back at her sudden movement, as if somehow seeing her move confirmed this was, in fact, reality.

Oh… A knot forms in his throat, She’s afraid of me.

He swallows, the act noticeably harder than it should have been. 

Of course she is, he thinks, unable to hold her gaze. She looks so… helpless.  His face grows hot at the thought, guilt, like bile, rises in his throat. 

Did she think he’d hurt her?

“Shhh,” Aedes hushes, hands reaching cautiously towards her, afraid she’d run off if given the opportunity. “Please… don't be afraid.”

He would.

As he reaches, Aedes’ eyes catch sight of his blacked claws. The sight freezes him in place, stomach churning at the thought of what he must look like to her. She had been terrifying. If this woman before him had been terrifying- what was he?

[vampwritesstuff]

Forgotten Melodies

Chapter 5 - I Fucking Hate Stairs

Pairing - Kim Hongjoong x Fem!Reader

Genre - smau, post college au, non idol au, fluff, angst, ex friends to friends, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, slowburn

Moving back to Seoul after studying abroad in the States, Y/n couldn’t decide if fate wanted to punch her in the gut or give her a warm hug after she finds herself reconnecting with an old group of friends by pure chance. The only thing is, she didn’t leave on good terms with one of them.

a/n Idk how I’ve had the motivation to be writing so much lately but hey, it’s a good thing for you guys because that means more updates, also I was playing Oasis by EXO on repeat while making this chapter, i don’t even stan them but I need that song injected into my veins 😩 also this chapter isn’t proofread so I’m sorry for any mistakes! Hope you enjoy the chapter!!

Hongjoong had stared at the group chat for at least an hour the previous night. Meticulously studying the photo of you and Wooyoung that San had sent of the two of you pillow fighting. You looked a lot more different than he remembered, hell you even acted differently from the way San had described the interaction, but of course he only remembered the eighteen year old version of you. A quiet and soft spoken girl who somehow was unfortunate enough to befriend Wooyoung and be dragged into his crazy antics, and that consequently led to you making friends with San, and eventually the other boys and Hongjoong himself.

Hongjoong dragged a hand over his face while groaning, tapping his foot impatiently as the elevator took him to the floor that Wooyoung and San’s apartment was on. Hongjoong was tired, not only had his recent clients been a total nightmare to deal with but he’d been in a creative slump for any of his personal projects, and the knowledge that you were back in Seoul and had already reconnected with his friends was not helping soothe his already exhausted and anxious mind. Hongjoong knew you hated him, and it made him nervous to think about how you’d react to seeing him again. He felt guilty for how he handled things back in high school, and when he had finally built the courage to apologize to you, he learned that you had packed up and left for America, which stung if he was being honest. But he couldn’t blame you, he knew that you had always wanted to go to an American university.

The ding of the elevator arriving on the 6th floor broke Hongjoong from his thoughts and slowly he began towards his friends’ apartment. He knocked a few times on the door, slightly confused when the door swung open and a frantic Wooyoung cowered behind him and used him as a human shield. “Wooyoung what are you-” Hongjoong’s question was drowned out by the sound of a feminine voice yelling his friend’s name from inside the apartment. “Jung Wooyoung get your ass back here!” Hongjoong looked forward just in time to see you turn the corner of the entryway looking absolutely pissed as you held a hoodie in your hands.

Hongjoong stood frozen, just as you stopped in your tracks when you realized who Wooyoung was hiding behind. Hongjoong was taken aback by how much you truly did change, the picture San had sent in the group chat didn’t do you any justice. Just as he went to speak, you beat him to it, “I’ve gotta go, I have important shit to do.” You announced, which caused Wooyoung to release his death grip on Hongjoong and whine, “But you just got here.”

“I only came by for my hoodie, you already knew I wasn’t staying for long.” You chided him, completely ignoring Hongjoong’s presence. He could tell though that it was taking a lot of self restraint to do so, if the tension in your jaw, crossed arms and balled fists were any indication to your displeasure of Hongjoong being within feet of you. Hongjoong wanted to say something, anything to have you acknowledge him but once he broke himself from his stupor, you were already walking down the hallway, forgoing the convenience of the elevator and taking the stairs.

“Well that was weird, anyway, come on in hyung. You’re here for those packages right? San showed me where they were before he left this morning.” Wooyoung spoke as he pulled Hongjoong into the apartment.

You were pissed. Pissed because how the hell had you forgotten that Hongjoong was still their friend and at some point you would have been face to face with him? Pissed because of the way you couldn’t look him in the eyes, especially when there was so much you wanted to say to him. Years of pent up anger towards him resurfaced the moment you saw him in the doorway of Wooyoung’s apartment.

You stopped in the stairwell for a moment, taking a moment to catch your breath as you had practically sprinted down the stairs in order to get away from Hongjoong as quickly as possible, “I fucking hate stairs,” you grumbled to yourself, as you exited onto a random floor and took the elevator the rest of the way down. You took the time to calm down and refocus, seeing Hongjoong again felt like having a bucket of ice water poured all over you.

Was it childish to have reacted like that and run off? Possibly, but for the time being you could care less. He wasn’t your priority at the moment, and you could simmer in your anger towards him at a later time. You just wanted to go visit your mom and finally get some groceries in your apartment. As much as you loved take out, your wallet and stomach were begging for something else. Grocery shopping and a visit to the hospital would be a great way to get your mind off of things.

