#i am trying to fill the void by reading the books

[whchwitch]

so when the wot show trailer is going to drop? I am missing certain characters (moiraine) and i need some new footage to obsess over it a very normal amount (lie).

[ghostswoman]

𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗧 the guy that fills the void of being alone since you first saw him.

You first saw him getting some coffee in your favorite book-coffee shop. You just saw this tall big burly man just waiting for his probably black coffee to get made and for you the world just stopped. In your eyes he was just…perfect. His copper deep rich brown eyes were so striking for you and he didn’t even made eye contact with you yet because you are subtly hiding behind your favorite book trying to kind of mark your staring at this gorgeous man.

Well you definitely thought that he didn’t noticed your penetrating staring yet but darling he did because you were the first thing he immediately saw when he went inside the cozy store. Still hiding behind your book as you thought that he maybe already left because the barista doesn’t take that long for making a plain black coffee but you just heard a gruffly cough. Looking up from the written excellence that was laying in your hands you saw him. Live and even nearer and even more breathtaking.

No you could see that he had short stubbly blonde hair a form of military cut you thought and these wonderful eyes you instantly connected with a teddy bear. Even though his body more looks like a terminator and not like a soft plushie but you don’t mind that- oh shoot you staring again. As you softly raised your eyebrows for him to continue what he might have wanted to say. “Is that seat taken?” Oh dear lord his voicee.

It was like rich dark chocolate but also so gruff. As you tried to keep your mouth from falling open as you just nodded quickly and grabbed your notebook a bit more towards where you are sitting so it’s not directly laying in the middle of the table. As he sat down and put his cup of coffee on the table and as you tipped it was black coffee but what even messed more with your head was how tiny the usual big cups looked like in his big hands no more like paws.

As you softly gulped as you just looked up and you made direct eye contact with the stranger ,instantly looking back into your book as you just tried to calm down your rising heartbeat. “What ya looking at luv? Am I more interesting than your lil book?” He spoke as he eyed you slightly. Trying to kind of calm down your thoughts as you just soft shake you head.

That was the first encounter with your future man Simon Riley. He was very open with you for his usual guarded side but now you both are kind of filling each other’s voids. For you he is filling the void of never feeling like you could be loved especially by a man and you are filling the void that he is not lovable at all. Well you two are really made for each other and he just loves you so much and he always things his chest is exploding whenever he sees you. Either when it’s you happily sipping a tea while reading you new book or if it’s you helping him choose a new perfume. For you were his wife since he first saw you.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about Jesper Fahey and religion.

Whilst we know that Matthias follows Djel, Inej follows the Saints, Nina was raised with the Saints but is atheist because of her understanding about Grisha, and that Kaz and Wylan adopted atheism based on their childhood experiences, we don’t get a lot of information about how Jesper feels about religion. We know he was raised with the Saints and that when he swears he says “Saints”, as does Nina, where Wylan says “Ghezen”. It’s notable to me that Matthias and Inej either rarely or never invoke a name in vain; I think Inej may say “Saints” in that context the odd time I can’t remember, but I’d argue in that case it’s probably because she isn’t specifically naming them to do so whereas Matthias would have to but I’m working off memory there so please feel free to correct me. But Jesper’s actual relationship with the Saints is arguably quite ambiguous, with no particular passages that point us in either direction. (Show!Jesper is highly implied to be atheistic in season 1 when Inej asks him what he thinks about Alina and he says he doesn’t care whether she’s real or not so long as they get paid, but there isn’t really anything like this in the books to my recollection) I think that might be because he has a far more complex and painful relationship with religion than we see on the surface level, and this has particular links to Nina’s belief that the Saints were possibly real people but were simply powerful Grisha not religious saviours/martyrs.

When Jesper was a child, his father would read him bedtime stories “from his Kaelish book of Saints”. At the same time, Colm was unintentionally damaging Jesper’s view of Grisha power and of himself by forcing him to hide it and telling him “that’s what killed your mother. That’s what took her away from us”. Alongside the self-hatred this cultivates in Jesper, seen mostly in Crooked Kingdom since he’s most open about it in the beautiful, heartbreaking chapter 24, I think it may have also impacted his relationship with religion. To be told as a child that these people are worshipped and valued for the things they could do, the same kind of things he saw his mother do and that he could be capable of, but that his power is a curse and a shameful secret that has to be hidden from the world is so damaging. It effectively raises the question: If it’s different for me than it is for them, what’s wrong with me? Why am I less worthy of love?

When Jesper already had these feelings growing inside him, feelings that went on to massively impact all the relationships in his life (most notably his relationships with Kaz and Wylan but I would also argue his relationship with Inej is affected by this as well) and actively endanger him when he began to try and fill the void he felt with gambling, to emphasise these emotions with something that could have been so beautiful and given him so much comfort by turning it into something that can be used against him by labelling him as less than others is so heartbreaking and honestly painful.

Obviously this is just an interpretation or a theory but this is how I feel about it when I reread, if anyone else has thought about this please feel free to add anything or contradict it with your own interpretation I’d love to read it.

[mikwaa]

I missed you

Prompt: You left on a mission, and it took a while to come back. And they are eager for you to come back.

Featuring: Kaveh, Kaeya, Alhaitham, Wanderer, Zhongli

Warnings: Only romance, suggestive at one point (nothing much), established relationship, spicy but nothing explicit.

A/n: No, I'm not begging someone to welcome me home like this. I swear.

Alhaitham:

Alhaitham was used to these missions of yours lasting days, sometimes even weeks. But this time he felt different, you had been away for a long time, and you had not given any sign of life. Normally you would always find a way to communicate with him, but that didn't happen this time. And these last few days it had become routine for him to stay up late, hoping that you would come into that house to fill the void he felt. But in the end, none of this happened, and he ended up just being overcome by sleep and tiredness. And there he was again, sitting on the couch immersed in his daily reading. He had already lost track of the time, his gaze shifted focus, one hour all his attention was devoted to the book, but at some point he kept staring at the door waiting for some sign from you. And just as he was about to doze off, his eyes so heavy they refused to stay open, he heard the door latch open, and he saw your silhouette. He even thought it was just the effect of sleep, he might be daydreaming or something, but soon those thoughts were put aside, as soon as he heard your sweet voice calling him. "Haitham?" You called him softly, not knowing if he was awake or asleep there on the couch. He blinked, once, twice, three times, before getting up and walking quickly towards you. "Are you okay?" His hands grabbed you around the waist, pulling you into his chest and wrapping you in a warm embrace. And you welcomed him, wrapping your arms around his body, letting yourself be carried away by the feeling of comfort it brought, you'd been away from home for days, nothing fairer than enjoying it. "Yes, I am. And you?" You snuggled into his neck, murmuring in a low, tired tone. One of his hands ran through your hair, gently stroking them, "I missed you, you took a long time." He whispers, full of tenderness in his voice. And he worried, a lot, especially when you disappeared and didn't give news like that. His mind would think of so many things, that sometimes he couldn't even close his eyes with worry. "Sorry, things got more complicated than I expected." And you gave him a little kiss on the lips, as a compensation for staying away. And he stared at you with those eyes that reminded you of emeralds, this while he smoothed a scratch on your face with his thumb, gently dragging his finger all over the area. "We have to take care of that, you can tell me how things went while I bandage it up." And to be honest, all he wanted was to keep you like this in his arms. All because he was dying of longing. Even though he was all serious, with you he showed a different side. More caring and loving, he hated to think of losing you, it drove him crazy. With that, once you walked through that door and back into his arms, his heart ceased, and he took comfort in your touch. Which he missed so much.

Kaeya:

It was late at night, but for Kaeya the night had just begun. He was in his living room, enjoying a good wine, already on his fourth glass. Even though everything seemed peaceful, his mind was full of thoughts, and all of those thoughts involved you. Suddenly a commission had come your way, and it had been two weeks since you had been out to solve the problem. Yet you and Kaeya always communicated, often by letters, you always sent him letters frequently. But not this time, he didn't receive any letters from you, and it was driving him mad. He had looked for you in many places, used his position as a Cavalry Captain to try and find you, but he had no trace of you. All he could do was sit and wait, wait for you to knock on his door, and only then would he be reassured. And as if the Archons had heard his prayers, someone knocked on his door. His heart began to skip beats as soon as he heard the sound at the door. He hurried to open it, only to see the little face he had missed so much. He was quick to pull you into a hug, nestling you in his arms, not leaving a gap for you to let go. "Someday you'll kill me with anticipation." He chuckles, as he murmurs against your ear. And you laughed back, clinging onto him even tighter, if that was even possible. "I'm back, I'm not leaving anytime soon." You nod at him, and he pulls away a little, only to pull you into a passionate, tender kiss. Surely he wanted to take you to the bedroom and make love with you passionately, to make up for lost time. But he wanted to hear you out first, to take you in and make you feel wanted, just like you were. He would surely want to know the story in full detail. "I'd be going crazy if I let you out again." With a cocky smile he says, his eye scanning every inch of your face. Archons, how he missed you. You put your hands around his neck as he leaned you against the closed door. "I have so much to tell you, if it's up to me we're both going to spend the night awake." And honestly he didn't care, the next day he would make up an excuse for missing work. All this just to have the pleasure of seeing you wake up in his arms, and to have an even greater pleasure of keeping you in the soft bed with him. "Not for that," And he points to the wine and the glass on the table, "I'll prepare some snacks for both of us, and get another glass." And he pulls away from you, not before stealing another kiss. And if it were up to him, you'd be there until the morning, just enjoying each other's company. And maybe even something more will happen, it will help a lot to make up for his missing you.

Kaveh:

Days and days pass, and Kaveh is almost in a state of panic. Every moment you don't signal if you are okay to him, his heart freezes. He just can't think of anything else, all he wanted most was to have you by his side, and he would trap you in his arms in a way that you couldn't even get out if you wanted to. That was the thought that kept him sane, he assured himself that you would come back to him soon. All he could do was count every minute, he even tried to focus on personal projects, but he just couldn't concentrate, all the time looking out the window anxiously, hoping you would show up. And as if by magic, as soon as he looked through the window he saw you, in your shabby clothes and carrying that heavy bag you always carried on long trips. And he ran out of the room, heading for the door to welcome you. And he was the first to open the door, wasting no time to take you in his arms, "You almost killed me! Do you know how worried I was?" And just as quickly as he put you in his arms, he let you go and looked you over from head to toe. "I'm fine, don't worry, I just need a good bath and a few cuddles, and I'll be brand new!" You say with a little smile, but that wasn't enough to convince him. "You're all scratched up, your clothes are all tattered." He said it like an complaining old man, but the tenderness and compassion in his eyes didn't fade in a minute. "It's all right, really." You gently put the palm of your hand on his cheeks, and he snuggled in. Once he felt your touch, he quieted, as if the emptiness in him had been filled. He took your hand and kissed it, then kissed all the way down your arm to your shoulder, "I missed you so much." You took his face in your hands, cupping it, "You don't know how much I wanted to come home." And then, he began to shower your face with kisses, whispering between each one, "You're not going to leave me again, are you?" And then again, " Heavens I love you so much." With a final kiss on your lips. You smiled against his lips, you couldn't take how adorable Kaveh could be. It seemed to take his lips off yours was a bit of work, because he really didn't want to, just like you. But you needed a good bath, clean clothes, and good food. "I'll prepare food for you, your tummy is rumbling isn't it?" He asks softly, while his forehead rests on yours. With a giggle you nodded, and he took you by the hand and led you to the kitchen, "Stay here while I prepare it, I want to hear everything that happened." And besides, he would definitely help you take care of the bruises. "Okay, I'll tell you detail by detail." You say it with a bright smile, and he comes over and gives you another kiss on the cheek. Surely he wouldn't let go of you, he would be the rest of the day like a sly child after you. As soon as you finished doing the rest of your chores, he would hug you and tell you everything that happened in the last few days. Just as he would be a great listener, he couldn't wait to spend a whole day with you.

Zhongli:

As the patient and calm man that he was, Zhongli didn't stress over silly things, however there were things that left him with a flea behind his ear. And one of those things was when you went out on those dangerous and long missions, sometimes he didn't even know when you were going to be back, and that made him a little apprehensive. And there he was, in his office at home, having a cup of tea, reading some contracts he needed to review. As attentive as he was to what he was doing, he couldn't help but have thoughts about you, about when you would return to that house that had suddenly become so empty. Since it was already considerably late, Zhongli had given up hope that you would return that day. But there was still that little glimmer of expectation that he would sleep next to you that night, he missed it so much. And so, he heard the 'click' of the door opening, soon revealing your countenance, which he missed so much. "Awake at this hour?" It was the first thing you said as soon as you saw him, and you would pay just to see the sparkle in those eyes all day long. And he stood up, putting all those papers aside and giving you his full attention. "I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival my dear." He held your face, thoughtfully stroking your cheeks. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long." Relaxing your face in his hands you say, and he immediately gives you a breathtaking smile. He pulled you into a hug, just to feel you in his embrace, whispering to you, "No matter how long I wait, all that matters is that you always come back to me." The velvety voice that always surprised you, that always gave you goosebumps. The love that oozed from his every utterance. And you clung to him more, it was the best thing to come home, to be welcomed with such tenderness and love, what more could you ask for? You kissed his neck lightly, softly saying, "I'll always come back to you." And he gave you a satisfied smile, you could not give a better answer. As much as his mind was full of bad ideas that could happen to you, so every time you came home safe and well, it was a huge relief to him. "I'll make something for both of us, you can go take a hot bath and put on more comfortable clothes." He strokes your hair, holding you by the chin and giving you a gentle, loving kiss. And he didn't want to let you go, genuinely didn't, but he was content with the fact that he could hold on to you for the rest of the night. He parted your lips from his, his fingers playing with your hair, and then he whispers again, "But first, can you give me one more kiss?" And he asks as if it's been forever since he last placed his lips against yours. And so it was done, he gently pressed his lips against yours, letting himself be carried away by the sensation it brought him. He was craving you so much that he couldn't help himself, as if his skin, his body, everything about him was begging for you. You were the only one capable of giving him that feeling, and it took his feet off the ground every time. With that last kiss, his plans changed, now he would join you in the bath. And then he would prepare the best food, he couldn't wait to take you to the shared room and there he would vent all the tension he felt these past few days. Just to let you know how much you were missed by him these days.

Wanderer:

Normally, Wanderer didn't mind too much when you left for these commissions, you were always very competent and always came back soon. But this time it had been almost four weeks since you had signaled anything, you had left, just saying it would be another one of your assignments. You had always been very secretive when it came to this, so he hadn't even bothered to go into details. However, now he felt a certain distress that you were spending so much time working like this, and even more so without giving any news of your whereabouts. From time to time he would walk around the city of Sumeru, hoping to find you somewhere, but he never succeeded. And he had already done that for the day, what was left was to go home and wait for you, and he didn't even know why he was giving so much importance to that. And as soon as he set foot inside the house, he was greeted with a hug, which was already familiar. "I thought you forgot about me." You say in a joking tone. And as if he needed this more than anything, he wrapped his arms around you, pressing you tightly against his body. "You and your silliness, I would never do that." In an annoyed grumble he answered you, his hands clasped around your waist. You lifted your face a little, just enough to kiss him lovingly on the cheek. His fingers tightened around you, signaling that he was enjoying it. "You shouldn't take so long on these missions." He grumbled at you, but you knew he wasn't angry, he was missing you. "I promise I'll spend more time at home." And this time you give him a kiss on the lips, slowly to enjoy the moment. And instead of rejecting it, which he would never do with you, he gladly accepted it, wanting it as much or even more than you. "I think you'd better comply." He manages to murmur during the kiss, meeting you voraciously as he presses his lips against yours. And then he finds your hand, and wraps his fingers around yours in a clear sign of affection. His free hand roaming around your waist, but he still held you tight. After a while he stops, just to admire your beautiful face, which had a pink tint. And without you expecting it, he kissed you all over your face, and you can bet he was as red as you were. His heart was pounding more and more, at the same time that he was reassured that you were home, he could not contain the excitement that ran through his body. You're there, you were finally there. "I love it when you do that." You say softly, and he gives you a little smile, still holding you in his arms. That was a more than accurate indicator for him to continue his advances, he might not say it with words, but certainly his attitudes showed how much he enjoyed seeing your reactions. With every touch, every kiss, every time his skin brushed against yours, he loved every little face you made. The way he looked at you gave away how much he cared. With a soft kiss on your lips he whispers, "Stay here longer, the house is empty without you." Your heart warmed at the phrase, and you pulled him into a deeper, more passionate kiss. And he just dived into the wonderful taste your lips had. And he is immersed in the delicious emotion he felt at that moment. And it was only then that he realized that he needed you there, just so things would make some sense. And surely, he would show you how great his feeling for you was.