Back in Wooyoung’s apartment, Hongjoong was being interrogated by his younger friend. “So you and Y/n seriously never made up?” The black haired male asked, a deadpan expression on his face. “No, Wooyoung, like I said, I never got the chance to set things straight with her.” Hongjoong groaned as he massaged his temple, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

“Well damn, I mean, I know everything that happened was all just a huge misunderstanding between the two of you, but I didn’t think it had affected her so much that she would give you the cold shoulder as soon as she saw you.” Wooyoung said, and Hongjoong just closed his eyes and sighed.

“I get why she’s upset though, from her perspective you didn’t try to salvage your friendship at all and when you did you were too late.” Wooyoung empathized with you, knowing that if he were in the same situation, he’d probably react the same way. Hongjoong hated how his friend was right, Hongjoong’s priorities in high school were skewed and it cost him a valuable friendship with you. He thought he would’ve had more time to apologize.

“Oh! You know what, now that she’s back, you can start trying to mend things with her!” Wooyoung suggested excitedly, “I don’t know if you saw how she reacted to seeing me, Wooyoung, since you were busy cowering behind me, but there is no way in hell she’s going to let me get that close to her again.” Hongjoong rationalized, or maybe he was making excuses. Yeah, he was making excuses because seeing you and how much you changed had thrown him for a loop. He hadn’t seen you since high school and seeing you in Wooyoung and San’s apartment, the polar opposite of what you were like back then, gave him cold feet.

Hongjoong watched as Wooyoung rolled his eyes and pointed at him, “It’s not like you won’t have the rest of us around to support you, hyung. In fact, I’ve now decided that I’m not going to rest until both of you make up and become friends again!” Wooyoung smiled triumphantly, as if he had just come up with the most brilliant idea.

Somehow, Hongjoong felt like this entire thing was going to backfire terribly.

previous // m.list // next

Comment or send and ask to be added to the taglist!

taglist: @nilla56 @starrymatz @asherthehimbo

[thesharktanksdriver]

Omg I’m having so many thoughts about the newer stuff of one piece.

These are all jumbled thoughts I came up with recently so it’s unstructured and probably doesn’t make any sense but fuck it

Masterlist for Determiation!

Spoilers for egghead

Determination! Y/n and the seraphim’s would be so god damn interesting like yall won’t believe the sheer amount of ideas running through my head.

Like y/n accidentally running into the Seraphim’s in Egghead after getting separated from the straw hats and absolutely going still when they see S-String(I shall call him that since they’d yet to reveal his designation) and absolutely going into a blind haze where they apologize to him not realizing he’s not Doffy (or at least the Doffy that they feel like they failed).

And it’s there that their dragged to meet the other Seraphim’s

Maybe it was programmed into them to find and retrieve y/n, maybe even protect them.

So the young lunarian children linger by y/n’s side and naturally become curious. Because how can they not be? Especially when all their lives so far had been carried out in a lab, born from artificial wombs that fashioned them of DNA stolen from various people and a species long dead and forgotten.

How can they not be curious when this person they were ordered to retrieve and protect knew of who they were cloned of. Knew more about them than they did themselves outside their programming.

So the children ask questions and they learn

Maybe S-Snake asks about her “mother”, being the only girl had always been a bit lonely for her even when her “brothers” had done their best to make sure she knows she’s accepted. So she wonders about Boa, and how she had come from an island full of women. What was that like? Would they still brush her hair like S-Bear does? Or pat her head for doing a good job like S-Shark did?. She asks about if she was as pretty as Boa, if she was good enough for her “mother” if they ever would meet, a bit of insecurity for the first time curling up in her stomach before y/n says that Boa would love her no matter what, accept her no matter what. Because Boa would never turn down a woman in need, let alone a little girl that was imprisoned such as she was. In that sense she finds a comfort in you, especially as you indulge in things her brothers would usually sigh at but agree to anyways. Without a hassle you let her do little shows where she shows off her fire or make small drawings with the limited art supplies they have. When S-Snake draws you with her and the other Seraphim your heart squeezes ever so slightly.

Maybe S-Hawk has y/n teach him the techniques that Mihawk had taught them when on his island. In a sense he’s curious of his “father” but hides it away as he’d rather die than openly admit the gnawing questions in his mind. When y/n lets him use the blade gifted by Mihawk he can’t help but instinctively rub his thumb over the hilt where the greatest swordsman initials lay carved, a smile also instinctively crawling up the clones face. When his “siblings” become too much and he wants peace and quiet y/n lingers by his side, a silent company that he appreciates as memories not of his own of similar occasions plague his mind. He usually doesn’t enjoy these influx of memories but these ones are peaceful, not filled in bloodshed but instead of a small garden full of ripe fruits he doesn’t know the names of as well as the times in which he narrowly helps them escape an accidental death that may or may not leave S-Hawk on his toes and leads to his presence lingering by your side.

S-Shark notices that y/n seems the most comfortable with him though he knows it makes sense since they’re apart of the crew his progenitor joined. He doesn’t know how to feel about Jinbe, but he does retain a certain sense of respect for him even before he learns more about the fishman and how much he fought for his people. Much like the others he has a sense of curiosity of the world but his is specifically towards the sea, moreso a place where gilled people and pretty women with fish tails lived. That placed seemed so different compared to egghead, more lively and colourful in a way he can’t describe. He cherishes those memories no matter how hazy and unfocused they are, so seeing y/n show him the brightly coloured shells and small bits of coral really make his day. S-Shark knows he can’t go in the ocean on account of the green blood he possesses but he can’t help but wonder. Y/n occasionally clings to him in a way that feels natural, and it’s almost second nature that when this happens he lets them do so without complaint.

S-Bear even before using his ability feels pin roll off you in waves he couldn’t quite comprehend, as if your small body similar to their own could not contain the amount of emotional and physical agony, it cracks and spills from the seems of you that have been restitched and reattached like a doll. It’s scary, but somehow the most terrifying thing is that you retain a smile despite it all. It doesn’t affect you outwardly and maybe even inwardly at most times but it’s there and it lingers around you like an ever-present rain cloud about to burst into a storm. It saddens him, and it reminds him of memories of a pink haired girl he cannot place the name of. Too young to experience such heartache and at the same time her eyes are old and withered from everything that had happened. A child who acts older than their real age because they have to, not because they want to.

S-String notices that there’s a certain kind of Resigned sadness and almost a sense of hope with y/n’a eyes, yet they can never look at him fully without flinching. It confuses him, especially since despite that they treat him with such kindness even when he purposefully acts out or teases the others or them. S-String does not get as many memories compared to the others, most of which are locked away and repressed for some reason but what he does somewhat remember from his “father” is blissful moments of childhood with a boy he cannot name and y/n. This leaves him more confused, these were happy memories yet why do they look at him (and by extension his “father” with such sadness?). So at some point he asks And it’s there that S-String comes to dislike the man that made up his genetic makeup. Because for as much as the others got on his nerves sometimes S-Flamingo loved his “family”, loved his “Sister” and “Brothers” more than he’d like to admit. So hearing that the man he was cloned after harmed his family, and harmed the only person in their lives that had shown him and his siblings any sense of normalcy struck him. That man is the reason why they can’t properly look him in the eye both out of fear and a sense of failure, that man is a reason for their overwhelming pain that night even S-Bear cant comprehend, that man is the reason they broke down when they first saw him and kept apologizing for failing him. S-Stribg isn’t sure as to what happened to you and his predecessor but S-String knows you had not failed him nor his siblings, and he has a feeling you hadn’t failed Doflaimgo but rather he failed you.

S-Sand feels towards y/n a more than ordinary sense of curiosity that plagues his mind. Something he feels is a lingering emotion from his progenitor as he quietly watches and listens to you. It’s odd to him the flippant attitude towards death, something he’s pondered about as the dried out bodies of those who tried to enter egghead lay on the ground. He understands that your immortal, death isn’t much of a good deal to you yet you regard it in such a way that it bothers him. Why do you not seem to care when you tell a story of being ripped from limb to limb or left to bleed out. Surely that’s not something that was fun to experience let alone all the other instances in which you’d died via starvation on the sea or dehydration. Those things hurt, and in that regard you must be hurting all the time if not physically then mentally. Because of that like Mihawk he lingers, first due to curiosity and then out of a certain protectiveness that feel much less like programming and real. When on a mission they feel nothing, more in an empty minded state rather than truly conscious. They don’t feel fear let alone worry but for you he does, and he’s slowly seeing the others feel it too.

S-shadow just finds y/n to be cool’s ngl lol (I don’t know much about Moria so I don’t know how to write for him let alone his seraphim)

Maybe at some point y/n promises them that they’ll one day be free of orders that circulate in their heads

Free to use their wings in a real sky that’s not simulated

And maybe the Seraphim feel a spark of something at those words in their souls

The young lunarian children never thought that they had souls, had the to privilege to posses one when they were clones with no free will, remakes of others who were real people and could make decisions themselves.

But suddenly they find the words of a promise resonate within them, staying there in Suddenly full chests that should just have had it echo due to their emptiness. But the promise stays

And they silently dream of that promise

A place where they could be free

A place where they weren’t poked and prodded at

A place where they could call each other by “brother” and “sister” in full confidence

A place where they may choose their own names

A place where they could experience this idea of “family” that they often pondered about from memories not their own

A place where y/n would teach them all they’d need to know about the world before they’d one day take it by storm

A place where they’d make safe for both themselves and the person they found wanting to protect even without the orders issued by the pacifista

[loves0phelia]

Can you do a Matt Murdock metting reader and they hit it off instantly.

( Btw this is my first requesting something )

Promise

Summery: the request

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: alcohol, grammar mistakes (always)

A/N: thank you for requesting I love matt so much and writing for him makes me so happy, also this is far from perfect so i hope you will like it anyway xxx

After a long day at work all you wanted to do was crash, and curl in bed with cheap ramen from a cup, while watching one of your recent favorite shows. Unfortunately, that idea was forgotten when your best friend Celia invited you to a local bar called Josies claiming to need a girls night out.

At first you almost faked being sick or having a late night appointment but you realized it wouldn't be possible to deny your friend.

She knew you were not a going out kind of person, so any excuses would not convince her.

“Come on Y/n, just one drink and I swear if you don't like it we're leaving” she tried reassuring you, and you made a face of disagreement but still followed her in anyways after the breeze made a shiver travel your entire body. That made you realize you should've brought a jacket.

When you entered you immediately noticed the strong smell of beer and whiskey. It was almost overwhelming but the scent kinda matched the looks of the bar which made it feel homey.

“What are you two girls taking?” A lady behind the bar, who was previously wiping a dirty glass asked us.

“I think we'll both take a beer” Celia turned to confirm with you and you nodded.

“Good cause beer and whiskey’s all we got” she grumbled and picked up two bottled beers from underneath the counter where you assumed a fridge was.