[juuuulez]

📰 | part ten: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers, gun violence, father figure! Negan, soooomeeee ooonneee has a crush, teenagers in love.

summary: You tussle with your emotions regarding Carl, whilst Grimes and co pay a surprise visit to the Sanctuary.

omg i’m on fire!!!!! cliffhanger ending……but also next chapter will be similarly juicy so don’t fret! also half-written a carl x reader oneshot/drabble i’ll post soon between chapters :P

i’m so glad you all love my saviour reader story because i am her she is me…….this series is my CHILD i will defend it with my life!

-> masterlist <-

You hadn’t been to Alexandria in, frankly, what felt like years.

It was actually just weeks.

With an alliance between Hilltop, the Kingdom, and Alexandria, things for the Saviours were trickier than ever. Most of the time Negan spent in his office, trying to decode the best play. You helped, of course, and were practically running yourself ragged trying to keep things together at the Sanctuary.

It felt like everyone knew what was happening. Or they expected it, were waiting for it. It irritated you to no end, that others would blatantly show their disbelief in your cause, in Negan’s cause.

And then there was Carl.

You missed him, which was weird. He had become a constant in your life, the arguing and fighting, the pushing and shoving. But now your relationship had crested into something else… and you didn’t hate it.

In fact, you quite enjoyed kissing Carl.

Not that you’d admit that. To him, to anyone. Nobody needed that amount of power over you.

“You can go to bed, doll.”

You looked up from your lap, where a book of supply schedules was scribbled down. You were seated on that long leather couch in Negan’s office, whilst he worked on god knows what. Hopefully a viable strategy.

“No, I’m fine.” You tell him, politely. Too politely.

Truth is, you were hanging on by a thread. But with no supplies from Alexandria, nor Hilltop, the situation at the Sanctuary was becoming dire. You were trying to figure out how to jig things around so that everyone could be satisfied, or maybe even rethinking the points system, making the imaginary economy more competitive.

“I’m serious,” Negan insists, “You don’t gotta be doin’ this shit. It’s below you.”

You roll your eyes, “Who’s gonna do it, then? Simon’s corpse?”

The sarcastic comment earns you a glare in return, which does make you feel a little bad. You’d watched the brawl firsthand, and had almost tried to help Negan, if not for Dwight holding you back. Either way, it didn’t matter, for Simon was eventually strangled to death.

Brutal, but fitting.

Maybe you were trying to fill that void. The line between right-hand man and teenage daughter was thinning.

Negan rose from his seat, coming over to stand in front of you. He didn’t even need to lean down, swiftly plucking the tattered notebook from your lap, to which you groaned and leaned back on the couch.

He inspected it, reading over the numbers and scrawled figures. “You’re doing this wrong.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should start making your wives do the bookkeeping.” You grumbled, laying down on the couch in defeat.

Negan tossed the notebook onto the coffee table, sitting on the couch opposite you. “Doubt they can count past ten.”

It was a terrible thing to say, but got a smile out of you. It was difficult to be in a good mood on so little sleep, so the tiniest hint of happiness was well appreciated.

“When will we go to Alexandria again?”

You tried not to sound too interested in the question, but couldn’t help yourself, and needed to ask. Not for Carl, just for supplies. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“Soon. Give it another week,” Negan confirmed, though his eyes said he knew something more. “Awfully interested in that shithole, aren’t you?”

This caused you to roll over, onto your side, so you could glare over at the older man. “We need that shithole to survive.”

There was a playful glint on Negan’s face, the words earning a small laugh from him. “Maybe you do. Bet you’re just itchin’ for your little cyclops.”

The joke causes you to bristle, irritation rising as you hoist yourself from the couch, making a play for the door. On such little sleep, you weren’t in the mood to entertain being teased.

But Negan stopped you, that grin still on his face. “Hey, c’mon, doll. You know I’m just tryin’ to rile you up.” He admits, coming to a stand.

The glare remains, but at least you stop your escape, instead just standing near the door with your arms crossed. You’d likely give some defensive retort, but Negan is already speaking again.

“Everyone has their first crush at some point. I’m just surprised it took you this long.”

“I don’t have a crush,” You practically snarl. “I’m not twelve years old.”

“Okay, sorry. Not a crush,” Negan approaches slowly, like you’ll run off again, though is pleased when you stand still. “Sounds like it’s past your bedtime.”

Your nose scrunches up, eyes narrowed in offence as he continues to treat you like a child. But you know he’s just making a point to tease you, judging by that stupid grin on his face, so you try not to react.

His hands bracket your arms, giving you a little spin so that you’re facing the door. But now you sigh, turning back around, unable to just drop this conversation all together.

“You don’t care?” You ask. “Like, if I did have a crush, you don’t even mind? Not that I do, I’m just… wondering.”

Negan smiles, finding your half-confession quite adorable. “That’s what kids do, darlin’. Besides, the boy’s got his head on straight. Certainly got more balls than his father.”

You look down at the floor, a little pensive. “I don’t have a crush on Carl.” You reiterate, standing your ground, trying to sound firm in order to convince the both of you.

He seems to get the hint, understanding that maybe you don’t even know what’s going on. “I know, doll. Don’t stress it too much.” Negan drops the subject, letting his arm encase your back for a small squeeze before letting you go. “Go get some rest.”

You muster up a little smile, finally accepting the offer and scampering back off to bed. After all, you were exhausted, despite that inherent need to make yourself useful. Supply counts could wait.

It was a comforting space, your bedroom, one you retreated to whenever things got overwhelming. It was filled with photos and trinkets, candy stashed away in the drawers, all the things you didn’t have when growing up. It was your space.

That night, you fell asleep weighing the severity of simply going to Alexandria yourself. You passed out a few minutes into debating what transportation to take.

Fortunately, or, probably unfortunately, that wasn’t necessary.

For Alexandria had come to you.

Gunfire was a familiar sound to wake up to. Usually, it was a low-level squabble, or maybe one of the Saviours proving a point. Either way, it never lasted long.

But this time, there was shouting, and more bullets. It was enough to jolt you awake, pushing past that bleary state of consciousness and waiting, still, for it to continue.

It did.

You climbed out of bed with urgency, moving on autopilot as you threw on some jeans, not bothering to change from your sleep tank before bolting for the door.

Just as your fingertips brushed the bat, you realised it wouldn’t do. That gun was still locked away in the bottom drawer, so you reached for it, shoving a handful of bullets into your pocket before leaving.

Now, you’ve never been a very good shot. That’s why you preferred using the bat, or at the very least, hand-to-hand combat. You had terrible aim. But maybe now was the best time to fix that issue.

So, you made your way through the Sanctuary, swiftly stepping through hallways, gun at the ready. You were outside in minutes, the shouting becoming much clearer now, a voice you could recognise:

Rick Grimes.

“Fuck this..” You grumbled, growing irritated with this relentless back and forth. And now, they were in your home.

Another shot blew out the glass from above you, forcing you further against the wall, as the shards piled on the concrete. Some littered your skin, your shoulders bare, due to still wearing a tank intended for sleeping. You didn’t even have a bra on.

But there were worse problems, you supposed.

The gun felt heavy in your hands, fingers twitching around the trigger. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to use it, though that seemed like wishful thinking. You wondered where Negan was, yet believed he could handle himself. You and this gun were the main concern, a gun you had no idea how to use effectively.

You hid behind anything available, crouched down, trying to survey the surroundings. From here, you could see the scattered factions of makeshift soldiers, though Rick was now missing. You presumed he had a similar thought process to you: Negan.

That was fine, for now.

Clutching the gun tightly, you shifted into view, holding it outwards and discharging a shot into the distance. It echoed in the nearby vicinity, though there was too much gunfire to distinguish where it had came from, luckily. It didn’t seem to hit anyone.

What a waste.

“Hey!”

It was a whisper-shout, one clearly intended to gain your attention. You spun your head around, searching for the voice, amongst all the yelling and fighting taking place within your home. It took an embarrassing amount of time until you saw him.

Carl.

Thank fucking god.

He’d been watching you, on alert for your figure the second they arrived. He clocked your creeping approach into the battle field, ducking behind anything possible. It was almost amusing, the stark contrast in how you usually chose to fight, but made sense after you fired that hopeless shot.

You had no idea what was going on, assuming that Negan and Rick were off fighting, whilst a few Saviours tried to keep the rival gang at bay. Or gangs, plural. You guessed that speaking to Carl would be your best chance at getting a grip on the situation. That, and you weren’t in the mood for a defensive Saviour to shoot him.

So, you tried to get closer, looking left and right to make sure the coast was clear before ducking behind rubble or vehicles, anything to provide cover. Carl was used to fighting, sure, but felt slightly anxious for a reason he couldn’t pin. It was just a bad feeling, like something was not right.

This time, Carl called out your name, causing you to look up and at attention. He held out his hand, despite being meters away, a signal to come closer under the cover he’d found.

You clutch the gun tightly, safety off, poised at your side. But it’s difficult to see everyone, from this position, forcing you to inch out from behind the truck in order to get a visual.

Still holding out his hand, Carl waits, watching as you peek your head out.

Pop!

A shot fires, crackling in the distance, though it takes you down with a solid thud.

[charmedreincarnation]

Hi Maya! my name is Claire and I got into the void state, shifted and manifested my dream life using your lucid dreaming guide, and your recommended subliminals!

I think lucid dreaming is the easiest way to do anything spiritual related because dreams are the link of reality to the subconscious. I have now entered the void, shifted, and practice manifesting while using lucid dreaming. I had been trying for 3 years and your guide really gave me clarity I needed to complete my journey. This was a couple of months ago when I first read your post that I got my dream life so I just want to share my experiences in case it could help others!

Sooo….I first restarted my journey after downloading tumblr. I knew I wanted to do lucid dreaming so I did my research and found your guide and the rest is history. I started small, and after using FILD I combined that with your intention method and your recommended subliminals and it sped up my journey. I crawled before I walked and I first started with having small manifestations using lucid dreaming

In my lucid dreams

*I practiced driving in lucid dreaming and manifested my license

*I practiced my public speaking and manifested less anxiety

*i talked to my guardian Angel. It took form of an owl, which is the first spiritual experience I ever had.

Then I went bigger and tried shifting. After a week of practice I got lucid dreaming down and could become lucid every night.

Then I shifted. Best day of my life and I had no plans so I ended up shifting to a reality where no men exist 😭 it was honestly so fun and I spent a week of dr time telling women about what men are, what they do, and the oppression women in this reality faced. It was in a futuristic yet renaissancey type like reality. Anyways as I explored this new society I discovered something miraculous: the disappearance of men has actually created harmony. Women are now able to focus on themselves and the things that matter most to them without worrying about the men.This newfound bliss didn’t last long however as I soon realized that a new problem had emerged. With the absence of men many essential tasks were left undone. And so, the women of our society had formed a collective economy in order to fill this void.One of the most peculiar duties that the women had assumed was to take care of the sheep. With no shepherds to take care of them, women used their skills to care for these animals and protect them from the elements. They have become so adept at this task that they have perfected it. The lack of men may have been a dramatic adjustment, but it has made for a joyful and empowering society.

When I came back I made a list of realities, like self created ones, tv shows, books, etc that I wanted to shift my awareness to and historic past places I wanted to visit. I spent a lot of time doing that, I was barely ever in this cr tbh and I enjoyed it throughly. I decided then that I was going to one day permanent shift and explore the infinite vast world for eternity. When I came back to this reality after having the first initial exploring crave I realized I hated my life lmfaooo. But I knew about the void and started reading stories about that and then I decided I wanted to change my life here too.

I mean.. I have the multiverse to my will so might as well fix this life here too. I hated coming back to this reality after my shifts because my parents were abusive, I was kind of ugly, and my life had gone to shit. I didn’t really care to change it because I was barely here anyways but after reading Neville and the law and understanding that “clones” really don’t exist and I’m just switching states I decided up stop being such a loser and realize it’s all me and only me. Anyways I manifested a complete change in my life in every aspect. I don’t really care to make a list but I am gorgeous, my family is revised to be old money rich, loving,and taken care of, my house is 30,000 sq feet,revised my name to Claire (it’s so pretty I love it) I have a loving boyfriend who is into shifting and spirituality as well, and so much more. I still do plan to permanent shift one day and I reserve to sundays for exploring the multiverse but I want to enjoy this reality now.

I thought being here was an accident after shifting, but nope everything happens bc you intended to and it’s so goddamn beautiful. This came out super ranty and lame but I just wanted to share in case I motivated anyone! I still sometimes come on tumblr so can I be your 🎐 anon. I love seeing all the success stories and everyone living their best life ! Anyways the best tips I can give you as a stranger who has been through all this is be kind to yourself and never give up. You found it all for a reason and you deserve to have everything and you will.

The first reality you shifted to reminds me of a very vivid dream I had four months ago. Regardless anyways your entire experience is so beautiful and I relate a lot to your experience I’m glad you have found happiness in every reality including this one beloved :)! Thank you for sharing 🎐 anon

[cosmic-crybaby]

Break My Heart Again- Tommy Shelby x Reader

Part 2

Summary: After being childhood friends, you and Thomas made a promise one day to get married, but when he returns from France, he comes back a completely different man.

Warnings: ANGST, Tommy being a jerk, talk of trauma/death/etc. Platonic(?) betrayal.

It had been what seemed like weeks after the men were shipped off to France to fight in the war. When in reality, it had been only a week. [Name] had went back to work rather quickly, her mother preferring not to have her daughter mope around the house like a widow. So, she wrote her first letter to him.

Thomas,

You've just left us and it's already quiet here. Too quiet. The betting shop, the street, and the pub are all silent compared to the liveliness we were used to when you were home. When we came back from the platform, Polly, Ada, Martha, and I had walked in silence. Even Finn wasn't being his usual disorderly self. It's almost as if no one knew how to fill the silence. No one can fill the void that you three left.

In all honesty, I am scared. Terrified something will happen, and you won't return home to us. I want you to know how much I think about you, how much I need you to come home to me. I want you to be my first everything, I want you to keep that promise you made me before you left. Even now, as I write this letter, I stare at the ring on my finger, imagining how our future would be. We will pray for you every morning for a safe return.

Stay safe and please watch over each other. We are sending our love and prayers.

Sincerely, Your love [Name].

The whole of Small Heath seemed to be silent the first few days, but the women quickly took over while most of the men were gone. She had worked and worked everyday with the other women in the shop. Polly and Ada were strong women, and they were cracking down on the books like no other. They had involved themselves with their work that [Name] didn't expect her letter to come a few weeks later. Ada came running in with the post, handing her Aunt Polly the letters, and dropping Thomas' letter on the desk in front of her new close friend.

[Name] had never pulled out her letter opener so quickly. She nearly missed the blade as her hands shook to open it. The pages of parchment fell on the desk, unfolding it to read the letter he sent. Her colorful eyes went wide as she read the first page, heart fluttering and beating fast as she imagined his voice saying these words.