Soft jazz music was playing in the background and you could hear the people chit chatting and clinking their bottles. Celia took a sip of her drink and after analyzing around the place she gasped loudly.

“Oh my God y/n It's Matt and Foggy!” she clapped her hands happily.

“Who?” you asked and looked behind you trying to map where her friends were.

“You know,  the guys from the law firm! I worked with them on a case with Marci” Realization became clear on your face after she reminded you.

A couple months ago her colleague Marci had needed help finding information about Wilson Fisk to help her boyfriend’s firm, Nelson and Murdock, and Celia had volunteered. Obviously she had told you all about the sexy blind lawyer who would be “perfect” for you.

”Come on! i'll present them to you” she jumped down her stool and began dragging you to them.

“Celia please no, they are probably trying to enjoy a night together let's not bother them” you tried tugging yourself back but she wouldn't allow it.

“You're too nice, you know that?” Celia replied and before you could beg again one of the two guys, who you assumed was foggy, raised from his chair by the pool table and screamed her name, inviting you over.

“Foggy, Matt, heyy” she said happily, hugging them while you stood awkwardly behind her.

You were always the more introverted one in the duo, but she always tried to bring you out of your comfort zone.

“This is y/n, you know my best friend I told you about” you lifted your hand giving them a small wave and immediately regretted it when you remembered one of them could not see it.

”Hi” your voice was barely above a whisper but you were ignorant to the fact that Matt could hear you loud and clear.

“You guys want a round of shots? Matt and I were just about to get some” the long haired friend suggested and Celia immediately agreed. The two of them left to go back by the bar leaving you and the handsome lawyer alone.

“Y/n right?” his voice surprised you. It was deep but angelic.

“Y-yes” your words caught in your throat now feeling more shy than ever.

“It’s a beautiful name, im Matt but i'm pretty sure you already knew that” he laughed and it was like you had never heard a prettier sound. You nodded your head, unable to utter any words.

“You just nodded didn't you?” your cheeks flushed instantly embarrassed, your eyes grow triple their size.

“I did, I am so sorry, I dont know whats wrong with me” you shake your head and slapped your forehead with your palm the sound echoing loudly in your ears.

“It's okay, it happens all the time” his smile never left his lips.

“That doesn't help” your face was red like a tomato.

“Dont worry about it” his hand laid itself on top of your naked thigh only the tip of his fingers came in contact with your silk dress, his soft touch warmed your skin.

“Silk?” he asked curiously, still running his digits over the fabric.

“Yea when Celia said we were going to the bar i didn't really know what to wear” you snorted now realizing silk was definitely too formal for a bar.

“It's very soft, i like it” once again a charming smile came onto his lips.

“thank you” you smiled back unaware he could feel the heat coming off your body at this very moment.

“We're back! sorry it took so long josie wouldn't let us have our best customer discount again” Foggy pout but put the tray of 6 shots down on the sticky table.

“Drink up guys!” Celia clinked her glass with Foggy’s and then yours and then Matt’s (which cause a small splash of the whiskey to escape down to the floor)

the second the strong liquid came in contact with your tongue, your eyes clenched in pain because of the burn. 

“How can people drink that? it's disgusting” you said and everyone at the table laughed at your sudden outburst.

“It takes a lot of getting used to and a best friend who forces you to drink it” Matt’s hand squeezed your knee while the other two were already getting ready for the second one.

“I guess…” you hesitantly picked up your last shot and on the count of three you repeated the suffering progress.

After hours of chatting and laughing it was already 3 am which meant the bar was closing.

“I'm going to take a cab home, anyone wants to share one?” Celia said while gathering her belongings.

“I think I'm going to walk, my apartment is not too far,” you replied forgetting about the freezing wind outside.

“Are you sure? you know it's supposed to rain also there are some weird people in the street at this hour” she said almost in a motherly way.

“Yes I'm sure, anyway daredevil might save me if I get attacked” you joked and hugged her tightly while she rolled her eyes at you.

“I wouldn't mind taking a cab actually, I need to go back to Marci’s” a drunk Foggy wiggled his eyebrows.

“What about you Matt? need a ride?” he added to his previous statement.

“No, I think I'll walk y/n home. if that's alright?” he gently grabbed your elbow as he unfolded his white cane.

“Of course,” you smiled.

The two drunks said their goodbyes and walked out the door to the yellow cab waiting for them outside as you and Matt started walking back to your house in a comfortable silence.

A shiver traveled your body for the second time during the night and Matt felt your goosebumps raise on your arm as he held it.

He stopped abruptly making you look at him confused as he started removing his suit jacket.

“Here put this on” he draped it over your shoulder and you accepted it wordlessly admiring his beauty and generosity.

He grabbed your elbow again and you both continued the path to your apartment.

After about 10 minutes you spoke up, now seeing your apartment building

“This is me”

“Am i the only one who's disappointed the walk was so short?” he asked while rubbing his thumb on your arm.

You giggled before replying that you were also sad it was cut so shortly.

“You could come upstairs if you want?” Hopefully, you wished he accepted the offer.

“I think it's better if i don't” he sighed and your heart dropped slightly.

“I want to, but tomorrow I have this case I need to work on, and I think that if I came upstairs I wouldn't be able to leave in the morning” his hands were now holding your waist as if he was having his own inner battle whether he should come up or not.

“It's okay I understand” you whispered and he leaned his forehead against yours as if he was wishing you would have asked him to come up anyway.

thunder roared above you.

“You should go before it starts raining” you said and he shaked his head in disagreement.

“Can I kiss you before I go?” His tone was so low.

“please” you pleaded before his plumped lips connected with yours.

His head tilted to the side to deepen the kiss and his hand went up to the back of your head.

Your lips parted allowing his tongue to make its way inside your mouth. Your hands traveled to his hair as well, earning a small growl from him, while you started to feel the cold rain drip down your back and hair.

you broke apart and smiled seeing his red tinted glasses crooked. Slowly you lifted them off his face to see his beautiful amber eyes that had a twinkle in them.

“I should probably give you this, back” you started removing the now drenched jacket but he stopped you.

“Keep it, I'll come get it tomorrow” he smiled and eagerly pressed another kiss to your lips.

“That's a promise?” you whispered against his mouth.

“It's a promise”

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Never thought I will miss a person so much or their wirtings so much. I'm really glad you take a break for yourself.

I recently just found your works and immediately you went radio silence and I didn't get to request last time. I read your RoR works where child reader was replaced. Can you write another one with alternate ending? Maybe instead of dying, child reader had enough and reported what happened to her to her teachers or a social workers. Reader have experience with neglect and abuse, which is why she snapped when she realizes the RoR characters was treating her like her abuser did which cause the one who replaced her got arrested or something. The ending could be either reader was taken by the social workers and cutting the RoR characters out of her life (in which she ignores all attempts to readopt her) or she still lives with them but no longer trust them (stopped calling them her parents/family and plan to moved out instantly once she was of age despite the RoR try to change her mind).

-You remember the day well, when the girl, six years older than you, was adopted by your family, who adopted you as well, she was twelve going on thirteen while you were six, small for your age but shining under the love from your adoptive family.

-That is, until Emilianna was brought in (trying to make up a name I hope nobody else has and if you do I sincerely apologize), and your little light was snuffed out by her sunshine brightness.

-You wanted to be happy, telling her how happy you were to have a big sister, which your family thought was adorable, and while she was smiling on the outside, hugging you close, inside she was sneering, annoyed that she had to share such a wealthy family with someone who was mere trash in her eyes.

-Aware from prying eyes, you learned that she was a cruel and vain person, teasing you for your short stature, telling you that you would never be cute and that your family only loved you because they had to, while they loved her because she was perfect, cute, delicate, and gentle.

-Emilianna also threatened you if you ever told on her, pinching and beating you behind closed doors where your bruises and marks couldn’t be seen and pain scared you, so you kept quiet, desperate that your family would soon recognize what was going on as you began to shy away, not joining in family activities, almost like you were hiding from all of them.

-All of their attention went to Emilianna, if she wanted to go out shopping, they would all drop everything to take her out, to make her happy if she were to ever bat her sad eyes, telling them that she had never had a family shopping trip before.

-You woke up from your nap that day to a completely empty house and panicked, checking each room for someone before you came to Emilianna’s room, finding it full of clothes, toys, and so many lavish things, while you were still in your clothes you’ve worn for three days, since you had no clean clothes, as they were all forgotten in the hamper in your room, as you couldn’t carry it as your hamper was bigger than you.

-There was no longer a plate for you at the dinner table, as they had forgotten about you, and you would have to find something, usually a bread roll or something small, to stave off your hunger pains, while Emilianna could throw her food away if she didn’t like it.

-You endured this treatment for almost two months, nobody ever seeming to realize what was happening and that they were forgetting you. Emilianna was always sure to keep you under her control, threatening you if you cost her the lavish lifestyle she’s come to enjoy.

-The final straw for you is one cold winter day, where you only had a half a day at school, Emilianna had told you that you didn’t need a coat- as you were going to be picked up, and she took and hid your coat.

-Shivering out in the snow, your tears welled, wanting to cry before you heard, “Y/N?! What are you still doing here!?” you turned, seeing your teacher and you instantly burst into tears as she ran over, removing her coat as she bundled you up.

-It was two hours later, you were safe inside the hospital with your teacher and two police officers. You were angry and tired, as you had been treated badly long enough- and your family betrayed you.

-This was the same when you were with your original family- this is how you were treated- and they were ignoring you in favor of Emiliana- just like your original big brother, and this time, you were going to fight back.

-Officers had gone to your home and your family freaked out- hearing that you were in the hospital after they failed to pick you up.

-Emiliana fessed up, after being asked by the police, scared, that she took the message and ‘forgot’ to tell everyone, which got them angry at her- but they were horrified to learn that you were covered in wounds- abuse wounds.

-Your family swore up and down they didn’t hurt you and they allowed the police to search the house. Emiliana was panicking, seeing them going into her room, followed by several members of your family, before going to your room and instantly they were in an uproar again- demanding to know where your clothes and toys were.

-With more pressing, Emiliana fessed up- showing them her closet, which had all of your stuff, thrown back there and she was instantly in tears when they told her that she needed to come in for questioning, they all did.

-Hades, Adam, Odin, and Eve were the one’s allowed to come to the hospital, under police guidance, and seeing you there, looking so broken, seeing the abuse wounds, Eve immediately tried to run to you, “Y/N!”

-You shied away, causing her to freeze as you held up your arms to your case worker who picked you up, holding you close.

-As the truth was revealed- that Emiliana had been abusing you- putting you in your place, as she wanted to be the only child in your massive family, Adam, in tears, tried to ask you why you didn’t say anything, “You ignored me- I tried talking to you all several times, but you all brushed me off for her- you all abandoned me!”