[Name],

When the train had left the station, I had already found myself missing home. We Small Heath boys sat together and no one knew what to say. We try to stay optimistic but news is that the odds are not in our favor. It hits harder the further we are from home. I am currently at a training camp, and even when my face is in the mud I still think of you. Your eyes, your smile, your voice. You visit me in my dreams, even when I'm in this hell you still feel like home.

No matter how long this will last, it will be difficult for you as it is for us. But Polly with take good care of you, you are no doubt a part of this family already. You will soon be a Shelby. I had never forgotten my promise to you. You are my dearest friend, and the most beautiful girl I had ever met. I knew from the day we met, you were special.

I will be safe [Name] I promise you that. We are going to make this out alive and you and I will get married and have our future together, building our legacy. Keep your thoughts clear and your mind positive until our return.

Until I write again my Love, Tommy.

The single tear ran down her cheek. Smiling a bit as she folded the paper again, placing it back in the envelope and into the drawer. Hearing Polly and Ada read the letters out loud from Arthur and John as they laughed through the sniffles. It made her lean back into her chair, looking up from the ring to the ceiling.

"[Name]! What did Tommy say?" Ada ran into her office, leaning on the door frame. [Name] turns to the younger Shelby sibling.

"Wouldn't you like to know," She teased with a light-hearted smirk.

"Come off it, lemme see!" Ada skipped to the desk, sitting down on top as [Name] gave in and took out the letter again, handing it to Ada. She smiles brightly as she read over the letter.

"Oh, [Name], that's so nice...I've never heard him be so...well, that before," She laughed. The girl tsked and grabbed the letters back from the Shelby.

"You'd be surprised, he's quite the romantic," She arched a brow at Ada.

"Yeah sure..." She shook her head.

"How are John and Arthur doing?" She had asked, putting the letters back.

"As good as they can be, [Name]...as good as they can be..." She paused. "Have you talked to Martha?" Ada asked. [Name] shook her head.

"Is she still sick?" She asked, her voice laced with worry.

"We think so, Polly's gonna visit her after work today, give her some medicine make sure she's okay, but just don't say anything to Tommy about it...She doesn't want John to worry," Ada explained.

"Of course, your secret is safe with me," Her lips formed into a tight lipped smile.

"I'll leave ya to write your letters," Ada hopped off of the desk and left her office. [Name] lets out a heavy sigh, moving the record books out of the way to pull the typewriter forward, placing the paper in before thinking of what exactly to write. How she could pour her feelings into one letter. Taking her fingers away from the keys to take a quick prayer, the same prayer that Polly taught all of the girls at the shop.

---

It had been years since the men from Small Heath had left. During those years, the two of them wrote letters back and forth as often as they could. At some point the letters began to slow. Anyone could imagine the reason why. In the last letter Tommy sent, he gave [Name] an idea of what he had to endure. The carnage and violence was only the beginning. The deaths he encountered, the injury and damage that had happened to him physically and mentally was enough to hurt her. Just from reading it. It was the middle of July of 1918. She was writing another letter to Thomas.

Thomas,

I received your letter last night. I miss you more than words can describe. Everything is starting to feel like normal again, as normal as is can be. I suppose the women taking over the jobs while most of the male population being away was the norm for the time being. It was still strange though. However, business has been slow recently. Ever since Martha had passed Polly and I had been taking turns to take care of the kids. Cooking for them and cleaning up after them nearly every day was just as hard as I imagined, Martha made it look so easy. Please give John my condolences once again and that we are thinking of him. And let me know how he is holding up.

The horses are looking healthy, Curly has been taking good care of them. My mother and I take walks in your uncles yard after dinner nearly every night just to see how the horses are doing, and so far he has been doing a wonderful job.

As much as I want to keep this letter forward-looking and cheerful, I do hope you are doing alright Tommy. The last letter you sent me had me worried for you. You told me you were going to be in charge of digging tunnels to bury explosives, I just hope you make it out alive. You had been there for me when my father had passed, and I hope you will let me be there for you after this is all over. Of course I have no real insight of what you are going through, but I hope you are safe. You were always so determined and strong. Make us proud, you always do.

Please give my love and support to your brothers.

Your Love, [Name].

It took months to receive a letter back. Longer than usual, but you didn't question it as you knew his job was hard, but you'd be lying if part of you didn't think the worst. But those clouds that plagued your mind were clear upon seeing his letter. It was a short one this time, but you imagined that he barely had any time to write these days.

[Name],

I am writing this by candlelight, Danny and Freddie doing the same. Writing wills and writing home. I have left everything I had to the family, you included. I'm sorry it's not much or what we had planned, but this is inevitable.

Knowing what's waiting at home encourages me and I will do my best to come out alive.

I will make sure to relay your kind words to John next time I see him.

Until I write again, SMG, Tommy.

Her hands shook as she read over the short letter. Again and Again she couldn't believe what he was saying. She set the letter in the desk drawer, along with the other piles of letters, before shutting it. She didn't want to believe it, not one bit. She was still hopeful that he would live. He even said 'Until I write again,'...but she didn't expect the letters to completely stop coming after that. No matter how many letters she had sent his way, she still didn't receive one back.

Weeks had passed, as Ada and Polly were receiving letters back to back every week, while [Name] came to an empty desk, but she never told them, afraid to hear if they received his letters as well or not. It made her heart hurt to think of the possibilities.

On November eleventh, a boy ran through the streets blaring the news. The war had ended. There was a shift in the air after the news broke of the war ending and the men finally returning home. The entirety of Small Heath seemed to be rushing to prepare for the return of the soldiers. Even Polly seemed increasingly distracted as she prepared for the return of her nephews, leaning on [Name] to review additional books and records. But tensions arise further as the official date was announced of the soldiers arrival.

Ada and the other girls grew giddier with each passing day, making [Name] just want to smack them. She was happy for them of course but, how could she witness their excitement for their men if she hadn't heard from hers in months. When the day finally arrived, it felt like the entire town was rushing to the station. Polly and Ada were waiting in anticipation for the train to arrive, while [Name] kept her brows stern in worry as she kept her gaze to the cement floor. She honestly had no idea what to expect. If he wasn't to return she would be heartbroken, if he was she would be confused by the cold shoulder he gave her. The sound of people cheering and screaming caught her attention as the train approached. Polly and Ada pushed their way forward as the train came to a stop. [Name] made sure to hold onto Finn as tight as she could so he wouldn't get lost in the crowd.

"Where are they?" Polly asked, excitement seeping in her voice.

"I dunno, [Name], do you see 'em?" Ada asked as she pulled her quiet friend along. Her eyes barely scanned the area as families reunited in tears, the boys finding their family members and just melting into their embrace.

"Um..." [Name] tried to get a better look, but the hordes of people blocked her vision.

"[Name]!" Ada called next to her...and she felt your heart drop. "I see them! Aunt Pol, look! There they are!"

[Name] couldn't catch her breath as Ada pointed somewhere in the distance. She squealed as she pulled [Name] with her. The closer they got, the more her heart began to beat. It felt like it was going to beat right out of her chest. She almost didn't want to lay her eyes upon them. In fear she would end up like the women receiving bad news that their own soldier had died in the battlefield.

But, she finally looked up. Ada, Finn, and Polly running to hug Arthur and John. [Name] stood in her place as she met this eyes. Those icy blue eyes and suddenly the air flew back into her lungs.

He was alive.

"Thomas?" She called, he stared at her. "Thomas!" She took off from her planted state and ran towards him. Throwing herself in his arms as she held him tightly, his arms wrapped around her tightly as he burred his face into her neck, inhaling deeply. She smelled like florals, an exotic blend of jasmine and violet. She smelled like home.

"You're okay...you're alive," She whispered to remind herself that he was in the flesh. She lifted her head to look at him, tears flooding her eyes as she rekindled with him. His hair was cut, short on the sides and back, nearly to the root with longer hair on the top that draped just across his forehead. The square of his jaw was clenched and sunk at the cheeks, sharp cheek bones...sharp enough to cut glass. Dark circles under his eyes and pale skin, but the same freckles littered his nose and cheeks. He looked so different. But nothing could beat the look in his eyes. He looked like a man that had gone through hell.

She supposed he actually did.

"My love? Are you really here with me?" She asked him, bringing her hands up to his face.

"I am...[Name], I'm here," He slightly smiled at her as he kissed her forehead. She knew he was physically here, but part of her knew mentally...he was distancing himself.

As the days passed, his once beautiful, vibrant blue eyes turned dull and emotionless. Just like before, he was sweet with her at first, but he started to grow cold. On some nights, she would sleep in his small bed, just waiting for him to come home in the late hours. When he did come home late, he would be drunk and simply stumble into bed, the faint smell of roses on his neck. He was a shell of the man she used to love.

One morning, she walked into his office.

"We need to talk," She told him, standing in the doorway sheepishly. He barely looked up at her before lighting a cigarette.

"What is it [Name], I am extremely busy," He huffed. The woman rolled her eyes, clenching her jaw as she closed the door behind her and walked to his desk until she were standing in front of him.

"You have been acting strange with me all these weeks, Tommy...What's happened?" She finally asked.

"Nothing happened, [Name]…Is that all this is about?" He asked, standing to grab some books from his shelf to look over, still avoiding her eyes. She almost felt delirious as she just wanted him to look at her. Her eyes followed him.

"You barely talk to me-"

"We're talking now," He quipped. She refrained from tearing her own hair out at how dismissive he was being.

"Hardly..."

"What is the point of this conversation [Name]?" He asked, arching a brow as he went back to his desk, again her body followed him, facing him again.

"The point is you don't treat me like I matter to you anymore, you hardly treat me as your bride-to-be let alone a friend! Does our friendship even matter to you anymore?"

He stayed silent as he just kept his head down.

"For Christ sake Thomas, look at me!" She shouted in frustration. His head snapped up to look at her. Surprised she had raised her voice as she had been so quiet since his return.

"You want to know what really happened, [Name]? Eh?" He quickly stood up and stalked towards her, her breath shuttered a bit as she was backed away into the wall, he stood tall over her.

"I saw people die, for four fucken' years! I nearly died in those tunnels, drowning in the mud and still, you assume I'll forget that ever happened?!" He shouted, getting closer.

"I don't blame you for what happened while you were gone...I understand-"

"No you don't [Name], stop fucken' saying you understand me when you don't! You weren't there, you will never understand what happened to me out there!"

"So what changed Thomas?" She asked, her lip trembling a bit. "What did I do to make you treat me this way?"

He scoffed, shaking his head as he pushed himself off of the wall and distanced himself from her.

"I thought you died out there Thomas, you didn't respond to my letters for weeks, I...I was so scared, and to find out you were alive and now? You treat me like a stranger... What did I do wrong?" Her voice was stern, but even Thomas heard the unstable wavering of some of the words. Thomas eyed her, looking at her like she was some common woman, not his closest friend and love of his life.

"You drain me...just being with you is exhausting, I mean for fucks sake [Name], you cling to me more that a fuckin' leach from the cut,"

"A leach?...That's what you think of me now?" She shook her head.

He hesitated.

"So that promise you made me was all fake?"

'What can I say? France gave me clarity..." He shrugged. [Name] was fuming. This wasn't the man she loved. Not anymore.

"I don't know who you think you are, but I loved you Thomas...But you're not the man I fell in love with,"

Thomas bit his lip before reaching into his pocket to grab another cigarette. There was still light in his eyes but he was too deep in his memories of France that he couldn't get out. He hardly slept as he heard the digging in the walls every night. She would have made those noises from his head and those terrors in his dreams if he had just given her the chance. He'd rather spend his nights elsewhere getting drunk and sleeping with the prostitute he met shortly after returning home.

"The old me died in the tunnels..." He spoke softly. She wanted nothing but to just kiss him and tell him everything would be okay. But the memories haunted him. And therefor turned her love away.

"I suppose the new you doesn't have love for anyone?"

"No," He replied quickly.

She nodded slowly. Reaching into her left hand and debating if she wanted to return the ring he gave her before he left. Tears brimmed her eyes as she slipped the gold band off of her finger. Thomas' eyes widened ever so slightly as he watched her walk over to him, grabbing his hand and placing the ring in his palm before folding his fingers over it, moving past him as she left his office without any last words.

she had stormed to her own office, slamming the door and quickly gathering her thoughts before gathering her things. She had left the shop in silence, Polly had called her name as she watched [Name] leave without a trace.

"Where has she gone, why is she leaving?" She asked her nephews and niece before going to investigate the now empty office. Thomas watched in shameful silence as Polly confirmed that her things were gone. Though the reason was unknown, Polly accused of Thomas being the reason for the young woman's departure. After she had voiced her (harsh) words, she left him in silence again.

"Trouble in paradise?" His brother asked, smirking a bit after watched their aunt butchering him with her words.

"Shut up John," He rolled his eyes before returning to work.

---

[Tag List]

@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @milljane @cyphah @diosa-ahre-blog @badlandsbrunette

[ghulehthezombiequeen]

Here kitty kitty - Sodo x reader

masterlist.

author's note: i felt bad after dropping three angst fics and then disappearing into the void so have some wholesome sodo 🫶

also i have a headcanon that all the ghouls purr whenever someone pets/scratches their sweet spots and they just melt in your arms and its just so absjdifhfbdbdjsjak i'm in love

other things to note: no pronouns used for reader, sodo gets kinda subby so if you squint there's a bit of suggestive tones (you'll have to squint so hard you can't see though)

word count: 877

“Hey, is it true that ghoul biology is similar to a cat’s?” You asked curiously, looking up from the book you were studying. You and Sodo were in the rehearsal room; Sodo was sitting down on an amp, practicing his solos for the recording of an upcoming album, and he wanted to get it down perfectly. You were just there because you didn’t want him to be lonely. “Um, yeah, why?” Sodo asked, keeping his eyes on his guitar. 

“Well, I’m just studying for my test, and… it says that to earn bonus points on the test, if I’m able to, I have to… um… make a ghoul purr.” You felt your cheeks burn as the words rolled off your tongue, and Sodo stopped playing abruptly. He stared up at you, trying to decipher if you were being serious or not. 

“…You what?” 

“It says only if I’m able to!” You defended yourself.  “Wait, wait, wait… let me get this straight.” Sodo uncrossed his legs, putting his guitar to the side gently. He then looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “You’re asking me… to help you get bonus points on a test… and you have to make me… purr?” He grimaced. 

“Um… yeah. That- that’s what the book says, anyway.” 

“Also, remind me why are you even taking that ghoul biology class? You’re not even a ghoul!” He frowned. 

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Papa Secondo says that it’s good for a Sibling of Sin to memorize the biology of a ghoul inside and out just in case a ritual goes wrong and someone gets hurt. And it’s a required class for me to take before I take his Latin class.” 

“….Alright, that does seem like a valid point. Alright,” He sighed, folding his arms and standing up, walking over to the couch you were sitting on and looked down at you. “I’ll help you. But only because I know how cranky Papa Secondo can get.” 

You gave him a cheeky grin. “Wait, really?! Oh my gosh, thank you thank you thank you!” You jumped up and excitedly gave him a hug. You thought you were going to have to ask Rain or Mountain to help you, which would probably take longer considering their schedules were filled to the brim with activities. 

“Yeah yeah yeah, alright, okay, get off.” He grumbled, blushing as he automatically put his hands on your waist. He’d never admit it, but he loved hugs. 

“Sorry, sorry.” You giggled, pulling away. 

“Alright, so what do I have to do?” He sighed. He looked like he was already over it, although it had barely started. 

“Here, sit next to me.” You beckoned, and he sat to your left. You glanced at your book, reading the common sweet spots to scratch. “Alright, let’s try… the ears.” 

Your hand slowly went behind his ears, your nails gently scratching the soft fluff, making them twitch at first but stilled as you continued. Sodo let out a small hiss, not expecting the sudden stimulation there. His fangs started to poke out of his lips. 

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” You asked as you stopped scratching once he hissed.  “No… you’re fine. I just- wasn’t expecting it to feel like that.” He mumbled. 

“M’kay.” You continued scratching behind his ears, which flickered down then stilled. You felt a low vibration begin, and your eyes wandered to Sodo’s eyes, which were closed tight. “M…m…mrr….” He grumbled, causing you to laugh.  “Aw, this feels good, doesn’t it?” You asked, and he nodded vigorously. You glanced over his shoulder at the open book, reading that another sensitive spot was the top of their heads and their chins. You opted for his chin, bringing your other hand to rub his soft jawline.  “Mmm… Mrrrr… mrow… ah..” Sodo’s eyes widened as his mewls grew louder, his cheeks turning red. You bit your lip to hold back another giggle, but you couldn’t contain the smirk on your face. 

“Mrrrow…. Ah- hey! D-Don’t…. Mrow… Don’t laugh at me….” He growled, but it morphed into a purr, causing your giggles to spill out of your mouth.  “Awww, you’re so cute! Are you a good kitty? Yeah?” You cooed, continuing to scratch his chin and now the top of his head where his scalp was. When you moved your hand to the new area, his tail flicked against the back of the couch, hard. It then started wagging, tapping against the soft pillow behind him. 

He started purring like crazy, nodding vigorously at your question. “Mrow… y-yes, yes…. I’m good.. I’m a g-good kitty…” 

He started to curl up closer to you, his leg already on your lap. You scooped him up in your arms so that he was curled safely on your lap, continuing to scratch and pet him. 

You had sneakily pulled out your phone and snapped a few photos of Sodo in your lap, as he never usually acted like this. He hissed as he saw you put your phone back, to which you replied with a giggle, “Photo evidence. It’s what the book says.” 

He grumbled something incoherent but kept mewing and purring. 

As you reveled in this moment, you remembered: you’ll have to do this again for the end of the year-review test. 

[maxiroff]

I guess your not who I thought you were. Part 2 ~ Natasha Romanoff

Summary: How will Natasha fix the thing that meant the most to her? After all she was the one to ruin it in the first place.

I recommend you read part one here first to understand this if you haven’t already.

Paring: Popular Natasha x bullied reader

Words: 1462

Warnings: Angst but with a happy ending this time. I think that’s all.

Note: I hope this is good for those who asked for a part two even if I couldn’t fulfill all your request.

She remembered the day like it was yesterday, the day she broke your heart. “I would never wear something as ugly as that, it's even uglier than you.” She regretted those words the moment she said them. The way she could see your bottom lip start to tremble and your eyes filling with tears. She could feel your heart shattering before her. She lost you, the only one she truly cared about, the only person she truly loved.

She tried everything, she tried calling, texting, even knocking on your door but you never answered. She knew of your mental state and if she hadn’t overheard Wanda talk about your school she would have thought you had done something, something stupid. Even the thought of never getting to see you again scares her to death. She will do everything to get you back, to prove to you just how much you mean to her, how much she loves you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again you listened to your phone ring as you laid in your bed, same name everyday. Each time it broke your heart a little more. Everything felt meaningless, getting up from bed was one of the hardest things you'd ever done. You were tired even though sleeping was all you did.

“I love you so much my darling. You are the most valuable thing in my life and I’ll wear this as a sign of that.” How could she lie so bluntly to your face? She made you feel like the most special girl in the world. Time after time she held you as cried, laughed and slept in her arms. Time after time she told you how much she loved and cared for you. Everything felt like a lie, maybe it was. Maybe you were just a bet made by her friends. It wouldn't surprise you, you were already the biggest joke in school. “I love you” you could hear her voice over and over again.

You were so stuck in your head you didn’t notice another person in the room until she was curled up against you, holding you in her arms.

“Hey love, you need to get up, it's been weeks since it happened.”

Wanda’s voice sounded almost like a void, which she noticed, trying to bring you back to reality by pressing you harder against her body.

“I know it has been, I just feel so paralyzed, I can't even look at my own phone without having some kind of flashback, how am I supposed to face her.” Even now you could feel your eyes blurring as Wanda tightened her grip around you.

“Well it certainly won't get better by laying her all day. So as your best friend and roommate I am making the hard decision for you and taking you back to school”

“No” “Yes” “No” “Yes, you don't get a say in this Y/N. You can not let this ruin the rest of your life” You know she had a point, you couldn’t just put your life on paus, that's not how it works.

“Fine, I’ll go.” “Yesss” Wandra spoke excitedly as she almost squeezed you to death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All eyes were on you, by now the whole school knew what happened between you and Natasha. You reach back for the hood on hoodie bringing it over your head trying desperately to shield yourself from prying eyes. The floor suddenly became very interesting. So interesting you didn't notice you walked right into the person you were trying to avoid and dropped all your books in the process.

“Oh god, I'm so sorry I wasn’t looking and- “ The words caught in your throat when you looked up to see who it was. While your heart told you to embrace her and try to get her back, even though you did nothing wrong, your instincts told you to run as fast as you could. You tried to do the latter but as soon as you bent down to pick up your book Natasha did the same.

“Let me help you, it was my fault anyway.” she said as she reached for the books making your hands touch at the top of the books. You quickly moved out of the way as if her touch burned your skin. The anger burned through your body as you got flashbacks of the loving feeling her touch used to bring you. “No thanks, wouldn't want you to be seen with someone like me” you said, turning to walk away as fast as you can with the books in your arms.

“Wait please Y/N” your hear behind you as she grabs your arm tight, keeping you with her. “Did you at least get my flowers?” She sounded desperate as if you actually meant something to her. And how could you forget the flowers? She sent you a beautiful bouquet of blue and purple hyacinths, the flowers signifying constancy, regret and sincerity. She had also sent a handwritten note stating how sorry she was, how much she loved me and how she was going to fix everything. But how can you fix something that is so destroyed and broken beyond repair.

“I did” you said in a strict voice glaring at her. Your tone making her heart ache more than it already was. You had never spoken to her in such a cold way and it scared her more than anything. “And?”

“And what? What do you want me to say huh? That I forgive you just like that, because you gave me flowers. That's not how it works. How could I ever trust you again after what you did?” While Natasha’s heart broke at the tears welling up in your eyes you became even more furious at the thought of Natasha seeing you cry like some weak idiot. She took the hand that you weren’t holding the books in. Softly stroking the upper part of your palm as a way to calm you down.

“Please, let me prove it to you, that you can trust me. Please, I’m begging you. You're all I have, I can't lose you”. A tear slowly rolled down her cheek. She had already experienced what it was like to lose you once and she wouldn’t survive it again. To never be able to hold you tight against her while watching a movie, never be able to hear you laugh again, never get to kiss your soft lips again or to be intimate in any way. It was a thought worse than death.

“How? How can you do that?”

“Like this” she said as you suddenly found her lips pressed against your own, her hands finding their way to your hair and jaw keeping you in place. You books falling once again to the floor at the surprise. It was like in the movies, the sound around you from other students all but forgotten, like it was just you and her. Like the whole world stopped and no one besides you and Natasha mattered in that moment. Your tears overflowing by the overwhelming feeling of finally having her lips against yours again. Unfortunately the moment ended when you pulled away filing your lunges with some much needed air. That's when you looked around and noticed everyone looking at you with a stunned look on their faces. In that moment she showed you she wasn't ashamed or afraid to show you off to anyone, fuck them and their opinions.

“Please” Her eyebrows furrowed together and you could see the look of desperation in her eyes waiting for a response from you. “I can’t forgive you right away Natasha, this is a start but it's going to take some time.” Those words gave Natasha relief, she knew she still had a chance.

“I understand and I will do anything to earn your trust back.” Her hand trails down your arm and softly squeezed your hand in reassurance. “Do you” you said as you looked deep in her eyes. “Do you really understand? You broke me Nat and it’s going to take a lot of effort to heal me again”

“I know” You could hear the regret and shame in her hushed whisper.

“But it’s worth it. You’re worth it.” And you actually believed her this time. You could see it in her facial expression and her vibrant green eyes. They're not wrong when they say that the eye is the window to your soul. “Okej, then you can continue to prove it when you pick me up for dinner today at six”. The smile spreading across her face could light up a whole room.

“I will, thank you for giving me a second chance you won't regret it”.

And she was right. You didn’t regret it, not for a moment.

Taglist: @newawakening9 @fanfictioniseverything @username2335 @yourmamacom @wizardofstories

[vashhanamichi]

Sorry for the number of asks/questions. I am curious on what you like about Tomarry and Grindledore. Also what are your honest thoughts on Dumbledore/Tom Riddle, Drarry, Tomione and Wolfstar. What other HP ships appeal to you?

So, first of all, I'm very sorry for taking so long to answer! And second, never apologize for sending me questions, I love getting them even if I take a while to answer. If you'll forgive me, I will only talk about one of those ships in this ask, but you can ask me about the other ones in other asks, it's just that talking about all of them in just one ask would turn my answer into a (even more) giant rambling I fear. Also because I only have true strong opinions about some of these ships, so I chose a single one, the one I have most opinions about, the one I have loved for the longest time.

That ship is, naturally, Voldemort (Tom Riddle)/Harry Potter.

I want to preface this by saying that I see them and ship them in a sort of unusual way, or at least it seems so, because I haven't found my particular interpretation of them in the fandom so far (though I've read fanfics that shook some of its branches) in more than a decade of shipping this ship. But I guess all authors are like that -- we're all trying to fill a void shaped as our own want.

It's true, too, that there's many ways of interpreting canon and molding its clay. I'm not constant in my characterization of Voldemort (though some things repeat themselves) for example: in some fics I make him an experienced philanderer, in others he's as virginal as Harry, or even more so. He's angrier at times, but softer, milder in some others. More or less irrational depending on the context. More or less bloodthirsty. Harry's well of patience dries with diverging speeds. So does his sanity.

With that said, what do I like about them, the basis?

I like a combination of two main rivers of characterization regarding them. Those are: 1) Voldemort as the Monster Groom, the Fairy Tale Villain, the Nightmare, The embodiment of fear and Harry as his favorite Victim, his killing, his bride. 2) Voldemort as a Father, Harry as his child. Voldemort as a son, Harry as his Mother. Voldemort as God (or Satan), Harry as his creation. It's important to note that these are fluid and fund with each other -- God is also a Groom, God is also a Father. A bride is a victim, is a deer, is a son, is a killing, is a meal.

Alright, so on with it.

Trigger warnings: discussion of CSA, incest So, Voldemort as the Monster, Harry as his Victim:

I think it’s very interesting how for four books Voldemort haunted Harry from beyond the grave, so to speak. Until his resurgence in the graveyard Voldemort was, in his own words, “less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost . . . but still (…) alive.”

That, along with his self-appointed title, the awe and terror he inspires, his seemly unlimited power, gives him the aura of being more monster than human.

It’s also telling that their first meeting — when Harry was a baby — happened in Harry’s nursery, in the bedroom. It’s been written before by scholars who write about the slasher genre that the violation of the bedroom can be read as a violation of the victim’s own body. Even after coming back as flesh Voldemort keeps on haunting Harry in his dreams — again, violating him in his bed. Throughout the fifth book he entices Harry to leave the safety of Hogwarts to meet him again.

Candyman (1992)

A nightmare on elm street — the dream master (1988)

There’s an element of fairy-tale thrill to Voldemort and his relationship with Harry; his self-given title and his true name are both keys to understand him, even to defeat him. It’s only by discovering the truth about “Tom Riddle” that Harry acquires the weapons needed to defeat “Lord Voldemort”. By turning him from monster to human — uncovering his past, something the protagonists of horror movies usually have to do to defeat the monsters trying to kill them.

Candyman, for example, is called forth by having his name said aloud three times in front of a mirror. A similar taboo is put upon Voldemort’s name in the seventh book.

In more romantic terms, Voldemort seems to me like Mr. Rochester when he calls Jane Eyre — his strange, almost unearthly thing — and she hears his call all the way across the moors. Voldemort and Harry’s connection is an supernatural one and thus surpasses the physical obstacles in their way.

Then there’s Harry, Harry as a bride, Harry as a victim, Harry as The Final Girl — the one who got away. The Boy Who Lived.

Nancy in A Nightmare on Elm Street

Harry’s existence and his title — The Boy Who Lived — are defined by Voldemort. He was a survivor before he could speak, he was marked. Like many Final Girls he’s a teenager, virginal, brave. He’s also not taken as seriously as he should be. He survives but there’s always a cost. In the fifth book (imo the best in the series) he’s explicitly traumatised. A final girl wanders into the Death Realm. She comes back but brings something with her. She’s changed. Voldemort changed Harry, Voldemort touched Harry, Voldemort violated Harry. He comes back from the graveyard (the Death Realm) but he’s not the same.

In the fifth book Harry displays a lot of signs of trauma and, many times, the trauma of someone who was raped. After Nagini’s attack he feels deeply unclean:

There’s a deep sense of inevitability when it comes to Harry and Voldemort. He’s transformed, marked, from an ordinary baby to a Christ figure, The Chosen One. He’s made. Voldemort’s touch transforms him.

He lives between two deaths, like Hannibal’s Abigail:

Twice-killed, Abigail lived a borrowed amount between one father and the next. Her scar was a sign that she was marked for death, like a bride wearing an engagement ring. Harry was the same — his time was borrowed, between one Avada Kedavra and the next.

Harry’s becoming from ordinary child to redeemer of Wizarding Kind was done through Voldemort’s tempering. It’s as if Voldemort is God to Lily’s Mary and James’ Joseph. It took Voldemort’s decision to make him into The Chosen One. Harry as we know him is Voldemort’s creation.

That makes Voldemort, in a way, Harry’s third parent. Harry collects father figures throughout the books, he finds them in Sirius, Lupin, Dumbledore (Snape too arguably). They all abandon him by dying. The one who endures, the one who’s always there, is Voldemort. Voldemort never disappoints. His parenting of course it’s a painful one but we can’t forget that pain is what Harry knows given what he faced with the Dursleys. A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.

Voldemort is obsessed with him and hurts him. But he’s there, always there. Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike, Dumbledore says. Voldemort is many thing but not indifferent to Harry.

And that’s the thing. That’s the pain of it, the way I like them — fiction is not reality after all — as a unhealthy, tragic pairing. Harry can’t live without Voldemort because he’s too deeply his. Alice Notley says it best:

Harry belongs to Voldemort. I ship Voldemort with other characters, like Dumbledore and Bellatrix, but they all have extensive pasts and lives (even Bellatrix, who's so devoted to Voldemort) beyond Voldemort. Harry was created for Voldemort, scarred by him, mauled by him. This sort of prison, the fact that Harry can't ever escape Voldemort, his Father, his Maker, his Killer, is part of what draws me so much to them.

It's getting very late here and I'm making less and less sense as I go. This is the longest post I have ever wrote I think, on years and years of tumblr, and to be honest I could keep talking about them, using other metaphors, other references. I hope it's not completely nonsensical. I really like them.

That's all for today, and I apologize again for the delay in answering it, if you want you can ask me about other ships in separate asks! Thank you for the ask and I'm sorry for all of this rambling.

[hypersonic04]

New Year's Day

hello everyone! I hope you all love this one as much as I do - it doesn't really align with the song and it's vibe, but i love it nonetheless and was smiling and kicking my feet the whole time i was writing this. i also just wanted to say thank you so, so much for all of the love and support you've all given me on not only these fics, but the teacher ross blurbs I've been writing in response to your asks! i truly am so grateful and you're all so lovely. thank you thank you thank you. enjoy new year's day!

word count: 2,225

November. Arguably the worst month of the year to end a twelve-month-long relationship. Well, twelve months, three weeks and five days. 31st December, also arguably the worst day of the year to be feeling particularly sad about said relationship.