-Your words cut deep, breaking their hearts, as they hadn’t meant to- begging for your forgiveness. You hugged your case worker, “I don’t want to go back to them- they don’t care about me- they don’t love me.”

-Your caseworker could see their pain- they truly didn’t know, but they were still neglectful to you and she hugged you close, “Then you won’t- and I will be in contact with Emiliana’s case worker- she’s going to be removed as well and placed in an institute where she can get the therapy she needs. I’m sorry.”

-You refused to look at them as she carried you away, your family calling out your name. She could feel your tears on her shoulder, breaking her heart, holding you close- she didn’t want to fail you again.

-Your family was broken after you were taken away- hearing what you had said about them and they all realized that they had indeed forgotten about you- they couldn’t remember the last time they saw you smile, running up to them for a hug.

-They were furious at Emiliana, who tried to plead and cry with them and her case-worker, as she didn’t want to leave such a wealthy home- she didn’t want to lose her clothes and toys- her happiness.

-The family was broken- you were the glue- the happiness, holding them all together, and you were gone, and they could never fix that, and you refused to see them. You never wanted to see them again so they could never hurt you again.

[catflowerqueen]

Thinking about a hypothetical “soulmate-identifying marks” In Stars and Time au… and I think a good possibility for it might be if each country had its own version of the mark, and that if you had a soulmate from another country, you would also gain that version, too. So, like… given how important flowers are in Vagaurde, maybe they have something like a picture of a flower that will grow and eventually bloom once they meet all their soulmates/recognize and accept the soulmate connection. Ka Bue could have gemstones.

And the Forgotten Country could have the ability to see colors.

Assuming that soulmate families can be extremely large, it would make sense for the colorblindness to be a widespread phenomenon—especially if the marks are less “country” specific and run more along the lines of genetics. People from the same country would have similar genetics, but as more people moved, migrated, and travelled around having kids and starting families with people from other cultures and regions, the different soulmark types would also spread. So, like… Odile would have had something like a 50/50 chance on getting either the gem or the flower, and happened to get the gem from her dad’s side of the family. Or maybe she did get the flower, and that just helped to deepen the issues she had with her dual heritage.

But with how widespread genetics and soul families would be… that means you have more chances that a person’s soulmark would be the color thing. Or that one of their soulmate’s marks would be the color thing. To the point where a good portion of the world simply couldn’t see color anymore. Or, at least, a good portion of Vaguarde, and possibly Ka Bue, couldn’t, given their close proximity to the Forgotten Country and the higher likelihood of intermarriages and immigration happening between those two cultures.

Or it is simply that the nature of the memory-altering stuff going down with that country simply made people forget how recently the inability to see colors happened, or the loss of knowledge made them forget the mechanics of that particular soulmark so they just assume it is more widespread than it actually is, or it became more widespread than it should have because it is a lot harder for someone to declare and accept a soulmate connection if they can’t perceive that something is wrong—can’t read a name written in the country’s language, can’t recognize a flower or gem native to the country, can’t remember a soulmate who happened to be living in or visiting the country at the time of the tragedy…

And it could also be as simple as a case of a language barrier—other countries not realizing that “shade” is not synonymous with “color” as far as translations go, or simply thinking the two words mean the same thing. Like the whole “roses are red, violets are blue” thing, if the original language simply didn’t distinguish between blue and purple. Thinking that perhaps someone describing something as “lightless” is just them using their country’s word for the color “black,” not realizing that something else is going on.

So in the case of Siffrin and co., they would all have to rely on seeing their own flowers/gems/whatever showing up somewhere on Siffrin’s skin to be able to recognize them as being part of the soul family, because they would more than likely not be able to recognize his own mark—the flower or gem or name that represents him—on their own skin given that it would more than likely take the form of something from the Forgotten Country.

But once they finally do… their whole world would explode into color once more.

…And one could assume the whole red sky deal was just because reality was literally breaking around them at that point, and had nothing to do with soulmarks or soulmates at all.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

*Mama Spade accidentally bumped into Silver’s dad*

Mama Spade: “Ah!! Oh I’m so sorry! I’m trying to find my son but I think I got lost…”

*cracks knuckles* Our time has come, boiz 😎 (For anyone wondering why Lilia’s eyes are redacted, see this fic!) Figured we needed something more light-hearted after being rushed at by the semi-truck that was the recent main story update~

I briefly mention Mr. Spade, but I kept it vague since we don’t have the details on what happened to him yet!

Please note: I received multiple other Lilia + Mama Spade interaction requests; however, because those other requests are more specific than asking them to meet, I will be writing separate responses for each of those. I don't want to overload the blog with a ton of Lilia + Mama Spade content at once, so they will be spread out between other NRC Family Day interactions ^^

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

"Think nothing of it, miss." The man brushed off the bump with ease and an understanding smile. "It happens. Water under the bridge, yes?"

His voice was as smooth as a sky cleared of clouds, as sultry as midnight desires. There was a resonance to it as well, as though his words were reverberating in the annals of ancient ruins, echoing legends and legacies long since forgotten by history.

He was small yet snazzy in a black vest and dress pants embellished with golden stitching, a fancy jacket set in a dark hue of green hanging off of his shoulders. The man's long, dark hair was done up in a high ponytail, choppy and uneven bangs falling freely around his face.

If his voice was a mystery yet to be unearthed, then the man, too, was one. The exact composition of his face, and how his features were arranged, eluded her. But even with her aging sight, she could tell that he was strikingly handsome—lashes so long they batted his cheeks when he blinked, eyes like ever-shifting gemstones, and a pert, mischievous mouth.