Your boots trudge in the snow as you hold the shopping bag tightly. Your scarf is slipping from your neck, bag probably splitting from the ungodly amount of cheap wine it's holding, and there's a sheen of sweat on your forehead, despite it being -3 degrees in London. No wonder he left me, you think as you recall the evening.

13th November:

"So that's it?" He stands in the doorway, hands on his hips as he huffs. He's stood tall, the plush sweater hugging his body contradictory to the harsh frown on his face.

"Ross, it was you that said we needed some time apart!"

"Because you’re the one being distant, y/n!"

"Distant? I'm the one being distant? Ross, you've been away on a tour for over six months. I know you can't help it, but I really don't think that our ‘distance’ is because of me." You bite down on your bottom lip, eyebrows tilting downwards as you fight back tears. He runs a hand through his hair.

He's right. The distance in your relationship has definitely been as issue as of late, both physically and metaphorically. You'd been staying late at the office, he'd been across the other side of the world, and it's not exactly a recipe for success. You'd fall asleep right as he called, he'd be performing when you woke up.

He swallows heavily, dark eyes looking at you pleadingly, almost. An ache presents itself in your chest, breath caught in your throat as you anxiously play with the hem of your sweater.

"Is this really it, then?" You clench your jaw, tears threatening to spill.

"I..." His voice trails off, looking away and scratching his neck. You can see his glassy eyes, the way he pulls his lips into his mouth - you can read him like a book, a really heartbreaking, sad book. "Do you want this to be it?"

"Do you?"

He doesn't answer you, but instead picks his coat up from your sofa.

This can't be real. This is Ross. You were supposed to marry Ross, you were supposed to grow old together and do all of the things you used to dream about.

You don't chase after him as he walks down the hallway, you don't try and make him stay or beg him to take you back. The sound of the door closing behind him lingers in the empty flat, almost echoing off of the walls that seem to be so impossibly close. You feel the shell of your body take a seat on the sofa, a sob filling the void.

The weeks since then had been a cycle, and a toxic one at that: too much alcohol, too many nights crying to your friends, and definitely one too many times you nearly called him. You'd unfollowed him on everything, the sight of his smile and the dimples you'd so regularly peppered kisses to sending a wave of sickness, a wave of envy, through your body. You'd taken down the polaroids, hidden his hoodie somewhere you'd never think to look, plunged your head straight first into work and work only.

Only now, it's New Years Eve, and you're forced to face the reality of your situation.

A microwave meal for two is heated up, eaten by one, cross-legged on the sofa in a pair of pyjamas that could probably win a competition for 'World's Ugliest Nightwear' (a Christmas gift from an aunt). The flat is warm, lit by candles and fairy lights on every surface, a knitted blanket pooling around you. Glasses on, hair up, and who knew half a bottle of Echo Falls could fit into one glass?! The discoveries of a single woman in her 30s were truly groundbreaking.

If your loneliness wasn't apparent enough by the constant reminders of how fun and exciting your friends' lives were via social media, the BBC One New Year's Eve countdown did the job.

"So grab that special someone and get ready for the countdown! 30 minutes to go!" Some tacky presenter wearing a far-too-sparkly jacket grins down a microphone. You scoff, rolling your eyes at the cliche and taking a glug of wine.

Your eyes trail to the window, the gentle fall of snow making you reminiscent. You wonder what you were doing this time last year - at Ross' parents, playing a board game with his family, sat in between his legs whilst he played with your hair. The thought makes you inhale sharply, eyes stinging as you avert your gaze back to the TV. You wonder where he is right now, probably an A-List party with the rest of the band, surrounded by stick insect models wearing clothes worth more than your entire wardrobe. You bet they've never eaten M&S ready-meal lasagne. You wonder whether he'd squeeze their hand in the back of a taxi, whether he'd carry them up the stairs of their flat when their heels break. You dab your cheeks with the back of your hand, catching the tears trailing down your face and sniffling. Necking back the rest of your wine, you get up from the sofa to grab the bottle from the kitchen, slippers shuffling on the wood flooring. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window, and it reminds you of how you and Ross would dance together in this very spot, how only months ago he'd kissed you against this fridge, had spun you around, giggles filling the room like the most beautiful confetti you'd ever seen. You'd recognise that laugh anywhere.

"10 minutes to go!"

The first bars of All By Myself bleed from the speaker, a singer you don't recognise butchering it already.

"Oh, give over!" You complain at the TV. Of all songs they could’ve picked for New Years.

When you were little, you always thought you'd end up like Rachel from Friends, or maybe even Angelina Jolie. Bridget Jones was never on the cards, singing the singleton's anthem into a wine glass on New Year's Eve.

If it wasn't for the banging at the door, you're convinced you would have hit the high note. You frown to yourself as you pad down the hallway, passing the clock - it's 11:53pm on New Years, who could possibly be knocking on your door? You wonder whether you've accidentally called for a Chinese takeaway in your state of sadness, or a neighbour telling you to be quiet.

You gasp when you swing the door open.

His eyes are tired, and definitely drunk, creasing in the corners as he pulls his lips inwards, brow lowered slightly. His coat is sprinkled with glitter and fallen snow, like some kind of fairy dust against the black fabric, his hair ruffled like he's ran a hand through it a million times over. He's slightly out of breath, chest heaving up and down beneath his white button-up, tongue quickly swiping between his lips.

"Ross." You breathe out, eyes quickly moving over his face. His eyes are watery, nose slightly red, and you notice how he swallows heavily when you speak. "What're you doing here? I thought you'd be at a party or something, I-"

"I was," He inhales, a slightly bashful smile on hips lips as he furrows his brow, "but I didn't want to be there."

"You didn't want to be there?" You ask, suddenly feeling naive and hyper-aware of your appearance. You purse your lips, searching his face for an answer or context.

"No," he shakes his head firmly. "I wanted to be here, and I've messed up, and..." His voice trails off as he rubs his face, huffing. "I'm sorry, you probably have people over-"

"I don't. I don't have people over." You interrupt perhaps a bit too eagerly, watching as his eyebrows raise and his lips part slightly. "Is everything alright? If you need a taxi home, I can call you one, I know the numbers for some, I'll just write them down now..." You turn back into the hallway, rummaging around in a drawer of a cabinet for a taxi firm leaflet and a pen.

He watches you for a few seconds, looking away for a moment as he contemplates the mistake he's made. None of the models or singers or actresses at any party in the world could compare to you, his y/n. The corners of his mouth threaten to curve upwards as he notices the penguin print on your pyjamas, the way you nervously push your glasses up your nose, spotting the empty bottle of wine on your coffee table in the living room further down.

"y/n, no," he starts, making you glance at him with a concerned expression on your face. "I don't want a taxi."

"You don't?" You shake your head at him with a frown.

"I want you."

"Me?"

"Mhm." A soft, airy, perhaps a little drunken laugh escapes his lips at your questions, the way your voice goes up a pitch. You nod at him, contemplating what he's saying, wondering if you've actually just fallen into a lasagne-induced coma on the sofa and this is a dream, a manifestation of your pining. "Take me back, y/n."

You inhale sharply, watching as he swallows deeply and searches for your response, almost looking through your eyes, deep into your brain.

"The biggest mistake I made was ending things. I'm an idiot, y/n/n! I'm an idiot, and I do things and don't think them through," He rubs the back of his head, shaking his head with teary eyes, "and now I'm here on your doorstep asking you to take me back, because I'm not man enough to do it without a drink, and I don't think I could've gone on any longer without coming here, and-"

Your warm lips on his are what ends his rambling. He raises his eyebrows, the kiss taking him aback for a second, before melting into it completely. You hold onto the lapels of his jacket, his hands grasping onto the fabric of your pyjama top, running upwards gently as you stumble backwards a little.

"You're not an idiot." You pull away and say breathlessly, looking up at him shaking your head. "You do think things through." He smiles down at you softly as you speak, brushing stray curls from your face and resting a hand on each cheek. "Will you take me back?"

The kiss he presses to your lips answers your question, deep and passionate and so very needed. You push the door closed with your free hand, the other around his neck, eyes closed and inhaling his aftershave deeply. The faintest smell of cigarette smoke and champagne is mixed in, but it's like walking back into a golden memory, or your smelling your favourite perfume. He walks you both backwards into the living room, and in perfect timing, too.

"...2, 1, Happy New Year!"

Fireworks sound on the television, but you're not 100% sure whether they were just in your head. You pull away from him and hold his face in your hands, and he lets the weight of his head lean into your palm.

"Happy New Year, Ross." You smile through watery eyes.

"Happy New Year, y/n."

He presses a kiss to your lips again before taking your hands in his.

"Jesus Christ, your hands are freezing!" You hold them both between yours.

"I walked here, and I didn't have gloves, so..."

"You walked here?" You gasp, holding his hands to your mouth and pressing a kiss to them. "It's snowing!"

"I know, but I thought the walk from Bond Street wasn't as far-"

"Bond Street? That’s, like, 45 minutes away! You walked for 45 minutes?!” You laugh in shock, shaking your head at him, "You've lost your mind."

"I'd have walked the Earth if I thought we were going to be okay." He shakes his head softly, looking down at you. "I've thought about you every day."

"If you'd have called, I'd have picked up."

"You blocked me." He states matter-of-factly before trying to suppress a grin, "And unfollowed me, so-"

"It was a moment of madness, I just..." You scrunch your nose us and squeeze your eyes closed as you cringe, smiling a little, "I'm sorry." You rest your head in his chest, feeling him kiss the top of your head.

"I'm sorry, too. Really sorry." He huffs, "I'll never leave you again, I promise."

"Me neither," You tilt your head up at him, nodding as if to affirm your words, "Even when it's hard, and we make mistakes like this."

His arms around your waist the next morning are warm. You lift your head to look around the room, those god awful pyjamas strewn across the hall near the bathroom door, his shirt on the floor, your bra haphazardly hooked over the end of the bed - the two of you from the night before. You lay back down, turning your head to look at him - his lips are parted, slow, steady breaths leaving them. The bedroom is stone cold, the white sheets around both like a cocoon, but you've never felt warmer. You think about last night, a smile on your lips as you lay with your eyes shut.

[rosie-b]

Centuries Overdue

Chapter 5

In which we finally get to visit the catacombs. Also, there are magic zombies (more or less)!

Excerpt from the ninth journal of Adrien Agreste, written at the Agreste mansion in Paris, France, on the twenty-eighth of June, 1810.

The Darkness is strongest under the City.

I know what lies there, moved from the soil above over decades and still growing as I write. The Catacombs are hardly a Secret, but they hold more than one.

Last night, after writing my last entry, I went on a walk to Test the darkness and see if It would follow me again. It did. It was stronger than ever, and It called to me in my parents’ voices, both at once.

“Come with us,” It beckoned. “We are Lost, but not Dead yet. Come save us!”

If this is a Mage’s Joke I will need more than Providence to keep me from giving in to my Anger. But I think, no, I know that it is no joke. It is the voice of my Parents, trapped by the Mage of the Darkness. It was feeding off the souls of the Talents and Mages It gathered, then, but Its Downfall did not undo their imprisonment. And from their chained Power, still flowing to It, It rises again!

It is hunting me. I said as much to the Bourgeois family last night, when I visited them. I needed some reason to be Out, after all, some reason to fool the Darkness into thinking I am no wiser now than I was in Ravlunda, when I let the Darkness re-grow in the foolish Hope that It was dead.

It will get a surprise when I am the One to fool It.

I am going to visit the Catacombs. I will scour every tunnel for the heart of this Darkness, and when I find It, I will destroy It once and for all. I will free my Parents and the other trapped magicians. Only then will I be able to rest.

What I am doing, I must do in secret. Visits to the Catacombs are allowed, but only with permission, which is granted sparingly and with bias. It seems the common people take precedence now, not the Nobles, as it once was, or the Children of those whose families left France in l’Émigration. This makes sense, though it adds Difficulty to my own Cause.

I cannot afford to wait for the Officials to believe my Words and grant Me an Appointment. I must act now to save my Parents, else all will be lost and the Mages, once mighty, will be brought down by one man’s Folly. I pray that they do not suffer for my failures.

There is an entrance I know by the Barrière d'Enfer, the Gates of Hell. I will slip in quietly to-morrow, while the Guards’ eyes are full of sleep, taking my Journal of Spells with me. It is the Book of Spells which Mages of Tikki and Plagg may use, as well as a few handy Universal ones. With any luck, Plagg’s Blessing will grant me the strength I need to Destroy this most evil of Mages for-ever.

And at last, the Darkness will be vanquished.

At last, we will know Peace.

__*__*__*__*__

After she finished the last of Adrien’s journals, Marinette had the strangest feeling that she’d never again feel as complete as she had while she was still reading them. It was like her world had been in color while she still had more entries to look forward to, but now it had faded back to its normal sepia tones; not quite black and white, but no longer as vibrant as she remembered.

She could always reread the journals, she supposed. Alya had finally convinced Mayor Bourgeois to ‘donate’ the entire collection to her ‘charity organization,’ really the Mages’ cross-country education for new group members. The papers and legitimacy of  the organization, of course, had been completely made up through a series of intricate illusions made by several Mages, but it worked, and now the Agreste journals were finally back where they belonged.

Marinette kept visiting the café on Wednesday evenings, partly for her new and old friends and partly to try and fill the void Adrien’s journals had left behind. Sometimes she’d stay for the whole gathering, sometimes not, but she always enjoyed the company, and by now she’d begun to feel like a real member of the little group, even though she lacked her own magic. 

Still, Alya insisted that Marinette must have a Gift from one kwami or another, and she called some of her friends from the other surviving Mage groups to come test Marinette. Luka, Kagami, and Zoe had all come at one time or another, but Marinette hadn’t passed any of their tests. When Alya’s boyfriend, Nino, returned from his stay with Wayzz’s group, she convinced him to test Marinette, too, but still without any luck.

Marinette was fine with that, really, but it was becoming a little embarrassing, so she convinced Alya to drop the investigation for now.

“We have basically the rest of my life to figure out if I’m really a Mage or not,” she’d pointed out. “There’s no need to rush into this!”

Alya had sighed. “You’re right, but can you blame me for trying? I always knew you were special, and even if you’re not a Mage or a Talent, I think you should’ve been one. Any kwami would have to be crazy to pass on giving you a Gift.”

Marinette thought it was sweet that her friend thought so highly of her.

But even with all her praises, Alya still didn’t trust Marinette’s (potential) latent magic enough to let her go into the catacombs alone, though.

“No way,” Alya had insisted in a panic when Marinette first brought up her idea. She’d crossed her arms over her chest in a large ‘X,’ staring at Marinette with something like horror in her eyes. “There is no way I’m letting you walk down into those catacombs, to find Adrien or for any other reason. I agree that Adrien’s last entries sound concerning, but face the facts, girl! He had to have had severe PTSD, and the ‘darkness’ he thought was tracking him was clearly just in his head. Maybe he wasn’t crazy, but his mind was definitely playing tricks on him.”

“I’m not arguing there,” Marinette had protested. “I’m just saying, there has to be some way we can find his remains and give him the proper burial he deserves. I get why you’re nervous, but there are plenty of people who explore forbidden parts of the catacombs!”

“Yeah, but we’re not cataphiles,” Alya had pleaded. “Learning what is and isn’t safe in the catacombs has to take them a long time, and even then, there are too many miles of unexplored tunnels. Nobody knows all of them. And if someone had found a body, Adrien’s or someone else’s, they would have reported it by now. But there are no new bodies in the catacombs, just the old ones that are supposed to be there. And, consider, do we know for a fact that Adrien went to the catacombs? No. He said he was going to visit them, but he might’ve changed his mind.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Marinette had said firmly. “Adrien wouldn’t do that. He thought he knew what he had to do to save the Mages, and he had a plan for it. It wouldn’t be like him to just give up.”

“Well, I guess in a weird way, you knew him better than me,” Alya had said with a shrug, apparently trying to seem nonchalant after her outburst. “I just don’t think it’s safe for you to go down there after him, that’s all.”

Marinette had paused. Alya had been acting strangely from the moment Marinette had first mentioned her plan to go into the catacombs, if not to find Adrien’s body, then at least to pay her respects from a distance. 

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you.”

Alya had immediately shot back, with a touch of desperation, “No, I’m not! I would never want to hide anything from you.”

“But you did,” Marinette had pressed, though she felt a bit bad for saying it. “You hid magic’s existence from me for years. Not that I’m mad! But we both know you can lie to my face if you need to. That’s like your whole deal, illusions and lies. So what is it, Alya? Just tell me what you’re hiding. I won’t be mad, I promise. I’ll try to understand, no matter how weird it is!”

It had only taken a little more begging for Alya to willingly uncover her secrets. 

As it turned out, there was a dangerous power making its home in the catacombs, preventing any Mages from getting in (or, potentially, out).

“There’s a reason why none of us, not even Fluff’s Mages, go down there, Marinette,” Alya admitted after one of the café meetings. “There’s something else in the tunnels. You know I don’t believe Adrien’s Darkness exists, but some kind of twisted magic definitely does. Maybe it always has, but I think it’s still new. Not many Mages know about it, because so far, not many need to, except the local Mages. It’s not a full-blown problem yet, since whatever it is prefers to stick to the tunnels. When it does come out, though, it acts like a void, draining Mages’ powers from them if they come into contact with it.”

Alya had shuddered, rubbing her arm as if she was cold despite the warmth of the café. 

“Last semester, I had the misfortune of meeting one, a wandering branch of the magic. I was walking home in the dark from class, and I felt a cold wind at my back. It didn’t feel natural, so I cast an illusion to provide some cover for myself and hid in a group of tourists until it revealed itself. Wasn’t much to look at, just a wisp of darkness in the shape of a human. When it noticed that I’d seen it, yellow sparks collected in it like a child’s scrawled-out crayon lines, giving it some creepy mockery of a face and arms and hands and eyes. It stared right back at me.”

As she’d listened to the story, Marinette’s heart had stopped. Darkness in the shape of a human? Her mind raced as she considered the possibility that this was the same Darkness Adrien had written about before passing.

Alya had groaned on seeing her friend’s scrunched-up face. “I can tell what you’re thinking, girl. But this isn’t the Darkness Adrien was talking about! That Mage was killed long ago. This is a new threat, one whose origins we have no clue about! But I heard about it before, from Nino. He was tracked by one the second-to-last time he visited Paris and had to fight it off. He came back from experience suggesting we call the attacking magic figures ‘zombies’. He thinks the magic is inhabiting the corpses from the catacombs, or taking control of the dead’s spirits, and then it uses that to attack us, possibly to steal our powers away and get even stronger. I don’t have a better name for the magic, and it does look like a corrupted Mage post-mortem might, so. Zombies it is,” she’d said, offering Marinette a wry grin. “Luckily, no other group of Mages has had to deal with them so far, just us here in Paris. And there doesn’t seem to be a magic virus to worry about, so, yay.” She’d thrown up fake-enthusiastic jazz hands and an exhausted smile.

So, the maybe-new Darkness wasn’t a big problem yet. That was good, but how safe was it for the Mages, truly? Alya’s story was just raising more questions for Marinette.

“How did you defeat it?” she had asked, sitting on the edge of her seat and gripping her warm coffee mug tightly. What was the key to killing a living Darkness?

Alya had hummed and wrapped her hands tight around her own mug as she remembered. “I had to use a very powerful spell. All the Mages here know it; it’s the one Universal spell that still works, basically. Unlike the other, more ancient ones, it was created by all the kwamis together, as they simultaneously established the same spell for each group of Mages. They came up with it to provide us with a better defense after the final battle against the Darkness. So, because of its origin, it’s technically a kwami-specific spell, not a Universal one, but it functions the same way because every kwami gifted it to every group of Mages. It’s meant to kill an unkillable enemy, no matter the source of its power. The spell is stronger when said by many Mages all at once, but luckily, me reciting it on my own was enough to get rid of that zombie. It won’t hurt us again.”

Marinette had let out a sigh, relief pooling in her stomach as she accepted that her friends were likely all safe. “Thank goodness. I’m glad you’re safe.”

Alya had nodded, a far-off look in her eye. “For now. And I know you think you’re safe, too, but be careful, Marinette. The zombies have only shown interest in strong Mages so far, but that doesn’t mean they won’t go after you. Even if you’re right, and you’re not a Mage, going in the catacombs would mean putting yourself in danger. Promise me you won’t do it, okay?”

Marinette had hummed and smiled and promised she’d stay safe.

But here was the thing. As far as she knew (and as several failed tests proved), Marinette was not a Mage.

And the ‘zombies’ were only targeting the strongest Mages. Not even mid-level Mages, and she’d asked the newest members of both Trixx and Fluff’s groups. None of them were worried about being targeted, and they were all at a much greater risk than Marinette was, herself.

So all things considered, it was perfectly safe for her to book a ticket for one humdrum, non-magical, guided tour of the catacombs, right?

It wasn’t like she was going to go off the safe paths or actually try to bring Adrien’s remains back to the surface for burial. She just wanted to visit the place where he’d died, to find some kind of peace with his ending. She’d felt wrong ever since she’d finished his journals, and somehow she knew that if she could just pay her respects (even if in a less-than-normal way), she’d find closure.

So after a few weeks of deliberation, she booked a ticket for a tour.

On the day of her visit, Marinette deliberately did not tell Alya where she was going after her last shift of work at the library. She headed straight for home, where she dropped off the big purse she’d taken to work and checked that her phone was charged before putting on a light sweater and some boots and heading off to the catacombs.

She was the first one from her tour group to arrive, so going through security was a breeze. But before she could head down to the catacombs, her guide informed her, they had to wait for everyone else to arrive. Fifteen minutes later, they did, and the tour officially began.

At first, everything was surprisingly modern; the building’s white paint and first rooms full of security weren’t out of the ordinary for any other touristy location in Paris. The first (20 meter-long, she remembered) spiral staircase was just like any other; everything felt normal until she reached the transition between what felt more like a hospital or a very plain museum and the old, stone-hewed catacombs. Her hackles raised as she walked through the door and up a stone staircase into the long tunnel whose end marked where the catacombs truly began.

The iron gate made her feel apprehensive, like she was walking into a prison, but the security guards lounging just beyond it seemed more homey than anything. The painted pillars looked as though they belonged to a medieval castle, and the absurd mixture of so many different elements shocked Marinette back into feeling like a visitor on any other, normal tour. 

The smell, though; the smell was what assured her that this was more than just some random tourist trap. Marinette’s mom had taken her to an old, stone chapel for the funeral of a family friend once. The musty scent of the catacombs reminded her strongly of the way that haunting chapel had smelled. She decided not to think about the reason for the lingering stench—if she could help it, that was. She was about to see the evidence of its origins for herself.

Don’t focus on it, she told herself. It’s not musty, it’s just dusty. Just a nice friendly dust around here, like in the library by Adrien’s books. Yeah, that’s it! Nothing scary here.

She’d never thought she was afraid of the dead before. Then again, she’d never visited the catacombs before. But she was still confident that she’d accomplish her goals, no problem. Nobody had been trapped in the catacombs since— well.

She decided not to think about it, realizing that she’d be doing that a lot during this trip.

Once the rest of the tour group collected in the room past the gate, they were led deeper into the tunnels. There were no bones at first, just rough-hewn stone and white brick walls, low ceilings with moss creeping across them, and dim lighting from lamps and the lit-up information board on the right-hand side. But through the next open doorway, Marinette could see walls made up of bones, what looked like femurs on top of femurs with a line of skulls in between, like a skeletal tapestry woven by the dead.

The tour guide spoke about the catacombs’ history as they moved along the tunnels, but Marinette’s gaze was drawn by the bones, and she fell into the middle of the group as faster-walking tourists pushed past her. Everywhere she looked was claimed by death, even the heart formed by some well-placed skulls in the wall. This really is the empire of the dead.

A sign on the left stated that these bones had been transferred to the catacombs in 1859, well after Adrien had visited and been lost to the tunnels. They were still building when he came here; the tunnels must have been bare here when he visited.

As she kept walking, Marinette slowly grew accustomed to the otherworldly atmosphere of the tunnels. There was an elderly German couple behind her whose quiet, friendly-sounding conversations kept her grounded, and further in the back of the group, an American family argued about their plans for the next day in English. 

Marinette wasn’t feeling as nervous anymore. She was just here to pay her respects, to get some closure and leave. And that was similar to what the catacombs’ designers had wanted to do, too. They’d taken delicate care of all the skeletons they were in charge of transferring, bringing a priest with them on all their trips to inter the bones. They’d offered prayers in hopes of securing a peaceful rest for the long-dead people who had once occupied these crumbling bones.

Bodies were turned into art here, a sign of the care with which the builders had made the catacombs. Every section of the catacombs had some loving touch in it; whether it was a carved sign with French poetry or a wave-like pattern in the walls of bones. It was comforting, for a while. Marinette recalled that the tunnels’ construction had been out of necessity to free more space for the living and move the dead out of their overfilled cemeteries and marveled that such a gruesome task had been carried out so artfully. 

Still, there was a sinister air in the bone-lined tunnels, a promise of danger carried by the cold, dusty wind poking through the seams of her sweater. 

Marinette wondered if the magic zombies Alya had talked about really stayed here, in some blocked-off tunnel of the catacombs. She knew they posed no danger to her, as a non-magical human, but if they were real— they are real, Alya’s voice reminded her—then who was to say they weren’t the ones responsible for what had happened to Adrien? Who was to say that they hadn’t lured him off the path and trapped him with their dark magic?

Who was to say they hadn’t turned him into one of them?

Suddenly, Marinette didn’t feel so good about this trip. Her churning stomach threatened to eject the lunch she’d eaten before coming, and her head felt murky, like a thick wall of fog was clouding her thoughts.

The tour guide’s voice grew fainter, and Marinette took a moment to steady herself. She nearly put a hand on the wall, but remembered not to just in time. The bones here were older than in the last tunnel, though you couldn’t tell by looking at them. Underground, in an environment like this one, it took much longer for remains to decompose, Marinette remembered.

She wanted to think about something else. 

Just 112 steps until I get out of here, she told herself. Stairs, anyway. It was 131 down, and 112 back up at the end of the tunnels. That’s what the pamphlet said. The exit can’t be too far from here; the tour only covers a tiny part of the catacombs!

The tour group was about to move past her, and the man holding hands with his daughter motioned to her, as if to say, are you going to catch up, or do you need help? 

She smiled reassuringly and started walking again, and before long, she was back in the middle of the pack.

The next section of the tunnels was marked by a sign, like many of them were. This one read that the bones had been moved in 1787. A little bit past it, a pillar was tagged with graffiti. The sight of it knocked Marinette out of the last traces of her reverie, and she scoffed as she kept following the tour group. 

It was almost as if they were moving back in time; the farther they went through the tunnels, the older the bone deposits were. Her mind wandered back to Adrien, to the boy who’d lost his parents to evil magic, but dedicated his life to saving others from the same fate. He’d spent so much of his life as an unrecognized hero, working to keep the magic community in contact despite the many battles tearing apart their continent, constantly traveling though he ached for a home.

And when he finally was able to rest, peace was stolen from his once again, this time claiming his life.

A light breeze ran through the tunnel, and Marinette shivered, rubbing her arms and cursing herself for not wearing more layers. It was late summer aboveground, and so even this sweater had felt like overkill, but now she wished she’d worn a thicker one.

In the next section of the catacombs, her left shoe’s laces came undone. She’d worn hiking boots, ugly brown things without a zipper, at the recommendation of the owner of the shoe store she’d visited when she’d told her that she would be visiting the catacombs. By the time she got done fixing her shoelaces, stooped down by the left side of the wall, the group had nearly moved past her; there were only a couple visitors beside her as she resumed following the guide.

The next turn the group took was a little confusing. It looked like they were supposed to head straight, but a locked and secured gate informed the group to turn to the left, instead. Marinette lingered at the gate, looking through it to where the catacombs continued. No one was allowed back there, not even the guards. The tunnels beyond the gate were dark, and her eyes drew shapes in them like ghosts grasping the walls to stand and chase her.

She stumbled back, and her sweater caught on a jagged stone jutting out from the wall. Marinette breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that she hadn’t gotten caught on one of the bones, but grew mortified to notice that she’d fallen behind the group. She tore her sleeve free and quickly headed down the left tunnel, walking quickly to make up for the time she’d spent staring at the closed-off tunnels. A few minutes later, and she’d still not caught up to the back of the group, though, so she turned around to check whether she’d missed another turn somehow.

The tunnel was closed off behind her. Her stomach lurched, and she rushed back towards the corner she’d turned into the tunnel from, only to find a dead end. There was no exit to the tunnel, just a pile of bones filling the gap between the limestone wall and the pillar supporting the ceiling. Past that, she couldn’t see anything; there was a gap at the top of the bone pile, but she was too short to see over it.

She took a rasping breath and choked on the musty air. 

A low murmur came from behind her, farther down the tunnel she’d already started walking through.

Her heart pounded. Was that the group? Had she missed the real turn she’d taken when she turned back to find it?

She put one foot directly behind the other, toes brushing the heel of her boot, and slowly spun back around in as close to a perfect 180 as she could get.

“Hello?” she called. “Hello? Wait for me, please! I fell behind!”

Marinette grimaced when there was no answer. How far behind was she? How had she managed to get this lost in such a short amount of time?

Lost. Marinette was lost, just like—!

Okay, no, she told herself strictly. Do not follow that train of thought. Just— follow the sound of the group. Yeah, that’s it!

She took a step forward, and then another, further and further from the pile of bones and down the dimly-lit hall, hoping to hear the German couple’s accent or the loud American mother warning her kid not to touch the bones.

She shuddered and looked down, as far as her gaze could safely travel from the bone-lined walls. Just keep walking. One step at a time.  

There was a cul-de-sac just off to the left, and the tunnel past it sloped steeply downward. She passed between a pair of pillars, and suddenly, the walls weren’t lined with bones anymore. Her shoulders slumped in relief, and she tried calling for the group again.

“Hello? It’s me, Marinette! I think I’m lost!” She paused. “Hello?”

Still nothing.

Marinette stumbled over the floor, which was rough and not smooth as it had been in other parts of the tunnel. She steadied herself against the wall and decided to take a break, so she pulled out her phone and checked the time. There was no service down here, but the light of the screen was still comforting. She’d charged the phone up before leaving work, so there was still seventy percent of the battery left, and that was good; maybe she’d get a bar of service somehow and find a map of the tunnels on the internet to help her.

Or maybe she should stop wasting time daydreaming about saving herself and get moving so that the group would finally be able to hear her and she’d be found. She pushed herself off the wall and started walking again.

The tunnels branched off a few meters down the hall, and Marinette staggered to a halt.

“What?” she asked aloud. “What… how is this possible?”

All of the tunnels before her were dark, and as she cautiously stepped into the large, maybe three meters-wide space where they joined together, the tunnel behind her fell dark, too, leaving her alone in the middle of the catacombs with no clue where to go, trembling in the dim, eerie lighting of the concourse.

She turned to her right, and was struck by a sight so horrifying that she nearly fainted. There was a skeleton, which was par for the day so far, but this one was just… different, in a way that sent shivers down her spine. This skeleton was collapsed by the tunnel just to the right of the one she’d emerged from, and its bones were still arranged like those of a normal corpse, unlike the other skeletons she’d seen that day.