"Oh dear." Mrs. Spade nervously fanned herself with a hand. "I'm hardly a 'miss'! I’m no spring chicken."

"After a certain point, we realize that time is something we cannot combat.” He coiled fingers against his lips. “I believe you've aged quite gracefully.”

A simple shoulder-length bob cut and homely, practicel clothing—those were the staples of her style as a single mother. She had her family to look after, and little time or energy to dress up. Yet Mrs. Spade flustered all the same.

“I-I don’t know what to say…”

The man laughed. “Apologies for steering us off-topic. Back on track, then. You said you were looking for your son?”

“Y-Yes…!” Mrs. Spade quickly rebounded, her worries returning. “He told me to meet him in Heartslabyul, but I’ve been wandering the campus for a while and haven’t passed any buildings by that name.”

The man stroked his chin. “If it’s Heartslabyul you’re looking for, you’ll need the Hall of Mirrors. It has mirror portals to each of the seven dormitories.”

“Mirror portals, imagine that!!” Shock was written all over her. "We don't have a lot of those back home.”

“Mirror portals are not always commonly accessible.” His mouth turned mirthful. “I just so happen to be heading to the Hall of Mirrors myself. My son’s waiting for me in another dorm. Seeing as we're both going to the same place, I wouldn’t mind escorting you.”

“You would?! You don’t mind…?”

“If you would have me,” he replied, his tone teasing. The man bowed melodramatically, arms gesturing down a path. “Then right this way.”

Mrs. Spade barely had any time to react before he started walking away. She hurried after him, trailing behind by a few paces. Careful not to get too close, to risk colliding with him again.

“Which dorm is your son in?” she blurted out, breathless. Not from exhaustion, but in excitement.

He cut her a sideways glance, his eyes glittering. "That would be Diasomnia. He’s a second year now, and a diligent member of the Equestrian Club."

Mrs. Spade quickened her pace. "He's an athlete? So is my Deuce. He's still a first year trying to find his footing, but he’s grown a lot in his first few months at school.”

"Deuce." He said the name oddly, almost like he had had practice reciting it. "How would you describe him?"

"He's a lot of things," Mrs. Spade confessed. She spoke unabashedly, as straight as an arrow carving an arc in the air. "He's not all that sharp, and he can be brash—but he’s also strong and kind, stubborn too. A really serious and straightforward person that means well and tries his best.”

“From the looks of it, he’s a good kid. His hard work will surely see him well in the future.”

She flushed with pride, pink as a peach. “What about your son? What’s he like?”

"Silver? He has a habit of dozing off, but he's as earnest as they come. It's that honesty of his that has made him so many friends. Even the local wildlife can't seem to keep themselves away from him.

“He’s the peacekeeper of any group he’s in, that lad. I’m so pleased that he’s able to connect with creatures from all walks of life.”

“Your Silver sounds like the kind of man Deuce would look up to. The sort of man he'd want to become."

“Does he?” The question was coy. “I think Silver would also enjoy Deuce’s company. Such a spirited, committed underclassman can keep him alert and on his toes.

“Silver already has a companion that fits that description, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind one more. The more the merrier, I say.”

“Your family must be big.”

“Afraid not. It’s only myself and Silver. We have close friends and neighbors of course, but legally speaking…” He brought his index fingers together, making them touch. “… we are one guardian and one child.”

Mrs. Spade’s heart stilled. “You’re joking.”

“Far from it." The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. It was not unkind, but curious. “Have I said something funny?”

“No, I was just thinking that you and I have a lot in common.” She bit her lower lip. “Deuce has his grandma, but at home it’s us two. His dad, my husband, he…” Mrs. Spade faltered.

The man inclined his head. “… You needn’t say any more. Please, don’t push yourself. Not all tales must be told to the strangers you meet along the way.”

“Y-You’re right.” She furiously shook her head. “What am I doing, making this about myself? I… I’m sorry if this brought back any painful memories for you.”

“Me? My, whatever are you concerned about me for?" There was a warmth, a fatherly tenderness, to his eyes.

“Your wife,” Mrs. Spade said weakly, “she’s no longer with you.“

“My wife?” His smile twisted into something wry. “I have no such thing. Always been a bit of a lone bat myself, but thank you for considering me."

"Oh! I... I shouldn't have assumed."

"It is you who is distressed. I should be the one more aware of your feelings."

Mrs. Spade blinked rapidly. From surprise, or to shunt back tears, she wasn't sure. "I... No, you don't need to worry about me at all! I'm fine!"

To this, the man chuckled. "I can see where Deuce must get his character from. However, you mustn't let yourself be entangled with the past.

"The past is in the past. If we keep looking behind ourselves, we will miss what waits for us in our futures." He came to a full stop, sweeping his arms forward. "Ah, and here we are."

A building with a domed roof was erected before them, guarded by massive stone walls on either side. Its door was tall, cut in the shape of a crystal pillar. One glimpse inside, and they caught the sparkle of sunlight refracting off the faces of various mirrors.

"You see? The future is right before us. No sense in dwelling on what was, only what can be."

He tapped the bottom of her chin, closing the mouth that had been hanging ajar. "Come now, let's see a smile! I wouldn't want to reunite you with your son while you've still got a frown on your face. He'd whack me a good one!"

Mrs. Spade chortled in spite of herself. "Deuce just might. He has a sharp left hook."

"I believe it. Ah, but it looks like it won't come to that. Lucky me, you're smiling again."

"Am I?!" Her hands flew to her face. The corners of her mouth had turned up, and she hadn't even noticed.

"Yes, that's what I wanted to see." The man offered a gloved hand. "... May I?"

Mrs. Spade giggled, taking it as easily as one might slip into a song. When was the last time she had felt this coquettish? So girlish, so young.

The Hall of Mirrors welcomed the pair, opening into a circle of seven portals. Each mirror trumpeted its dorm's name and iconography in its elaborate frame.

The man dropped her hand and indicated a mirror with thorns snaking up its sides, a fierce dragon guarding it. "This is where we part ways."

Mrs. Spade glanced at her route: at the mirror lined with playing cards and roses. Two spears, their points heart-shaped, crossed at the apex, and an open storybook formed the steps to the portal. Heartslabyul—the domain of the Queen of Hearts.

“Thank you for your help. I couldn’t have made it here without you, kind sir.”

“My pleasure—I thank you for the company. I hope you enjoy Family Day with Deuce.”

“Same to you and Silver.”

He nodded and turned, presenting his back to her as he made his way to Diasomnia’s mirror. She yanked herself away and stormed in the opposite direction. Just as he reached the dragon’s snout at the foot of his, and she at the cusp of a new page in the story, a single word erupted.

“Wait!!” she called out.

He craned his head to regard her. “Yes?”

Mrs. Spade clutched her fists to her chest. “Will I… Will I get to see you again?”

The shock was very slight on him, tempered by his mirth. He was used to being the one surprising, not the one being surprised, and so perhaps the silence lasted a few seconds longer than he would have liked it to.

“I really liked talking with you! I thought maybe we could do it again, and maybe Deuce and Silver could meet too.”

He took the idea, lazily rolling it between his thumb and his forefinger, considering. The confusion, the chaos, it would sprout.

“It sounds interesting,” he said mysteriously, pairing it with a shrug, “Who knows? We just might.”

And then he was gone, devoured by the dragon. The only proof that he had once been there were the ripples in the face of the mirror… and Mrs. Spade, spellbound.

The instant she stepped into Heartslabyul, she was struck with two things: the heavy, cloying aroma of red roses, and the warm body she collided with. Mrs. Spade stumbled back on the brick path. Her vision was still spinning when a familiar, rambunctious voice called out to her.

“… om! MOM!!” Deuce happily cried, wrapping his arms around her. “You made it!! I was worried that you didn’t show up on time—you’re usually not late. I was going to head out to look for you myself!”

“I’m okay, Deuce,” she reassured him with a playful tousle of his hair. “Don’t you mind me. I got a little lost, but I had some help from a kind man. Things worked out alright in the end.”

“That was nice of him! What a good samaritan!” He paused. “Er… You didn’t tell him about me in middle school, did you? I-I swear I’ve been working really hard to brush up and be an honors student!”

“Deuce!!” his mother gasped, smacking him on the side. (Dull pain reverberated in the area; she packed quite the punch.)

“What in Twisted Wonderland makes you think I’d go around parroting that around?! No, dear—I know you, and I know you’re trying your best. Besides, that man was nice!! He’d never intrude on our family matters.“ She sighed, stars in her eyes. “Ooh, and handsome too! So smart!! A real catch..”

“Uhhh…” Deuce made a face. “Are you… feeling okay, mom? Did you eat some of the weird mushrooms growing in the garden? Dorm leader Riddle says those can have weird effects.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. Mrs. Spade continued to prattle on, “He has a boy at NRC about your age, Deuce! We should arrange for us to all get together.”

“W-Wait, hold on a minute!! I’m happy that you made a new friend, but who are you talking about?!”

His mother startled, as if waking from a dream. “Now that you mention it, I forgot to ask for his name. I do remember that he talked about his son though. Silver, was it?”

“S-Silver-senpai?! Then… you’re talking about his DAD?!” Deuce was striken, his heart pounding unnaturally fast at the revelation. Silver’s dad is mom’s sweetheart now?!

“Oh, so you do know him after all!” Mrs. Spade clapped excitedly. “What do you think? Is he anywhere near as charming as his father i—”

“Grk…!” Deuce suddenly fell onto all fours, hanging his head. Tears streaked his face, and his entire body violently shook.

His mom practically shrieked and rushed to his side, frantically shaking him. “Deuce?! Deuce, honey? Are you okay?!”

He tried at a response, but only managed a semi-comprehensible wail. “I-I-I’m jusht shooo happy fa’ you, mooom,” Deuce sniffled, harshly wiping at his tears and snot. “Y-You found th’ perfect guyyy, just like you deserved all thish tiiime…!!”

“H-Hey now! I may have been a little swept off my feet by him, but I’m not marrying the guy!! No shotgun weddings here!! Wh-Who even marries a stranger they met in a day?!”

“R-Really?”

“Really.” She eased Deuce into her with a hug, her voice dropping into a whisper. “Pinkie promise.”

He tried to laugh, but choked on his own sobs instead. Mrs. Spade rubbed an open palm along his back, soothing him.

“Haha, I’m being silly.” She ran a hand along his scalp—a facsimile of the head pats she granted him in his youth. “I’m happy too—happy that you’re such a good kid, that you care for your mama’s happiness.”

“M-Mom… Mom!!” He wailed even louder and buried himself in her arms.

There, under a halcyon blue sky and tinted in roses, mother and son wept with one another. The past, far behind them. The future, yet to exist.