There was an old leather journal a half a meter from its outstretched hand.

[the---hermit]

06|05|2023

5/50 days of productivity

Today was an emotional rollacoaster. I think I realized something about myself that I don't like. After things died out with my ex best friend (it's almost the anniversary of when the shitty situation that was dragged out for months started so I also have that in mind) I found myself with close to none social life. I am introverted I can deal with spending most of my time alone, but losing the one person who I relied on closer to me triggered a moltitude of thinga in me I am still working on. And today I realized that lately for me social situations have become a self imposed duty. I force myself to go to uni, when someone asks to hang out I feel obligated to go. I am not sure whether I am trying to fill a void, or more likely I have a very specific anxiety at the back of my mind reminding me that I am someone in my early twenties only on my id because my life doesn't really feel like it. I have always been very confident in my close friend circle and myself as an introvert, but now it's crumbling a bit. Ever since after covid and lockdown happened my social anxiety has sky rocketed and I am too self aware not to know that without the help of external forces it's almost impossible to me to create new connections. Moreover I am petrified at the idea of making the first move and opening up. In these months I have often said that I feel like I am in a cocoon, in a transitional phase of my lifr in which nothing feels defined or secure. I feel confused and indecisive, and now my emotions seem to be crumbling too. This is not the most positive journal entry to end the week on, but I needed to let out some things and to reflect. I should really get back into journaling daily but my energies are so limited lately that it almost feels impossible, aside from these daily posts.

Productivity:

finished reading the fourth article for my protohistory presentation

read the fifth article

wrote down base notes for all articles to stucture the presentation

started planning how this presentation will be

did a bit of planning for next week

practiced Irish on duolingo

posted my April wrap up

Self care:

read first thing in the morning

Gratitude:

a book order I had placed was delivered sooner

my mom randomly bought me a book at the thrift store

📖: Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton

[syrahbat]

Knowledge of Another : Chapter One

Here's the first chapter of my Gale/Tav fanfic, Knowledge of Another! It's my very first fanfic ever, so it's been quite the exciting journey. It's getting close to the end now, so I thought I'd share an excerpt, in case you too are a Bard who is in love with Gale and wished for so many more delicious smutty romantic interludes during the main plot of BG3.

I hope so very much that you enjoy! You can read the rest of the fic here!!! 🔮💜✨

____________________________________________________________

It had to be perfect.

The Wizard of Waterdeep was setting up his tent under the fading sun, the commotion of everyone chattering, building fires and making friends filling the air around him. It hadn’t been long since a delicate pair of hands had soothed the arcane portal and pulled him back into Faerûn, nor long since the owner of that delicate pair of hands had connected their minds, flooding him with the knowledge of another so intimate and full that he could scarcely remember the last time a book or story had immersed him so. 

The knowledge of another, he thought, his brow furrowing as he continued dancing his hands in front of him, spectrals of Weave pouring from his fingers and brushing against the bits of his tent like the glistening threads of spider’s web. It disconcerted him, left him shaken. Not because he felt that it was an invasion of his privacy, but merely because it was a feeling so foreign to him that it upset the balance of his reality.

She had not given him the knowledge of another. He knew that now. He supposed he knew it then, but what is a young man to do; how can he miss what he has no concept of. He didn’t know to feel its absence, and after all these years, all this time desperately trying to fill a void he had no clue was there, seeking something he didn’t know she wasn’t giving him, he finally understood what exactly The Orb had found purchase on within his soul. 

The Orb merely took place of the void of knowledge he already had, unbeknownst to him. Though it hungered for magic just as he had done his entire life, Gale was beginning to craft a framework of thought that deeply unsettled him.

How full he felt, after experiencing the knowledge of another. 

“I think it’s a tent,” Tav said jokingly, sidling in next to him. “A very fine tent. The best tent here.” 

Gale turned to look at her, drinking her in without a thought, and smiled brightly. She returned the smile, a crease at her eyes, shining with mischief.

“In fact,” she continued, pushing her elbow against his arm playfully, “I might just be forced to write a ballad about how perfect this tent is.” 

Perfect. Curious, he thought. Curious word choice.

“Ah, well you see, a Wizard is only as good as his lodging.” Gale mused, finally releasing the power of the Weave and watching the effervescent shape of the tent become plain in even this beautiful sun’s glow. His shoulders dropped slightly. 

She was giving him a studying look when he turned to her, placing his hands behind his back and taking a step away. 

“If you ever desire to sleep under a better structure than whatever…” He gestured to her tent, slightly lopsided and clearly raised in a rush, “that is; I am ever at your service.” He bowed sardonically. 

She brought a hand to her heart dramatically, her mouth dropping open with shock. “Wizard, you wound me. I worked very hard on that structure, and not everyone can be as talented and brilliant as you. My talents simply lie elsewhere.” 

He couldn’t help the grin that took over his face, knowing his eyes were dancing with a light he was unable to hide.

“Mmm, yes, I’ve heard the mockeries you level at poor unsuspecting Goblins. Who knew one could perish from embarrassment alone.” 

“I’m sure you are well aware that words can be as much a weapon as fire or blade.” She raised her head in a display of pride that made something burn within him. 

“Remind me to never get on whatever side you deign to be deserving of such viciousness.” He said pointedly, turning back to look at the tent he had tried to perfect. “I suppose this will do.” 

“My Gods, Gale,” her tone was warm with familiarity, “it’s just a tent.” 

She placed a hand on his shoulder beaming a grin, before heading back to the fire and the chattering of their other companions. He heard a cork pop on a wine bottle as he turned back to the tent, hands clasped behind him tightly. He took a breath, and bent under the flap as he stepped inside. 

It was, as she said, just a tent. He climbed in, fluffed and stacked his simple pillows on the bedroll, and began to remove his travelling robes. He knew it was silly, meaningless, stupid, to care so much about it. He supposed he chalked it up to being a recluse, missing the luxuries of his home in Waterdeep, missing Tara and her company. He felt the loneliness bitterly here, the discomfort of a bedroll on the cold ground and only books Tav had found on the journey so far to keep him entertained. How many times could a man read On Death and Resurrection before lapsing into an academic atrophy? 

He suspected it was eight.

Lowering himself onto the bedroll, he put his arms behind his head and gazed up at the low roof of his home for the night, and for the foreseeable future. Raising his hand, he whispered lowly and gestured wide, as a sparkling veil of a starry night inked itself across the ceiling. It was no Waterdeep harbour, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

And though it was a night sky, stars burning in an ever living universe, the beauty he regarded only served to remind him of her eyes, her delicate hands, and her vicious mockery.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

“Hard Boot” - Dean x Reader

Part of the “Control Panel” Series

Rating Mature

Dean x Reader (Newly Established Intimate Relationship)

Tags: Dean Angst and Self-Loathing, Inability to Word, Adult Language, Dean POV

Word Count: 2500

After one night of sexual exploration, a case lured you both back into hunting mode. There was hardly time to breathe, let alone figure out how you were collectively supposed to handle this new aspect of your relationship. Is it any wonder Dean had to go and mess it up? That’s his expertise.

Note: You don’t have to read the first part, Factory Reset, to get the gist of this “What the heck are we supposed to do now? Friends to lovers” trope. But if you’re intrigued by these two, please try it.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Admit it." square.

Image created in Canva (credit for photo used:  Supernatural/Warner Bros.)

The shot glass tinks atop the counter. It’s barely audible. Dean glances up and the bartender appears, summoned by the tell tale call of a drunk.

Not just any drunk. The Fuck It Up Seven Ways To Sunday kind of drunk. Also known as Dean Winchester.

The bar is deserted. It’s 1:00 pm on a Wednesday outside the touristy parts of New Orleans.

The bartender tips the whiskey bottle in her hand. Dean nods. She pours.

“So, what exactly are you tryna drown, cher? Cause it might be easier to head a little north and walk into Lake Pontchartrain.”

Dean snorts. “Trust me, that’s crossed my mind.”

All the wrinkles in the older woman’s face droop along with her frown. “It can’t be that bad. Unless you’re broke… or your heart is.” 

Dean shifts atop the stool. “My wallet’s full, thanks. Leave the bottle.”

Dean grunts at his inability to put one foot in front of the other trekking down the hallway to the hotel room. The air is spinning around him in a vortex, forcing his body to lean to the right even though his brain tries to rationally push forward. He’s in an anti-funhouse of his own creation. 

He doesn’t remember how he finally gets into the room. Just that he is. He flops on the bed. Breathes in deep and holds it. Staving off the nausea that he deserves.

You should be here. Beside him. Celebrating a win.

He closes his eyes and lets the pain and loss keep him company instead in the late afternoon.

Sleep eludes him. He tosses. Turns. Spends time with his head hanging over the toilet bowl.

He stares at the alarm clock on the nightstand as it ticks over into 10 PM territory. When his eyes peel open again, it’s sometime after 1 AM.

He sniffs the air.

He smells you.

Before he can realize it’s a mistake, he springs to sitting. The hammer nailing together a house in his head takes a back seat to the elation seeing you sat at the foot of the bed.

You look demure in your side saddle position. The patient stare has Dean wondering how long you’ve been watching him sleep.

He wants to ask. But he’s afraid anything he says is going to be wrong. So he just stares back.

Your face is void of any discernible emotion.

And that freaks Dean out more than anything. Because even when he couldn’t read you like a book, he could at least hazard a guess. Even if it was wrong, it was something.

But all he sees now is a shield. A wall that he’s caused.

“I’m gonna head out.” You state in a curt tone that leaves no room for debate.

“You already were out.” The head pounding irritation preoccupies him enough that the sass spills out, uncontrolled. Your lids slit for a second. Well, he got some reaction.

“I-” You straighten up. A sorry attempt at a laugh huffs out. “Forget it.” You’re up off the bed and snagging items dropped around the room. Things are stuffed into your bag with haste.

Dean wants the elation to return to the room. Twenty-four hours prior, you were smiling. Eager to track down the Djinn. It had been a day’s drive from Lebanon to New Orleans, with a 6-hour stop in between at the Cradle Rock Motel.

Dean would have done whatever you wanted in that motel room. All that possibility and you had him flying high on adrenaline. You’d handled him with kid gloves and given him an experience he’d cherish, even if he was still sore. He would have let you strap on Marvin again and fold him like Origami. He wanted that again. He wanted it all with you.

But all you had wanted in the end as you laid in bed was to curl up and sleep in his arms. You wanted to rest before getting back on the road in your separate rides. 

And the simple act of being with you. Static. Stationary. Silent. That was wonderful, too.

There was the promise of staying in bed for days after you took care of the monster together. Lingering lips. Suggestive smirks. Greedy gropes.

All of that was a distant memory now.

You throw the duffle over your shoulder. “Bye, Dean.”

He bungees off the bed. Rushes to the door to wedge between you and the exit. “That’s it?” His stomach roils at the exertion but he pushes it down.

Your voice doesn’t waver. “For now. Yeah.”

Dean holds his ground for another second. Two. Three. Four.

“Don’t make it worse.” You plead.

That reminds him the ownness of this whole mess is in fact on him. And he relinquishes.

And watches you walk out the door.

 

Dean clinks down the iron bunker stairs. Three weeks of hunting non-stop has joints creaking, muscles aching. He plans to beeline it to the showers and let the glorious water pressure ease some of the pain. There’s also an 80-year old bottle of Macallan in his bedroom that will ease everything else.

Sam’s out at Eileen’s. The texts back and forth earlier were short and mainly for informational purposes. Sam gave up trying to find out what was going on with Dean two weeks back. As long as he checked in and provided proof of life, Sam didn’t pester for details.

Dean marches through the war room, into the library, weaves the labyrinth of halls to get to his room.

He keeps his head down when he rounds the final corner. He doesn’t want to glimpse the door marked number 16 at the end of the hallway. It’s your bedroom. Well, whenever you crash at the bunker it’s yours.

There’s a twist in his gut when he realizes you might never sleep in that bed or cross the threshold into the Men of Letters homebase again.

He’s been avoiding returning because of all the reminders of you. The wound is as fresh and festering as it was when you left him in New Orleans. He can distract from the pain during moments occupied with cases and bad guys. This, not so much.

He opens his door, good ole number 11. 

When he left this room last, you were here with him. 

And goddammit. You’re all he can see no matter where his gaze lands.

The duffle drops onto the mattress. Another musty bed in another room in another hallway might be a better alternative tonight.

He considers it. He’ll decide for sure after his shower.

Dean grumbles when he gets back to the room.

It shouldn’t be possible and his mind must be playing tricks on him, but he thinks he catches the scent of you. 

Yeah, he can’t sleep in here tonight.

He runs a hand through his towel dried hair and peels off Tad’s robe. He toes out of the slippers and tugs on a pair of sweats and a well-worn henley. The realization he’s donned the shirt inside out takes a backseat to the more important matter of grabbing the bottle of Macallan.

He shuffles over in bare feet and squats by the cabinet under his desk. His mouth is watering in anticipation of that smooth amber-colored nectar coating his throat.

“What the fuck?” he mumbles in confusion.

The bottle is gone.

“Looking for this?”

Dean stills at the question floating over his shoulder.

The voice isn’t something he expected to hear back at the bunker anytime soon. Maybe ever.

He rises, inhales through his nose. Mentally prepares for when he turns and faces you.

When he does rotate on his heels, he purses his lips into a tight line. He can’t let the impulse to smile win out.

You're wearing one of his flannels. It’s the black, white and gray one he hasn’t worn in ages. And the way the sweatpants hang loose and baggy and obscure your feet; well, he’s pretty sure those are his, too. Leaning against the doorsill, you look as if you’re trying way too hard to appear casual about any of this. The bottle of Macallan in your grip is displayed as a peace offering.

There’s the tiniest grin quirking up your lips. You look at the bottle, then to Dean. “I was keeping an eye on it.”

Dean inspects the liquid level of the scotch as a distraction. If he stares at that mouth of yours a second longer, he’ll forgive you for anything.  “That’s about four fingers lighter than when I left.”

Your brows raise. Mouth opens. Dean knows you're ready to dispute his measurements. But something else clicks in Dean’s head and he doesn’t give you a chance.

“How long have you been staying here?”

You sigh and enter the bedroom. The bottle rests on the tiny corner table. You collapse into the chair beside it. “This’ll be my third night.”

Dean stands there. Blinks. You settling in is hopefully a good sign.

“Sam gave me a heads up that you were coming back some time tonight.”

“Why didn’t you high tail it out of here when you got wind of me?” Dean asks.

Your mouth tilts into a frown. “I came here to wait for your slow ass to return, Winchester.” You thumb at the bottle. “I may have needed some liquid courage during my stay to, you know, stick around.”

Dean crosses his arms, determined not to give an inch. Doesn’t matter how goddamn sexy you look. How your hair’s mussed from laying in bed. How his oversized shirt is unbuttoned enough at the collar to display the lovely expanse of skin from the column of your neck to the round of your shoulder. He prepares for the flailing you must have been wanting to give him so badly that you camped here for days. He tries not to think about how much he’d love to bend over so you can give him a spanking.

You stare up at him from the chair. “Oookaayyy.” Palms run over cloth-covered thighs. “I wanted to explain myself. Back in New Orleans.”

Dean shrugs, his crossed arms lifting up with the movement.

“We were a mess on that hunt.” You start. “All sorts of wrong. Second guessing. Getting in each other’s way. That Djinn got the upperhand on us because we were sloppy.”

Dean scoffs. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You tackled it while I was about to kill the fucking thing.” You counter.

“You were getting choked out WHILE it was lighting up like an electric smurf.” Dean’s voice rises.

“I had the silver knife to its throat UNTIL you hip checked and then rolled around with Mr. Sandman doing the horizontal mambo.”

“Who was trying to pull it off me only to get a nasty throat punch?”

You raise both hands. “Look, my point is we were off our game. And I’ve never, ever had to worry about you having my back. Until that hunt.”

Dean rolls his shoulders like he’s ready to take flight. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Do you think I’m a good hunter?” you ask.

“What the hell kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.” A tap on the table precedes your rise. You stroll with purpose towards him. “Do you think I’m a good hunter?” you repeat.

“Of course I do. You might even be the third best hunter on the planet.”

You smile and, dammit, Dean melts a little. You clear your throat and the smile fades. “Then why didn’t you let me do my job?”

Dean stills. He watches your frame relax. The bravado seeps from your posture.

“Things are different between us now.” You sigh. “I hoped that what we did would bring us closer. More in sync on a hunt. But it did the exact opposite.” Another step brings you right up into Dean’s space. You latch onto a forearm. “Your head wasn’t in that hunt with me.”

“It was.”

You shake your head. “No. Your heart was. And so was mine.” Your voice breaks a little. “All I could think about was how I needed to protect you.”

“When do we not think about protecting a hunting partner?”

“That’s gotta go hand in hand with the mission, though; not take over.” The warm fingers drop from Dean’s arm. “I told Sam what happened.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “And what did Mr. Know It All have to say?”

Your shoulder lifts and almost touches your ear. “He said ‘welcome to the club.’”

“Huh?”

“Sam said you must care about me an awful lot if you were constantly undermining my ability to actually get the fucking job done. That sacrificing yourself is part of your DNA.” A full-watt smile - the one that makes Dean’s insides warm up - graces your face. “That you’ll die a hundred times over to prevent the recipient of all that care and concern from even getting a splinter in their thumb.” The snark in your tone is sharp and cutting. “Admit it.”

“Well, that’s just a flat out exaggeration.”

Suddenly, all of the playfulness in your expression is gone. You frown. “You don’t care about me like that?”

“What? No. I mean, yes, of course I care about you like that.”

“Good.” The smile returns. “Because I know for a fact that none of that is an exaggeration where Sam is concerned. You’ve figured out how to make it work with Sam. You and I are going to have to make that happen, too.”

Dean’s grinning back. “Any suggestions?”

“You could follow my lead and do what I say at all times.” You offer.

“I’m all about that in almost every scenario. Except when we’re hunting.”

You nod. “We’re not hunting now.” Dainty fingers clasp over his hand. “I’m sorry I ran away.” You whisper, staring into his eyes.

Your small frame belies your strength and formidable capability when it comes to a hunt. And though Dean’s only had one taste of your dominance in bed, you handled him with care and exerted contained control. But now Dean needs you to know how much he intends on proving his worth to you. He’s more than a deft hand wielding a machete. More than reliable backup. More than a decades long friend who can keep up with the tequila shots. He wants to be more than all of that for you. 

He wriggles from under the grip to clutch your face with both hands. “I wanna tough it out with you.”

Your head tilts up and down in his hold. “Me too.”

You raise on tiptoes as he dips his head. Your lips meet in a gentle brush of skin. Dean’s skin tingles all over.

It’s only a peck. Dean pulls back so he can witness the bliss on your face. Eyes closed, mouth parted. You release a sigh. “Can we…” you start to ask.

“Anything,” Dean murmurs.

“Can we go to sleep? Start fresh in the morning? I missed you.”

Dean thinks his face will crack at the force of his smile. “Absolutely.”

[yummycastiel]

''the dreamer'' part 3- aemond targaryen x oc

summary: Aemond and Daenys reunite in the library, and Aemond tries to come to a decision. (SERIES MASTERLIST HERE) (Fic also available on AO3)

a/n: Hi all! That was SOME finale for house of the dragon huh??? While there was a couple of things i had a problem with in season 1, i loved the show and I'm super excited for what's coming next! And how amazing is Ewan Mitchell who plays our very own Aemond?? He's incredible, truly steals the scene everytime. On another note, thanks SO much for all the comments, reblogs, and likes! The support has been overwhelming and i am overjoyed that you all are enjoying this story :) it means so much to me. here is part 3! we got 2 years to fill the void that HOTD left behind with fanfiction so lets go!

~~~

Daenys

Daenys was practically dragged out of the dining room by Jace, who was in a glowering mood. He and Luke muttered amongst each other, and Rhaena and Baela followed the siblings with concerned looks on their faces.

            ‘’You both let Aemond get to you too easily,’’ Daenys complained, wrenching herself out of Jace’s grip, ‘’Don’t let what he says bother you so.’’ She gave Jacaerys a pointed look with a raised eyebrow. Her dark-haired brother rolled his eyes, but he dipped his head in agreement.

            ‘’You’re right, you’re right,’’ He sighed, ‘’I can’t help it, whenever he says something, I feel as if I’m about to fly into a rage.’’ Daenys snorted. Guess the anger ran in the family, from what she’d heard.

            ‘’You’re going to be the king one-day Jace,’’ Daenys implored, ‘’You need to start acting like one.’’ Jace stayed silent, eventually giving Baela a nod for her to follow him.

            ‘’I’m taking Baela to her room, if you come with us, I can escort you to yours, sister.’’ Jace offered, trying to brush past her last comment. Daenys shook her head as she began to walk away towards her quarters.

            ‘’No, thank you, but believe I can manage. You all have a good night.’’ She replied, giving her older brother a grateful smile. Jace gave her one last look but nodded as he turned to walk away, Baela on his arm. Lucerys and Rhaena waved at her and followed him, leaving Daenys to walk to her room alone in the dimly lit corridor. As she made her way, she studied her surroundings, trying to recall the memories of her childhood in this castle, but it had changed quite a bit since she had last been here. She didn’t feel quite at home here as she remembered she once had. Of course, Dragonstone was her true home, but she always thought that she would be able to return to the Red Keep and still feel welcome. Obviously, while the Greens were residing here, she never would.

            Daenys had arrived at her room and looked through her books for something to read but nothing tickled her fancy. The girl glanced at the door, considering taking a little trip to the library to search through the unending trove of literature that she so loved. Being in that library had been her favorite thing, especially when she would go with Aemond when she was younger. Those days were gone now, and she decided to go alone. The night was still young, and she had nothing else to do. Daenys lit a candle and slowly opened the door and peered out into the dark hall. No guard was posted, as she expected. Leave it to Alicent to forget about Rhaenyra’s children’s safety. She took a little step out and closed her door softly in case anyone was around to hear. It wasn’t so much that she was not allowed to go about the castle by herself, but she simply did not want to be disturbed by anyone wondering what she was doing. Daenys paused, wondering if there were any rules about wandering around the castle at night, especially as a lady. The princess groaned inwardly at the possibility.

            As she creeped down the hall towards the library, Daenys thought about what happened at dinner, more specifically, Aemond’s taunting speech. Daenys felt a surge of frustration go through her. Why couldn’t he simply keep his mouth shut?  She frowned at the memory of his little smirk growing on his pursed lips as he raised his glass to her brothers. She had heard about Aemond’s reputation. He was an accomplished swordsman, rode the biggest dragon. He was mysterious, tall, powerful, dangerous, and unpredictable. She wasn’t sure why she expected him to remain the nice boy that he was when they were children. Daenys should’ve predicted that his hostility that he nursed from age ten to bite the Velaryon’s in the back when they got older. Of course, he was mad, Luke cut his eye out. Now Aemond was living up to his severe reputation. Her own negative thoughts about the man was making Daenys’ heart hurt. She wanted to be friendly with him, to pick up where they left off all those years ago.

            Daenys opened the door to the library and slipped in without a sound. The library in the Red Keep was enormous and beautiful, hanging candelabras emitting a soft glow onto the endless rows of bookcases. In their childhood, Daenys and Aemond had been one of the only visitors to the space, other than the maesters of course. It was like their secret refuge, and now it was Daenys’ alone. The girl placed her candle down and walked up and down the book-lined corridor, a finger tracing the spines of the books slowly as she perused. She finally picked one, Ten Thousand Ships, and opened it, looking through the pages gently. The calm silence of the library put her at ease as she leaned her hip against a pillar, fully engrossed in the book. The Princess didn’t notice a tall dark figure slink into the library, softly closing the door behind him.

            ‘’Wandering around in the dark Princess?’’ Said a soft voice from behind Daenys. Daenys, who had been giving her full attention to her book, yelped, dropping her book as she jumped about three feet in the air, before spinning around to come face to face with her uncle, Aemond. Her face turned pink with embarrassment as her hand went to her racing heart. Daenys cursed herself for getting startled. The Prince materialized from the dim light, both his hands behind his back as he studied her. A familiar smirk was on his angular face as he gloated over her moment of vulnerability. Daenys hated to admit it, but Aemond’s menacing presence had an opposite effect on her. She almost felt like stepping closer to him, wanting to reach out and touch his silver hair, touch his scarred face. He looked as if he had been sculpted by the gods in the gentle light of the library. The prince’s violet eye traveled up and down her figure, making a shiver roll down her spine. He had disarmed her with one look, much to her displeasure.

Aemond.

            Aemond couldn’t feel anymore gleeful as he watched Daenys struggle to calm down after he had startled her. The silver-haired prince loved seeing her surprised, her cheeks reddening, her brown eyes staring, wide-eyed, up at him. Aemond felt like a wolf, licking his chops as he stared down at his vulnerable prey.

            ‘’Prince Aemond!’’ Daenys spluttered, ‘’You startled me.’’ The brown-haired girl composed herself and wrapped her robe tighter around her. Aemond drank in her appearance, just noticing how thin that fabric was. His eye snapped up to the young girl’s face.

            ‘’You really should be more aware of your surroundings, dear niece,’’ Aemond mused. Daenys ignored what he said and put her hands on her hips.

            ‘’Are you following me, Aemond?’’ Daenys questioned, arching her eyebrow with a slight playful tone. ‘’How did you know I was here?’’ Aemond felt taken aback, not expecting her to respond in anyway but with spitting venom, considering how he left the last situation they were both involved in.

            ‘’You’re not the only one who frequents the library Daenys, in case you’ve forgotten.’’ Aemond lied easily. He had been following her. Aemond wasn’t sure why, but the moment he had met Daenys’ gaze after the showdown during supper, he felt as though he needed to speak with her. The prince was talented at staying out of sight, his slim form and black clothes helping him blend into the shadows easily. He had followed Daenys to her room, making note of where it was (for what reason, he also did not know), and he followed her when she left, her robe on and candle in hand. When she had entered the library, Aemond almost hesitated, his childhood memories of them in there almost making him turn back. Daenys meanwhile, didn’t seem convinced by his answer.

            ‘’Well then, don’t let me stop you from finding a book, Your Grace.’’ Daenys said, turning around to pick up the book she had dropped in a casual tone. There was a moment of silence where Aemond didn’t move. His heart was racing, and he cursed himself for not being able to push whatever he was feeling for the girl away.

            ‘’I’m surprised you’re in such a positive mood after what happened at supper.’’ Observed the silver-haired prince.

            ‘’You mean your little speech for my brothers?’’ Daenys asked, cocking her head. ‘’Why would I be in any mood? It’s not like you mentioned me in it.’’ She sounded almost offended by the exclusion, which made Aemond chuckle softly.

            ‘’I didn’t mention you because I had a feeling that being called a bastard would not bother you.’’ Aemond said. A half-truth. He didn’t really want to involve her in the ugly business he had with her brothers. While she was technically also a bastard, very clearly not Laenor’s daughter, he thought she was more Targaryen than all of them combined.

            ‘’You’re right about that at least.’’ Daenys said, pride seeping into her voice.

            ‘’And why is that?’’ Aemond pressed, ‘’It never truly bothered you, all the rumors, all the gossip. We never got a rise out of you.’’

            ‘’I’ve been called a bastard and a Strong my whole life Aemond, if I let the insults get to me, I would not have gotten very far. Besides, it doesn’t matter what other people think, I know I have the blood of the dragon running through my veins, I know I am of the blood of old Valyria. What other’s think is of no consequence.’’ Aemond admired Daenys’ response as he recognized the infamous Targaryen pride that they all shared. The prince was beginning to forget himself, being too preoccupied with the princess standing in front of him in the soft candlelight, her big brown eyes glittering as she looked at him. It was impossible for him to look away, once again. He wished he had both eyes so he could fully take her in. Aemond could tell that she was beginning to feel uneasy, his piercing gaze finally getting to her.

Aemond began to feel angry with himself. All night he had been battling against his own mind, a voice screaming at him inside his head to not think about Daenys like that and to not feel the way he was about her. She came from a family that hated him and his own, and he should hate her in return. If they both hated each other, Aemond wouldn’t get hurt. Things would be easier.

            ‘’I was wondering when you’d come to speak to me.’’ Daenys mused after a moment of silence, ‘’To find ourselves here, in the library we spent much time in as children, is rather fitting don’t you think?’’

            ‘’Not really.’’ Aemond replied curtly, cold anger bleeding into his voice. His frustration was beginning to cloud his mind and his patience with himself, especially with Daenys looking like that, was beginning to wear thin. Aemond wanted to yell at her, hurl insults at her, anything to get her to lash out at him. He wanted her to seethe with hate and tell him that he disgusted her so that he could feel the same anger towards her that he felt for her brothers. But she didn’t. Her eyes were kind, her mouth was too as she ignored his rude reply. Daenys was kind and Prince Aemond so badly wanted to hate her for it. It would make things much easier for him if she would hate him as well. It would stop him before he could even begin to comprehend his feelings towards the younger girl. It would save him, and her, a lot of hurt.

            ‘’I always cherished those memories, of us playing together. You were a good friend Aemond, I must admit. You must understand how saddened I was the night you lost your eye. I wish my brothers had never gone down there with Rhaena and Baela. Perhaps things would’ve been different, and we wouldn’t be on opposing sides of one warring family.’’ Aemond was silent with shock, unclear as to why Daenys was willing to speak in such a vulnerable way towards him. Daenys continued, taking a step towards him, a hopeful look on her face as she raised both her hands to her heart.

            ‘’Do you remember what it was like when we were children, Aemond?’’ she asked in an almost timid voice. When Aemond had heard Daenys mention his eye, he had recoiled, expecting her to repeat what so many young ladies at court had whispered behind his back about his scarred face and eyepatch. He didn’t even hear the last thing his niece said as his ears began to ring.

            ‘’Why would I care to recall memories from when we were stupid children, Daenys?’’ Aemond said in a low, cold voice. This made Daenys freeze, her mouth opening slightly in surprise at his response. ‘’I didn’t need your pity. Believe it or not, I don’t spend my days reminiscing over meaningless memories like you. It doesn’t matter, you hear me. It meant nothing to me then. It means nothing to me now.’’ Aemond wasn’t even controlling the words that were spilling out of his mouth, all he knew was that if he didn’t push Daenys away with his hurtful words now, he would’ve ended up pushing her up against the wall and kissing her with full force. Then he would be a dead man.

            What Aemond didn’t see coming was the fact that seeing her hurt expression nearly broke his heart. He steeled himself, steady in his decision. He had to protect himself first, he knew that someone like Daenys would never have any kind feelings towards him. Him expecting her to be the same way from when they were children was a mere fantasy. Aemond looked down at Daenys, clasping his hands behind his back, afraid that they would reach out for her of their own accord. Daenys’ jaw clenched and she looked down at her feet, avoiding his violet eye. She rubbed at her nose for a moment, some sort of defence mechanism, and then she looked up again with strained face, eyes shining.

            ‘’Right then. Have a good night uncle.’’ She murmured, voice too soft, as if she didn’t want him to hear. She gathered her book into her arm and stormed past Aemond, giving him the cold shoulder. Aemond stared forwards, afraid to look behind him at the princess who swiftly put distance between the two of them. Aemond spent the rest of the night convincing himself that he had made the right decision.

~~~

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